“Do you ever see yourself there one day? Settling down like Kevin and Max?”
I make sure my eyes are locked on hers when I reply.
“Yes,” I say, the corner of my mouth curling into a lopsided grin. The truth is, after my ex-fiancé and I called things off five years ago, I didn’t think I’d ever feel the need to go down that road again. Until I met Tyler. After that night in New York four months ago, something changed.
I never believed in fate until her icy blue eyes met mine inside that arena and time stood still. I could have taken a back entrance. I could have arrived from the other side. I could have arrived later. I could have walked right by her.
But I didn’t.
I’m convinced that everything I did that afternoon, I did for a reason. It all led me right to Tyler. And I know, I know, this is insane. I barely know her. Believing she’s my soul mate is probably stupid and unrealistic, but I can’t explain it. IknowI’m meant to be with her.
Looking into her eyes now, my heart breaks a little knowing she doesn’t feel the same; that I’m going to spend the next six months with my soul mate, just to have to watch her walk away when all this is over.
What the fuck have I done?
ELEVEN
Ty
? Thunderstruck – AC/DC ?
Opening night of the tour is finally here, and I am practically shaking with excitement. My phone vibrates with a text from Eric, letting me know he’s on his way in an Uber so I throw the last of my things into my suitcase and head down to wait outside the hotel.
A few minutes later, a blacked-out Escalade pulls up and Eric gets out to help load my suitcase into the back before opening my door for me and helping me in.
“You ready for this?” he asks as I click my seatbelt into place.
Am I ready for six months on the road, traveling the country and hanging out with one of my favorite bands? Ready to spend every day with the man seated next to me, getting to know him on a level that I have a feeling most people don’t get to? Ready to live my dream and—at least temporarily—be a writer?
“Fuck yeah,” I say, the smile I woke up with this morning still plastered across my face.
By the time we arrive at AT&T Stadium, my heart is racing with excitement and anticipation. Eric and I grab our suitcases out of the back of the Uber and head into the RV. I unpack my suitcase and tuck it away before collapsing onto the bed and firing off a text to the family group chat to let them know I’m all settled.
A knock at the bedroom door snags my attention from their replies and I yell for whoever it is to come in. Eric pushes the door open and smiles.
“You coming to sound check?” he asks.
“Hell yeah I’m coming to sound check,” I say, bolting out of bed. He laughs and turns to head down the hallway.
“Here,” he says, handing me a small envelope as we walk through the lot and into the back of the stadium. I tear it open and dump its contents into my hand—a lanyard with a badge containing my name and “AAA non-escort”.
“That’s yours for the whole tour, so don’t lose it. AAA means Access All Areas, and non-escort means you can go anywhere you want without having to have someone with you. A few pro tips…don’t wear that outside the venue, no selfies while you’re wearing it, anddefinitelydon’t take photos of it, post it on social media, or give it to anyone else.”
I nod before putting the lanyard on over my head, letting it fall against my chest.
“Looks good on you,” he says, and I smile. I walk beside him as we wind our way through the hallways and to the stage. Eric continues onto the stage itself, and I stop on the side. He makes it a few steps ahead before he realizes I’m no longer with him and turns around.
“Come here,” he says, motioning for me to follow, and I smile wider. I join him at the center of the stage and look out at the stadium, trying to imagine what seeing it filled with eighty thousand people would be like. How would I feel? Would I be nervous? Or would I feed off the energy of the crowd?
“What’s it like up here when these places are full?” I ask, and he smiles.
“Believe it or not,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets, not taking his eyes off the arena before us. “It’s the only time my mind stays quiet. The only time I can forget—about life, responsibilities, stresses—whatever is going on outside these walls. I can just get lost in the moment.” He closes his eyes and tips his head back. “Ninety blissful minutes where I can just…exist.”
With all the pressure people like Eric find themselves in on a daily basis—constantly being followed by paparazzi, dealing with criticism every time they make a decision or share their music with the world, being approached by fans every time they venture out in public—I can only imagine what it would be like to let that go. Even just temporarily.
I walk behind him and up the few stairs of his platform to his kit, running my fingers lightly over the smooth head of the snare. My fingers twitch, itching to wrap around a stick and I feel Eric go still. I look at him and realize he’s staring at my hand. His eyes snap up to mine as the realization hits him.
“You play,” he says. I nod slowly.
