DYLAN
The van jerks to a halt,the steady hum of the road fading into an almost unsettling quiet. This is it—the first venue of the second leg of the tour. The weight of tonight’s performance hits me like a wave, crashing over any remnants of calm I’d managed to muster on the ride over.
I glance over at Jax, who’s seated across from me, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His fingers twitch, his movements abrupt and restless, like he’s wound too tight and ready to snap. His dark hair falls haphazardly into his green eyes, which dart around as though he’s searching for a way out.
Beside him, Enzo sits stoic, his arms crossed, exuding his trademark intensity. His jaw is locked, his entire demeanor radiating a silent challenge to anyone who might dare approach him. Marcus, ever composed, meticulously organizes his backpack as though nothing could disrupt his laser focus.
The van doors pop open, and I step out into the crispevening air trailing behind Marcus and Lily as they walk together holding hands. The sun is low, casting long, jagged shadows across the lot.
Noises from people loitering outside the venue seeps through the cracks of the building, blending with the shouts of stagehands as they run around. Energy is palpable, vibrating through the air and sending a jolt straight to my chest. It’s the kind of moment that makes your heart race, even before you’ve set foot on stage.
I feel all of it. The anticipation. The excitement. The dread.
The venue towers before me, massive and commanding. It’s one of those old theaters turned rock havens, the ornate architecture clashing beautifully with the gritty vibe of the show ahead. The air inside feels electric, charged with the anticipation of the night ahead.
Jax leads the way, his steps deliberate as he heads toward the back corner of the backstage. He halts in the doorway, his eyes scanning the dressing room like he’s cataloging every detail before moving forward. One by one, the rest of the group trails after him—Enzo with his brooding intensity, Marcus exuding calm control, and Lily with her quiet focus. I bring up the rear, slipping inside the dressing room last.
The room is the same as always—mirrors rimmed with bright bulbs, sleek black leather couches, and a small fridge filled with the usual: water, energy drinks, and snacks. It’s far from glamorous, but it’s comfortable. Familiar.
Jax moves to the center of the room, his shoulders tense but his stance strong. He motions for everyone to gather around him, a signal I’ve come to know well. This is hismoment—the ritual he’s led since the band’s very first tour. It’s the one constant I’ve come to count on. We hit a different venue almost every night, but this is one moment that remains the same.
“Alright, guys,” Jax begins, his voice steady but carrying the slightest tremor beneath the surface. “Let’s just take a minute to breathe first.”
I join the circle with the rest of the guys. Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath and hold it for a few beats before releasing it slowly through my nose. I repeat the process twice more, letting the steady rhythm calm my nerves, then blink my eyes open to focus on Jax.
He stands near the wall, glancing around the group while he waits for everyone. His black shirt clings to his lean frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos winding up his arms. His green eyes, usually sharp and intense, flicker with uncertainty, but he holds his ground.
Lily stands off to the side, her gaze also fixed on Jax. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, loose strands framing her face. Her expression is a mix of worry and encouragement, her presence a quiet reassurance.
Marcus steps forward, his voice low as he speaks to Jax. I can’t hear the words, but whatever he says seems to land. Jax’s shoulders relax a fraction, and he nods. Marcus always has that effect—steady and unshakeable, his quiet strength anchoring us when we need it most.
Jax claps his hands together, injecting some energy into the room. “Alright, let’s do this.”
Then he places his hand into the center of the room. One by one, the rest of the band follows suit. I add my hand to the pile, sharing my gratitude for the night.
Afterwards, as a group, we turn and file out toward thestage in silence. The air feels different tonight—charged with something I can’t quite name. This isn’t just another show; it’s a chance to prove something, not just to the crowd, but to ourselves.
The roar of the audience hits us like an explosion of sound as we step onto the stage. The lights incapacitate me momentarily, and the noise is deafening, but it’s the best kind of chaos. My heart pounds as I grip my drumsticks, the adrenaline coursing through me like a shot of pure energy.
Jax takes his place at the mic, gripping it with both hands. For a moment, he just stands there, staring out at the sea of faces. His chest rises and falls in deep, measured breaths, the tremble in his hands barely noticeable to anyone but us.
Then something shifts. He squares his shoulders, his grip on the mic tightening. When he sings, his voice is clear and strong, cutting through the noise like a blade. The opening notes of our first song ripple through the venue, and our fans absolutely lose it. The beat surges through me, steady and unrelenting, guiding every movement of my hands.
Marcus is locked onto his guitar, his fingers flying over the strings with the precision of a machine. Enzo’s bass line hums like a heartbeat, his dark hair swinging as he moves with the music. My drums pulse through the venue, reverberating off the acoustics in a way that makes the building feel like it has a heartbeat.
Jax transforms before our eyes. The nerves fall away, replaced by the fire that used to define him. He owns the stage, his voice raw and powerful, every word drippingwith emotion. The crowd responds in kind, their energy feeding into ours, creating a loop of pure electricity.
Midway through the set, we hit one of our newer songs. The reaction from the crowd is immediate and electric. They sing along, their voices blending with Jax’s, creating a harmony that sends chills down my spine. For the first time in weeks, I see glimpses of the old Jax—the one who was born to do this.
Lily stands just offstage, her eyes glued to Jax. I can see the pride in her expression, the way her lips twitch upward as he nails the high notes. She’s as much a part of this as we are, her presence keeping us steady even when we waver.
As our set draws to a close, cheers shake the floor beneath us. Jax stands at the edge of the stage, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. He looks exhausted but triumphant, like he’s just won a battle against himself.
Back in the dressing room, Jax collapses onto the couch, wiping his face with a towel. His hands are still trembling, but the small smile on his lips speaks volumes.
“You fucking killed it, man,” Marcus says, clapping him on the back.
Jax nods, his voice quiet. “Thanks. I needed that.”
