If it takes forever, I’ll find you?—
You’re my anchor in the noise.
My anchor… in the noise.
I whisper the last line,eyes locked on her.When the last note fades, her eyes fill.Mine almost do.But I don’t break.I’m completely alive in this moment.
I don’t even think.I just move.I step to the edge of the stage and hold out my hand.It’s not demanding.It’s not claiming.It’s an invitation.It’s a promise.
“Come here, angel.”For half a second she just stands there, trembling.Then she nods.
Briana nudges her, and Lily climbs over the barricade into my arms like she belongs nowhere else.
The arena erupts, but I barely hear it.I wrap my hand around her waist and pull her onto the stage, into my chest.Into my life.Into every beat I have left.Mic still in hand, breath unsteady, soul wide open, I rest my forehead against hers.
“You came back,” I whisper, voice breaking on the edges.
“No more running.”She whispers back.“Not from this, not from us.”
I don’t care if the world hears.I want them to.I turn to the crowd, arm around her, heart in my damn throat, and yell into the mic.
“This is Lily.She is my everything.And I’m not hiding her or that ever again.And fuck anyone that has a problem with that!”
The stadium explodes.But I only feel her fingers curling into my shirt, grounding me like she did in a dark bus in the middle of nowhere, her voice in my ear, “I love you.”
I kiss her, slow, sure, sacred, and the world goes blindingly, beautifully loud around us.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t care who’s watching.
She’s here.She’s mine.And I am hers, every damn note in my body.I thought music was my purpose.Turns out it was the road I was on.That road that led me to them.
Epilogue
Lily
Here Comes The Sun
The Beatles
Six Weeks Later
Hotel suites usedto intimidate me.All that space.All that shine.All that cold perfection.
Now?This one feels like home.
Not because of the velvet sofas or the bay glittering outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, though Boston looks like it’s trying very hard to seduce us, but because of the chaos inside it.
Luc’s bandmates are sprawled around the giant dining table like it’s Thanksgiving and someone spiked all the pies with tequila.Marie is bouncing Larkin on her lap as if she’s auditioning for “World’s Most Devoted Grandma.”Larkin is squealing at a spoon like it’s the most magical object ever created.Hayden and Cherry are on the couch, heads bent together as they share something private.
I’m not sure what the hell is going on between Dean and Sadie, but something is.They keep stealing glances at each other.There’s too much friction, too much tension.Too much of an attempt at pretending to hate each other when we all know better.
Luc catches my eye from across the table.He doesn’t smile big.He does that quiet thing he does, where his mouth softens and his eyes warm and it feels like I’m the only person in the room.I’m doomed.I’m blissfully, willingly doomed.
“I’m telling you,” Mikey says, pointing a fork at Marie.“That baby’s going to love drumsticks more than guitars.I can feel it.”
“Bro, she put mashed carrots in your hair ten minutes ago.”Luc deadpans.
“She was blessing me with creativity.”Mikey flicks his bangs dramatically, carrot puree and all.
