“I should’ve noticed the way your smiles stopped reaching your eyes.”Amelia wipes her nose, sighing with her whole chest.
Lily stares at me from across the room, trying to see if I’m okay before reading, “I didn’t see they were breaking you. I’m sorry for not looking closer.”
When I look at the guys, not a drop of water appears to be in their eyes, so why the heck am I the only guy here trying to hold back a sniffle?
I nod casually, attempting to appear anything but flustered, but Lily sees through me.
She always does.
“It’s okay to feel sad,” she whispers in my ear from behind as I take a seat in the director’s chair in front of the vanity marked with my name. “You wouldn’t be human if you felt nothing.”
I grab her arms, which are around my neck, and my lips mark a kiss on one of her palms.
“I’m not sad,” I confirm, looking at her in the mirror. “I’m content, and if there were any tears, they would be happy ones.”
“And relieved ones.”
“And relieved ones,” I echo back.
The stadium lights dim, and for a second, there is only darkness.
Then three spotlights cut through the darkness, and the crowd explodes.
The roar is unlike anything I have ever heard. Hands reach toward the stage, lights from phones twinkle like stars, and chants of our band name pulse like thunder.
From the first note, the crowd moves as one with us, jumping, crying, shouting lyrics that sound more like prayers. Holding signs that I try to read.
You saved me.
This is more than music; it’s my home.
It’s not until the final set that I step forward, and everything slows down. The lights soften, and the huge screen behind us flashes old home videos—the three of us waddling in diaperswith plastic guitars, us dancing on our old couch, us performing for our parents in our garage.
Gripping the mic, I’m suddenly overwhelmed, looking out at the sea of people chanting. “This tour has always been more than just a show for us.” I gesture to my siblings, finding them just as emotional while taking in all the love the fans are pouring into us. “It was our way of taking back what we loved, what our dream was when we first started posting on YouTube.”
Leonidas says, “Even though we fought battles that you didn’t see, being onstage and seeing a crowd this incredible”—the crowd roars—“reminded us why we kept on going.”
“Thank you for sticking with us.” Amelia laughs, holding back a sob. She grips the microphone like a lifeline. “We are so excited to start our new journey with you all.”
The crowd erupts again. A chant starts. “We love you! We love you!”
The last song comes on, the one we always close off with. The wristbands light up, pulsing in time with the somber beat. Arms rising to heaven and bodies swaying, the whole crowd sings with us, until we don’t know where we start and they end. And when the confetti falls like rain from the ceiling—purple, pink, and green shimmering stars—my heart explodes in my chest.
My siblings and I stand together at the edge of the stage, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, eyes glassy.
We bow, creating a wave of cheers that pounds into my chest.
When I step offstage, with my guitar still slung over my shoulder, sweat clings to my skin. Adrenaline kicks in like a drug. The crew hoots and hollers. Some wipe tears, and others clap me on the back as I pass.
But I don’t care about any of it.
I’m looking for her.
And there she is. What a sight. She stands just past the curtain in a black maxi dress that shows she’s a goddess. Her hands are clasped to her chest, like she’s trying to hold herself together, but the closer I get, the more I see the tears streaming down her face. I hand my guitar to the next person in passing, and she opens her arms the moment before I crash into her. I bury my face into her warm neck, and my breath is shaky against her skin.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, voice cracking. “You did it.”
I hold her tighter, and her fingers weave into my damp hair at the back of my neck. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Lily Papas.”
