Chapter 37

There was a proposal.

No, not me and Ronin. Not yet…

Dawson had flown to LA for the weekend to visit Holls. And, after our July 1st sold-out performance, Holls proposed to his boyfriend. Privately. The next day, the press release had our fans going wild.

The Wayward Lane family had another reason to celebrate.

And tonight, we were doing just that. Our security had allowed us to attend an exclusive club with invite only privileges. No paps, no unscreened guests, and no problems.

“So, you guys set a date or what?” Brodie asked as we sat at a table, downing shots of tequila. “Or are you gonna be like me and Van, and run off to Vegas?”

Dawson and Holls were too busy making out to pay Brodie’s question any attention.

“Hey, fuckers!” Brodie yelled out over the music. “You’re getting married! Plenty of time to suck face later.”

Dawson gave Holls one last kiss and turned to give Brodie a dirty look. Not that it had any effect on our frontman. Dawson might look scary as fuck with his fauxhawk and intense expression, but all of us knew the man was a gentle giant.

“There’s no rush,” Dawson replied as he held up his hand, admiring the gold ring. “So, no Vegas wedding.”

“Well,” Holls started. “I wouldn’t say no to getting married sooner rather than later. But, no matter what, we gotta plan it out. No elopement. Jaxon needs to be a big part of our day.”

Dawson’s son. Holloway’s soon to be stepson. Holy shit. To think of Holloway, who, only six months ago was your typical rock n’ roll fuckboy, as a stepdad, was crazy. Crazy, funny, and surprisingly, perfect. Our friend had a big heart and when he loved, he did it all the way. With his mom long since passed, and his dad now out of his life, Holls had gone and created his own kind of family. First with us, and now with Dawson and Jaxon.

For musicians like us, having that kind of support is what keeps you grounded. Too often, the attention, the fame, the accolades, it all goes to your head. But fame doesn’t last forever.

For the past twelve years, we’d busted our asses building our music careers, so our personal lives were all about fun. And we enjoyed our bachelorhood. We were on the move constantly and we didn’t need anything but our dreams, our music, and plenty of sex. But love? Please. That was for songs and shit.

Or it was. Now it was our life.

“You don’t have to have the wedding in Vegas but how about the bachelor parties?” I offered, raising a glass.

“I’m down with that.” Holls nodded.

Everyone clinked glasses, then downed our shots.

“Fuck, what a difference a year makes,” I muttered. “How the hell did we get so lucky?”

“It’s all Van,” Brodie insisted as he turned to his husband. “You started it.”

“Me?” Van scoffed. “You mean, you.”

Brodie kissed Van’s confused expression away. “You walked into our lives five years ago and nothing’s been the same.”

“You guys would’ve made it to the top, with or without me,” Van replied.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, honey. All that shit’s great, but without your love, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Van leaned in and kissed Brodie long and hard.

Until Holls gave Brodie back his own advice. “Suck face later.”

No surprise, Brodie made a rude gesture with his fist.

“Dee’s right, Van,” I offered. “We met you and things changed. It wasn’t just the record deal, it was your belief in us, your unwavering support. Through the good times and all the bad shit that came along. It gave us the courage to be better versions of ourselves, not just in our music, but in our life. And because of that, great things happened. Love happened.”

I looked at Ronin and he leaned down to kiss me.

“Faise, that has to be the corniest fucking thing to ever come out your mouth,” Brodie announced. “And yet, it’s the goddamn truth!”

We all laughed and cheered to that.

Ronin

After another round of shots, we hit the dance floor and partied until the wee hours of the morning.

We stumbled out of the private event at 3 am, joking, bickering, you know, being our usual selves. It was a short walk from the exit to the SUV, and I noticed that the streets were lined with partygoers. LA was like Vegas. The shows, the parties, they go on all night.

Suddenly, I heard someone shouting.

Lennie and Petyr yelled “gun!” and shoved us to the ground so hard, my bones rattled, and the breath was knocked right out of my body.

What the fuck?

My ears were ringing as screams filled the air. People scattered like a stampede.

I blinked and suddenly, Dallas was there in front of me, tumbling to the ground. Regan was on top of him, knee to his back, yelling out orders as more security team members rushed around them.

Dallas was back in New York. How could he be here? Now? What the hell was going on?

Then I realized that Faise was underneath me, shaking badly. But I knew enough not to move. To stay where I was, shielding Faise. I’d protect him no matter what.

“Is everyone okay?” Len asked as he ran back to us, phone to his ear.

Regan and Petyr tied Dallas’s hands behind his back. The guy was yelling his head off, swearing and struggling to get loose. Other team members were holding on to him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

I rolled off Faise and checked him over. He launched himself at me, and I gripped him harder than I ever had. He was hyperventilating.

“It’s okay, baby. Everything’s all right,” I reassured him.

Jesus Christ, was it? Faise’s shaking calmed a bit as I rubbed soothing circles on his back.

“Dee? Holls?” I called out and finally looked around.

Van and Brodie, as well as Dawson and Holls, were lying on the ground nearby, same as me and Faise, shaken but okay.

“We’re fine. I think,” Brodie called out. “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but thank fuck for our security team.”

Police sirens wailed in the distance. Here we go again.

“Please tell me that asshole’s not going to get out on bail this time,” I whispered to Faise.

Then, I fainted.

I woke up in the hospital. Again.

Faise was asleep in the chair at my bedside, his dark hair sticking up on end, a soft snore echoing in the room. Just the thought of that asshole hurting him… Shit, my eyes welled up.

Fuck, hold it together.

Then I spotted my sister standing by the window, Regan beside her, talking in whispered tones.

“Ci,” I called out.

“Ro.” She turned her head and blinked away tears. “Oh my God, I’m?—”

“Don’t even say it. This is not your fault. It’s that fucking prick. He’s going to jail and staying there this time.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she walked over to me, Regan by her side.

“Is everyone all right?”

Regan nodded. “Everyone is fine. Shaken up, bruised, but good.”

The relief was overwhelming.

“Dallas confessed to the call-in threat at the Nashville concert,” Regan confirmed. “And then he followed us, here, across the country.”

“But how did he find out where we were tonight?” I asked.

“He’s a cop so he’s not without resources. According to his phone, he’d been tailing us since we landed in LA. He’s smart, and more resourceful than I anticipated. The how and why is still being worked out, but he’s going to be charged with serious offenses and I highly doubt he’ll be making bail this time. I’m just annoyed that I didn’t spot him until it was almost too late. Thankfully, our team was on guard, and we got to him in time.”

“You got to him in time,” Faise announced.

“Baby,” I whispered as he stood up and leaned over. This time, he was the one giving me the bear hug.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, Ro,” he whispered in my ear.

“Same.”

My head ached and my hands, shit, when I looked down, my hands were red, scrapes covering my palms. But nothing was bleeding or broken, thank fuck.

“Is our concert in San Fran still a go?” I asked.

All I wanted was a return to normal.

Regan cleared her throat. “With Dallas arrested, and given his confession, our major concerns are gone. It’s still a go. But only if you guys are okay and if you want to perform. That’s up to you, Jesse, and the label.”

“Ro, what about your hands?” Faise asked.

“They’re just scrapes. I’ve played with worse.”

Holls and Brodie entered the room, along with Dawson and Van.

“I’m fine. I want to get out of here. What time is it anyway?”

“Almost noon,” Regan replied. “The police will want to take your statement, then we can go.”

Once a doctor gave me the final okay, the police arrived. And Elias. There were tons of questions asked and answered and by the time I was released, I had a massive headache.

We headed for our bus, and once all our security team was back on board, we left LA for San Francisco. No delay. And with good reason. The press had gotten hold of the story and none of us felt like talking just yet. Zoe could deal with any pressing issues until we had a few days to recover.

I worried about what this setback would do to my sister. If Dallas would try to come after her, or us, again. All the questions the police asked were rattling through my brain. My body wouldn’t settle.

Faise and I headed for our bunk but neither one of us said a word. I just held onto him, knowing how dangerously close I’d come to losing him again.

But he was here, in my arms. Where he was meant to be. Where he would stay.

I had my share of doubts about how I was going to handle being in a relationship. Worries that were valid.

But loving Faise was not one of them.