The past gave him everything he ever wanted—and now it’s tearing it away.
Angus “Retro” Walker has always been out of sync with his own time. In 2024, he’s just a lonely musician who loves ‘70s rock. But when he stumbles through a portal to 1978, he finds everything he’s ever wanted—music that matters, a band on the brink of fame, and Grace Monroe, a singer with a voice as captivating as she is. Their connection is undeniable, but there’s a problem: he’s not supposed to be there.
The longer Angus stays, the more the past pushes back, threatening Grace’s future and his own survival. With a jealous rival watching his every move and a fate he can’t outrun, Angus is left with an impossible choice: stay and risk losing his life and Grace’s career or return home and live without the only person who’s ever truly understood him.
They say love knows no bounds—but does that include time itself? Can love rewrite destiny, or will time tear them apart for good?
The past gave him everything he ever wanted—and now it’s tearing it away.
Angus “Retro” Walker has always been out of sync with his own time. In 2024, he’s just a lonely musician who loves ‘70s rock. But when he stumbles through a portal to 1978, he finds everything he’s ever wanted—music that matters, a band on the brink of fame, and Grace Monroe, a singer with a voice as captivating as she is. Their connection is undeniable, but there’s a problem: he’s not supposed to be there.
The longer Angus stays, the more the past pushes back, threatening Grace’s future and his own survival. With a jealous rival watching his every move and a fate he can’t outrun, Angus is left with an impossible choice: stay and risk losing his life and Grace’s career or return home and live without the only person who’s ever truly understood him.
They say love knows no bounds—but does that include time itself? Can love rewrite destiny, or will time tear them apart for good?
Did you ever notice how it always rains at funerals? Today is no exception, even though the average rainfall in this part of Utah is less than five inches per year.
Raindrops splash against the granite headstones and drum against a black umbrella held above the preacher’s head by a young assistant who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. The preacher’s voice drones on, but rain is all I hear.
Despite my opinions about rain and funerals, I didn’t bring an umbrella. The rain on my face hides the tears of an only child set adrift at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Every time I blink, the world around me blurs, as though my eyes refuse to adjust to this new reality.
I shove my hands into my pockets, desperately trying not to feel anything. Not the dampness seeping into my bones. Not the lump in my throat. Not the fact that I’m forced to bury both of my parents at the same time.
A single-car accident took them in one cruel blow. No one knows how it happened. Pop had a little lead in his foot now and then, but the sheriff ruled out excessive speed. I need someone else to blame for this tragedy. Maybe a coyote ran out in front of them. Maybe a freak gust of wind knocked them off course. Maybe fate just decided to screw me over.
My name is Angus Walker. I don’t know what my parents were thinking when they named their newborn son after a cow. Maybe they thought it was funny. The kids at school sure did. Entering high school thirty pounds overweight with a name like Angus? I might as well have had a sign on my forehead that read “Bully Me.” I’ve shed some weight since then, but the damage was done.
My mind wanders—memories I didn’t ask for creep in. Mom’s laugh, Pop’s calloused hands. The fights. The silences. The way we were never the perfect family but also somehow couldn’t let go of each other.
I reckon it was love. That’s what families have, whether they like each other or not. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my parents, even if I felt like the son they never had. I should have been bigger, stronger, and able to ride a horse or throw a football. The only thing I’m any good at is playing the guitar, which isn’t much use on a ranch.
I watch the raindrops glisten and roll off the polished wood of the caskets like so many tears. None of it matters now. They’re gone, and I’m an orphan, alone and unloved, in a world where I don’t fit in. Perhaps if my girlfriend stood by my side, her hand in mine, I’d feel different. But she doesn’t exist. Perhaps she never will.
What will become of me?
I don’t know our family’s financial situation. Never needed to. Parents take care of those things. Where will I live? I’ve had my fill of this desolate, two-hundred-acre stretch of rocks and sagebrush that’s been in my family for three generations. I need more. Denver. Austin. Nashville. Somewhere with a real music scene.
I’m not aware the service has ended until Uncle John, who made the three-hour trip from Salt Lake City, rests a hand on my shoulder as the crowd thins. We never saw much of him while Pop was alive, so I’m not sure why he’s here. Maybe guilt. Maybe duty. Maybe he just wants to see if the ranch is worth anything.
“What are you gonna do now, Angus?” He lights a cigarette and the smoke curls around his head.
It’s rude to smoke so close to the dearly departed, but he doesn’t seem to care. I hope he doesn’t flick the butt into the open grave when he’s finished. I glance at the caskets. “Guess that depends on the will.”
“Did your parents have life insurance?”
I shrug as I watch the ash at the end of his cigarette grow.
“If you need a place to stay, you can come live with me for a while.”
Even though he’s the only family I have left, I don’t know him well enough. “I appreciate that.”
He takes another drag and shakes his head. “I’ve always believed that ranch was cursed.”
“Didn’t you and Pop grow up there?”
“Yes, but our father—your grandfather—lost his mind there, and it had something to do with that property.”
My frown deepens as I try to pull up some old memories. He left when I was eight years old. “Pop didn’t talk about it much, just to say Gramps would wander off by himself, sometimes for days.”
He flicks the ash from his cigarette. “Then one day, he wandered off and never came back.”
“Where do you think he went?”
“Nobody knows. Some say he ran off with one of those trailer park whores. Others say he was senile and got lost up in the mountains, but we never found a body.”
I don’t know what to say. Gramps had taught me about truth and regret and always taking the high road. I was only seven, but his words meant something—except for the high road part. No way in hell did he run off with another woman.
The wind changes direction and blows his smoke in my face. I wave my hand to chase it away, but Uncle John either doesn’t see or doesn’t care.
“Your grandmother took a lot of heat from people she thought were her friends.”
I’d been close with Gran until she pulled her own disappearing act. Gran was a tough old bird, but she had a soft spot in that no-nonsense heart for me. I kissed her goodnight one evening twelve years ago, and the next morning she was gone.
Uncle John looks at his watch, then hands me a business card. “Here’s my number, kid. Keep in touch.”
We hug. It’s awkward.
“Will do,” I say. “Thanks for coming.”
He waves over his shoulder as he walks away.
The last of the mourners have gone. I say a silent prayer over the caskets while the gravediggers stand by, waiting to lower them into the ground. As I turn to leave, I notice her. An old woman dressed in black, hunched over the caskets, her frail silhouette clutching a black umbrella. She’d been standing by a tree at the edge of the crowd earlier. The brim of a felt hat, long out of fashion, shadowed her eyes.
She must feel my stare because she looks up and our eyes meet. Tears cling to the edges of my eyes, and I fire off a few rapid blinks to clear them. No. It can’t be her. The woman I’d spent half my childhood idolizing and the other half mourning—the grandmother I’d given up for dead years ago.
She’s thinner than I remember, and her coat hangs on her like it belongs to someone else. Her face is more wrinkled, her hair a muted silver instead of the wild gray I’d known as a kid. But it’s her. The sharp cheekbones. The way her mouth presses into a thin line. The same hat she used to wear to Sunday service.
I once loved this woman. Now, I can barely look at her.
My stomach twists into knots until I can’t hold it in any longer. “What the hell?” The words come out too loud.
She flinches, her hands tightening on the handle of her umbrella. “Angus…” Her voice is thin.
My heart pounds as I step closer. “I thought you were dead.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I cried for a week. Where the hell have you been?”
Her eyes—so much like my father’s—meet mine. There’s something in them I can’t quite read. Regret? Sadness? Fear?
“I—” she starts, but her voice breaks.
“That’s it?” I snap, louder now. “I? That’s all you’ve got? You disappear for over a decade, let your grandson think you’re dead, and now you show up at the funeral like—like some stranger?”
“What about your other son?” I press. “Uncle John was here. Does he know you’re alive?”
“Angus,” she says again, this time firmer, like she used to when I was acting up. “This isn’t the place.”
“You’re damn right it isn’t the place.” My voice rises again. “There is no place. You’re still dead to me.”
Her gaze drops to the ground as her umbrella dips like she’s wilting under the weight of my words.
I watch the preacher’s car drive away. I want to demand answers, to make her explain herself right here in the rain. But something stops me. She’d made a fool of me, maybe all of us.
“Have you found it?”
I turn my attention back to her. “Found what?”
“We need to talk,” she says softly.
I shake my head, backing away.
“Sorry, Gran.” My voice is cold, but my chest is burning. “You’re twelve years too late.”
Time Traveler’s Playlist by David Homick is an exciting, suspenseful, and, ultimately, heartwarming story of a young man’s pursuit of his one true love (and classic 70s rock and roll music). I was honestly captivated by this tale from start to finish.
The hunt for legendary Aztec gold on his family’s farm leads 22-year-old Angus Walker to a hidden cave with a mysterious portal to the past. Mustering his courage, he passes through the portal and finds himself in Denver, Colorado, in the year 1978, where the muscle cars and land yachts of his dreams proudly cruise the city streets, and the classic rock music that he collected in his time period are new releases here. He also falls head over heels for the dynamic female lead vocalist and bass player of a rising local band, who knows more than she’s letting on about Angus’s unconventional mode of transportation to the 70s.
Angus is the wonderful protagonist of the story, a sad-sack, self-prophesying loser in his own time of 2024; he seems to fit in with life in 1978, coming close to being one of the cool kids. In his time, he has a good ‘ride or die’ friend in Walter ‘Waldo’ Hastings, a fellow misfit in high school due to his high IQ and dedication to academics, and Ozzy, a lovable stray black lab named after the infamous, original frontman for Black Sabbath. Both Waldo and Ozzy are endearing, and each time Angus returned home to 2024, I worried whether his actions in the past would negatively affect either of these characters – because changes occurred!
While Angus may have succumbed to the negative talk and bullying in his formative years, he regularly shows perseverance and courage throughout the story. He stands up to the bullies. He confronts Lars and Sam head-on when necessary. He talked himself into entering the portal. He pursued his soulmate and then sacrificed everything for love.
The plot is fast-paced, and the transitions between time periods are clear and easy to follow. The descriptions of the rugged and remote Utah farm and 1978 Denver are vivid, creating the perfect backdrops for the ensuing action. I thoroughly enjoyed the song title chapter headings, which not only foreshadowed the coming direction of the story but were tunes contemporary to the time. The selections were so perfect that I compiled them, along with additional songs mentioned in the narrative, into a fun, nostalgic new Spotify playlist at https://open.spotify.com/playlist/32nb89TY81NVxvHn68SsLn?si=9f65592554644e86. Enjoy!
I recommend TIME TRAVELER’S PLAYLIST to fiction readers who enjoy time travel tales of romance.