Chapter 38

There was no better way for us to welcome the 4th of July than with a concert.

Were we shaken up? No question.

Were we going to let the fans down and cancel the show? No fucking way.

With Dallas arrested, I didn’t worry that we’d have a repeat of the other night. Or that we’d have any trouble from him again. According to Elias, Dallas was facing so many charges that he’d probably spend the next decade or so in jail. Not to mention the civil cases we’d file against him.

But Ronin was still worried. He was quiet, not like his usual self. I understood. We were all worried about Ciara and how she was handling things. Maybe it was being on the road, maybe it was being surrounded by our crew, and our security team, but as far as I could tell, Ciara seemed to be doing okay.

We’d spent most of the previous day talking about what happened. And we reassured her again that it wasn’t the first, and probably not the last, scary incident we’d face.

Holls had been attacked by a stalker a few months ago and Quinn, one of our former bodyguards, had been shot in the process. Quinn was okay (he was working with Dawson as a private investigator), but the whole thing had given us a stark wakeup call. The bigger Wayward Lane got, the more attention we’d attracted—good and bad. It was something we’d have to deal with from here on out. And anyone involved with us was the same.

Ronin was the one I was worried about. He didn’t want to let me or Ciara out of his sight.

To be fair, I was the same. With him, with everyone in our family.

I called my sponsor and talked for nearly a half hour. A record for me. But I didn’t want any anxiety to fester.

Then I reached out to my therapist, and set up a time for me and Ronin, and Ciara to talk about everything that had happened.

After that was done, I wandered through the concert venue to find my boyfriend on stage, alone (besides our bodyguards), strumming away on his bass. He had bandages on his palms, but he insisted he was fine to play.

“Hey,” I called out as I stepped onto the stage.

I thought Ronin had spotted me but the jolt of his body and the fact that he missed a note, was telling.

“Hey, baby,” he asked me without looking up. “What’s up?”

“I could ask you the same. You’ve been unusually quiet. Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

He shook his head and continued to play.

“Ronin?”

“I don’t want to talk right now. I just need my routine. I’m fine.”

I wasn’t going to push. Not yet. Like me, Ronin was stubborn. When he was ready, I would know. But if it didn’t happen soon, I’d have no choice.

Our road crew started to fill the stage, getting our equipment in place. Ace and Tommy helped us with soundcheck, but it took forever. Shit was misplaced, the mics kept glitching, and tempers were short. Brodie especially. After belting out one chorus of Sideline, he suddenly stopped, swore, and walked off the stage.

Jesse told us to keep going and Van went after his husband.

Things went downhill after that.

The opening act, Killmine, were delayed due to their flight, so we’d be going on earlier than expected. We’d become fast friends with their lead singer, Nate Filier, and his band brothers when we performed in their hometown of NOLA in October. But even the prospect of hanging out with those guys again didn’t improve the somber mood.

We got changed, as usual, and had our hair and makeup done. But that routine too was filled with a chilly silence. Then we hung around, just the four of us, before showtime. Van brought us a round of much-needed tequila shots, but instead of celebrating like we usually did, we just drank and said nothing.

It was the weirdest pre-show experience in my life.

What the fuck was going on here? Brodie was pacing the length of the dressing room, anxious in a way I’d never seen him before. Then he sat down on the couch and gnawed on his fingernails. And he wasn’t the only one acting strange. Holls was busy typing on his phone, instead of telling us every detail about his night with Dawson. And Ronin? He was sitting beside Holls, staring into space like a zombie. He wasn’t cracking jokes or shooting the shit.

I was the least vocal member of the group, but I was done remaining silent.

“Knock it off!” I yelled out suddenly.

Brodie stopped walking. Holls stopped typing. And Ronin finally looked up at me.

“I know we got the shit scared out of us the other day but we’re all fine. The guy’s been arrested, and we’re safe. It’s over. Are we upset? Yes. Are we going to let this setback screw with our music? No! We have fans out there expecting a kick-ass concert. Not just a good one, but a great one. One that they’ve saved for. One that they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.” I paused and ran an agitated hand through my hair. “This isn’t just what we do, this is who we are. Now get the fuck up! We have a show to rock!”

I stood there, hands on my hips, out of breath. My heart was pounding so fast it was about to crash right through my rib cage.

Brodie was the first to move, stalking up to me with that wicked glint in his eye. I prepared myself for a verbal whiplash.

Instead, he gripped my shoulder tight and nodded.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Say what? Brodie never apologized. It was as rare as me losing my shit just now and yelling.

“Faise is right,” Brodie said as he turned to Holls and Ronin. “Look at us! It’s like we’re ready to run and hide. And that’s fucked up. We’ve always performed no matter what—sick, stoned, and everything in between. Not to mention, we’ve done it despite the nasty trolls and the haters. We always, always, get out there and give it our all. No matter what. And tonight is no different. Fuck that asshole! He’s gone and we’re here. We can do this. I’m ready.”

Holls stood up next, offering a smile that had the knot in my stomach finally easing.

“Me too,” Holls nodded. “We’re not going to stop doing what we love. Haters gonna hate, but fuck them.”

Ronin was the last one to stand up.

The look on his face was absolute shock. I worried for a split second that he was going to do a runner.

Until he walked up to me, gripped my neck tight, and pulled me in for a hard kiss that knocked the remaining breath right out of me.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he whispered against my lips, oblivious to our band brothers standing beside us. “And how sexy you are when you call us out on our own shit?”

“You liked that?” I teased, nipping his lips.

He nodded.

“Someone had to do it,” I added. “You guys were too quiet. Even for me.”

“So,” Holls interrupted. “Are we all in?”

Ronin kissed me again, not letting go. “Baby, I’m ready to rock this fourth of July because you’ve lit all my fireworks.”

“Holy shit, could you be any cheesier?” Holls called out. “Your dirty talk is so lame.”

“Faise, I think your dick’s melted Ronin’s brain,” Brodie snarked.

I let out a laugh, relieved that things were back on track.

Someone tapped my shoulder, and I gave Ronin one last kiss before turning to our friends.

“What?”

“Suck face later,” Brodie reminded me. “We have a show to do.”

Yeah, we did.

Ronin

My boo was incredible.

And sure, maybe my line was cheesier than fuck, but it was the truth. Faise’s passionate plea sparked a fire in me like nothing and no one else. And I needed that kick in the ass tonight.

We all did.

The fact that it was my boyfriend doing the kicking, though, was a surprise. He was the last person I expected to rally us. Normally, that was Brodie’s domain. But watching Faise step into his power? The way he fought for us?

Sexiest thing ever. I didn’t think I could fall harder. But I did.

A half hour later, we were on stage, facing the biggest crowd of our career. With over sixty thousand people inside the stadium, the roar of the crowd was incredible. It was hot as fuck already, because hello, California in July. And it only got steamier when the lights hit us full force, and we started playing. We kicked off this concert with Nine Gone Wrong.

I’ll never forget that moment when the fans belted out the first chorus. The energy around us soared. Goosebumps popped up all over my skin as I looked around at my bandmates and recognized the awe in their expressions too. At everything we’d accomplished. At how far we’d come.

Then Holls joined Brodie at the mic, performing our latest song, Running Start. The song he’d written for Dawson. The crowd went nuts, cheering and clapping when Holls called his fiancé on stage.

By the time we’d reached two and a half hours in, everything except our pants—or in Brodie’s case, his kilt—was thrown off and into the crowd. We were drenched in sweat, exhausted, but never so fucking happy.

By that time, Killmine had arrived, and Nate and his boys joined us to sing a duet of Filthy Pain.

After that, we left them on stage as we took a much-needed break. We hydrated in the wings and watched Killmine live up to their name, totally rocking their set. It was so cool to see how far they’d come since their first performance with us back in October.

When we hit the stage again, we were amped up. And thankfully, the sun was starting to set so the temperature finally dropped. Nate and the boys joined us for our last song, Never Look Back. We were all sweaty and shirtless by that point.

Well, everyone except Nate, who strutted back out in in his jeans and a black leather jacket. Grabbing the mic, Nate thanked our crew, and called out Tommy and Ace. We encouraged both guys to step out of the wings and take a bow with us. After all, we couldn’t do a show like this this without them.

Faise was still sitting behind his kit, so I walked around and held my sweaty hand out to him, encouraging him to stand up. When he did, I slid my arm around his waist and pulled him out to center stage. Nate passed me the mic.

“Let’s hear another round, please, for this incredibly talented man.”

Faise shook his head but waved to the crowd.

“Faise is not just my best friend, and my bandmate, but he is, in fact, the love of my life.”

There were cheers and whistles and more applause as I leaned down to kiss him.

Suddenly, fireworks exploded overhead.

And our celebration? It had just begun.