40

"Who else is ready for home sweet home?!" Theo yells, pouring himself a drink before he even sits in his seat on the jet.

There's a chorus of agreement as we board, exhausted and eager to return to our normal lives. The travel, combined with the stress of the previous week, is visibly affecting us. Dark bags under our eyes and contagious yawns have become the norm.

Jenn greets us, fresh faced and chipper, and I try not to be envious.

"Hey, pour one for everyone!" Eric shouts, and Theo rolls his eyes, but performs a quick head count before pulling out eight more cups.

"Sorry, Jenny baby," he says, gesturing towards the bottle of whiskey. "Unless you want me to fly, I probably shouldn't mix you a drink."

"Tempting as it is to let you take the wheel, Theo, I think I'll have to pass today."

"Suit yourself." He pours glasses and passes them to Dante to distribute. "I'd sure make things a lot more interesting around here if I were the one flying."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Dmitri mutters as Dante hands him a drink with a grin.

"Interesting isn't the word I would use to describe a fiery crash in the middle of the ocean," Connor says from beside me.

"Yeah, well, no one asked you, Jugs," Theo sasses, taking a moment to glance up and poke his tongue out. "No more being fake nice to you, since you're healthy enough to fly. Go stick your dick in your boyfriend to get rid of that pessimistic attitude."

I draw my lips between my teeth to keep from reacting, but poor, sweet, innocent Connor doesn't realize the pandora's box he's opening as he says, "That's his job, not mine."

"Oh, no, sweetie," I murmur as I grab onto his arm and tug him protectively into my side, mindful of the healing wound on his stomach. Theo slams the bottle on the counter with a clink.

"Ex-fucking-scuse me? Excusez-motherfucking-moi? Did you just… are you saying… did…" The noise he makes is somewhere between a rhino and a balloon deflating, and his mouth hangs open in a perfect circle as he stares. Connor flinches as he realizes what he's said, his face darkening into a ripe shade of red.

"You broke it," Eric says, nudging me with his elbow as Theo sputters and stammers through a stream of nonsense. "You actually broke it."

Theo takes a step closer, his giant blue eyes manic. "Are you seriously telling me that this gargantuan hunk of a man bottoms ?!"

"That's really none of your business." I hike my brow, running my fingers through Connor's hair as he practically tries to hide his enormous body behind me.

"I should've guessed after I saw Daddy Dom Tai come out to play that day," Eric says with a thoughtful finger tapping against his chin, and I narrow my eyes, attempting to concentrate my glare into a weapon.

Theo hasn't even blinked, eyes darting between my stern ones and Connor, who mutters apologies into my shoulder. "You know my brain is always a few steps behind my mouth," he groans. "Blame the morphine."

"The morphine that you haven't taken in three days?" I tease, and he peers up at me through his lashes.

Theo continues his rant. "I just… look at the muscle on that ass. Look at it!"

"Or don't," I growl, tugging on Connor and guiding him to a seat because I'll be damned if they're going to ogle my man's ass.

"Jesus Christ, he could squash a watermelon between those cheeks, and you put your dick in there!?"

"Theo!" I shout, and Eric's face has flushed as red as Connor's as he tries— very unsuccessfully—not to laugh.

"I'm just saying, man… are you not terrified of him flexing at the wrong moment and ending up with a pancake dick? A flapjack!? Shit… what if it turned into a beaver tail?" Theo makes a squishing noise with his mouth and slaps his hands together, waving them back and forth like a paddle.

"I cannot," I mutter, right as Eric's weak composure slips and he starts laughing hysterically. Even Dmitri loses his fight with the grin stretching across his face.

"Do you need a drink after this conversation?" Bruce asks Aaron, who grunts his affirmation. His eyes dart to Connor's neon red face. "Because I do. More than one."

"Are you done?" I snap at Theo, snatching two drinks off the counter and return to Connor. I glance between them and take a long swig from one before handing it to him half full. He scowls but doesn't complain.

"Almost." Theo flops into his seat, looking overwhelmed as though he wasn't the cause of the chaos. "Just one more question… how do you even make it past all that muscle? There's gotta be like, a solid eight inches of gluteus maximus there."

Connor glances up at me, still rosy faced as he fiddles with the drink I handed him, and I lean forward to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. He looks Theo square in the eye as he says, "He's got a huge dick." The sip of whiskey I just took tries to come out of my nose as everyone on the plane erupts.

Eric is howling as Dmitri finally loses it and starts laughing, while Dante scowls and Monica mutters something about not needing to know these details. Bruce and Aaron are snorting in their seats as Theo and Connor stare at each other.

"You asked," Connor says with a calm shrug, and Dmitri laughs harder, falling into a rare fit of giggles.

Theo is straight-faced and somber, shaking his head. "My entire world is in shambles right now."

Jenn's cheeks are red and she's trying her hardest not to laugh. "Not to interrupt this very important conversation, but it's time to hit the runway, guys. Everyone in their seats and buckle in."

"Party pooper," Theo mutters as we rush to obey.

Connor's smile is half cringe as I click my buckle and turn to him. "Why do I never learn to keep my mouth shut?"

I chuckle, glancing at Theo, who stares at the ground like his world's been shattered. "It's rare someone makes him speechless, so I'm honestly kind of impressed."

We settle in, enjoying the quiet for a few minutes as we get through takeoff. I take the last sip of my drink, the ice rattling in the glass as I shake it, deep in thought. "What are you thinking about?" Connor asks, placing his hand over mine and stilling the restless fidgeting.

"What happens when we get back? The show in Charlotte isn't for another two days. I didn't know if you needed to go home, or if you wanted to stay, y'know, at my place." We haven't discussed the logistics of moving in together yet, and a tiny part of me worries he said it under the influence of painkillers.

"I need to check on my house and make sure everything's in order…"

"Yeah, of course," I interject, frustrated with myself as I turn away.

Thick fingers wrap around my chin and drag me back. "If you would let me finish," he says with a pointed clip to his words, "I was going to say that if you're up for it, we can stay at your place tonight and then you could come with me to check on everything at my house tomorrow? We will figure out what works best for us from there."

Emotion clogs my throat at the realization that after all of our time together, we're finally going to be home . It'll no longer be a vacation romance or a wild, overseas fantasy… it'll be real.

Mundane and boring, and fucking perfect.

"That sounds amazing," I respond, tucking my face into his chest. Another matter weighs on my mind as I reach a decision. I sit up and press a kiss on his lips. "Be right back."

I wander to the front cluster of seats and drop into the one across from Eric. "So, that proposition you had? I think I might be ready to discuss it."

Stage lights scorch like we're Icarus, flying too close to the sun, except these lights aren't a danger to us. They won't burn our wings.

They're an old friend, ready to welcome us home.

The roar of the crowd feels like a reunion, as if we're walking into a room with family and friends that we haven't seen in ages but can pick up where we left off and never miss a beat.

It's comfort, and familiarity, and assurances that after our long time on the road, we're home and nothing's changed.

Nothing's changed, but everything is different.

Connor's arms wrap around me from behind, and I grin as I turn, catching the hideous print of his Bigfoot shirt in my peripherals. "Nervous?" Soft lips press kisses along my neck, up my jaw, then behind my ear. That last one always tickles, and I hear his breathy chuckle as I shudder and wiggle away.

"Oh, please… me? I'm too cool for nerves."

"We both know you're not as cool as you pretend to be."

I hum thoughtfully, watching as Eric bounces on his feet, amping himself up for the show. "Why do I feel like that was intended to be a compliment?"

The rough scruff of his stubble grazes my jaw as he smiles. "You know it was."

We were wrong to assume that things would slow down once that plane landed on the South Carolina soil. My decision to perform one of my songs sent Dante into a frenzy, causing us to unexpectedly spend hours at the studio rather than relaxing as originally planned.

Guilt made me try to back out, but I was given a glare so intense I'm surprised I didn't fall over where I stood. "Stop self-sacrificing," Eric had scolded me with a hard clap to my shoulder that earned him a warning growl from Connor, who has escorted me everywhere since we've been back.

Quick run to the grocery store?

Step outside and try to revive my crispy tomato plants?

He's there.

I fucking love it.

The attack in London has left him deeply unsettled, and he's convinced I'm not safe. It's going to take me a while to get him to relax again, but in the meantime, I'm enjoying the possessive, growly protector that never leaves my side.

The last update we got from the detectives in London was they'd caught two of the four involved. Baldy and Jitters ended up at a hospital together shortly after I gave my statement. Their injuries were consistent with the way Connor slammed them into the wall and threw punches, so between that and my thorough descriptions, they were taken into custody. They've since ratted on the others, so it's just a matter of time now before they're caught.

Sweet, poetic justice.

I drag a chair over to where Connor will watch the concert from side-stage, and he shoots me a murderous glare. "I do not need that."

"Stubborn ass," I mutter. "The doctor told you to take it easy."

"Taking it easy doesn't mean never using my legs!"

"Press your luck, mister, and there will be an electric scooter waiting for you the minute we leave this show." He grumbles and growls, then drops into the seat with a huff. "Are you done throwing your tantrum?"

It's hard not to laugh at this big, muscular man pouting with his arms crossed and glaring up at me like a petulant child. I lean in, nuzzling my nose against his as the guys form a cluster, preparing to go on stage. "Now, be a good boy, and maybe you will need a wheelchair later."

"Fuck, do you promise?" he asks, eyes wide as he stares up at me, pupils blown out as I chuckle. Our sex life had to slow down with his injury, and my needy man has been begging for more ever since we got home.

"We'll see." I press another kiss to his pouting lips as Eric grabs my arm and nods towards the stage. "Behave!" I call over my shoulder.

In the very spot where this wild ride began, a sense of peace settles as we step onto the stage. The screams and cheers of the crowd are a sonic boom of excitement that almost knocks us back in its intensity. Adrenaline carves a path through our veins as the bass drum thumps, Dmitri counting us in with that beat we know by heart.

I close my eyes, picturing the first show we played all those years ago. Ratty second-hand instruments in dive bars where we had to pay just to get a slot on stage. Stale beer glueing our shoes to the floor, and drunken audiences that weren't even sober enough to listen.

Our lives were full of late-night hours and endless hard work, trying to make ends meet while we chased this shared vision of turning our music into more. Showing up at our day jobs too tired to function, but functioning anyway because we had no other choice.

Garage practices, and neighbors screaming at us to be quiet, then unplugged guitars in dim lighting, struggling to see and hear what we were doing while we tried not to disturb anyone.

Trying to be more when we had nothing but each other.

It was insecurity, and criticism, and failure after failure after failure.

Burnout and heartbreak, and amping each other up when it felt like too much.

Brotherhood and teamwork, tears and laughter, and pushing ourselves until we thought we might break from the pressure.

But most of all, it was love.

Love for the music, and love for each other.

Who could've ever known just how far we would come?

There's a certain reverence in the music tonight, and I think we all feel it. A sense of wholeness that we've made it through so much, and we're here—together until the very end.

Nerves fray in my stomach as Eric steps to the mic and announces we have a surprise, and I take my cue and leave my keyboard. I sit at the concert piano as the curtain is pulled back to reveal its presence.

A month ago, I never would've considered putting myself on display like this. But if the past few months have taught me anything, it's that life is short.

Tomorrow is never promised.

The crowd is quiet, the screaming gone, as the spotlight falls on me. My eyes land on Connor, standing—stubborn ass—on the side stage, beyond the view of the audience. He smiles, and the rest of the world disappears as I focus on that tug of his lips and the dip of his dimples.

The heat from the spotlights is suddenly sunshine on the Carolina coast, and it's just me and him, on a small karaoke stage after a drunken dare.

The night we fell in love, even if neither of us realized it at the time.

It's happiness and soul-soothing rightness, and a thousand life-changing coincidences that led to this moment.

The promise of forever, and the defeat of loneliness.

My fingers splay over the keys, finding their places as I close my eyes and breathe it all in.

And then, I play.