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I look at Dana, Keane, Ajay, and Hendrix and suspect their expressions look exactly like mine. “Next year is going to be fucking stellar,” I say as we start cheering. “Holy shit, Dick Clark’s Rocking Eve.”
“I’ve always had a crush on Ryan Seacrest,” Dana says.
“You would,” Hendrix added.
After a few minutes, we calm down, only for Hendrix to add his two cents. “Since I didn’t get a chance to say anything before the boss called,” Hendrix says. “Your songwriting’s been fire since you two started collaborating. If this is what gets you writing like that, I’m all for it.”
“Remember that song you wrote after the Boston show?” Keane adds. “The one you said came to you in a dream? That was about her, wasn’t it?”
I feel heat creep up my neck. “Maybe.”
“Maybe my ass,” Ajay laughs. “You’ve been writing love songs for months and pretending they’re about general heartbreak.”
“Thanks, guys. Really.” I feel lighter already, like a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying has been lifted.
We spend the next hour reading Elle’s email, detailing everything that’ll happen after the concert. This is such a logistic nightmare with potential complications, and I’m glad I get to be told where to go and when.
Madison Square Gardenis everything I dreamed it would be and more. The venue has this weight to it, this sense of history that you can feel in the air. Every legendary musician has played this stage: The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, my dad’s band 4225 West. And now us.
The energy in the room is insane! Twenty thousand people singing every word back to us, the lights, the sound bouncing off the walls of this legendary venue. But what makes it perfect is seeing Justine in the wings, watching us with that smile that’s just for me.
She’s wearing black leather pants and a sheer top that catches the stage lights, her hair loose, resting above hershoulders. When our eyes meet across the stage, she gives me a small wave, and my heart does this stupid flutter thing that would probably embarrass me if I cared.
We open with “Reckless,” and from the first chord, I know tonight is going to be special. The crowd is with us from note one, their energy feeding into ours until it feels like we’re all part of the same organism. Ajay’s drums are thunderous, Hendrix’s guitar is soaring, Keane’s fingers fly over the keys, and Dana nails every high note flawlessly.
But it’s when we bring Justine out for our collaboration that something magical happens. The crowd loses their minds when she walks onto the stage. She’s become a fan favorite over the course of the tour and hearing twenty thousand people scream her name gives me chills.
“New York City!” she shouts into the mic, and the roar that goes up is deafening. “Are you ready to ring in the new year?”
We launch into “Flame & Ash,” and Justine’s voice fills every corner of this massive space. When she hits the high note in the bridge, I swear the whole arena holds its breath. Her voice is pure power and raw emotion, and watching her command this stage, own this moment, makes me fall for her all over again.
During the guitar solo, she moves closer to me, and we share the mic for the final chorus. Our voices blend together, and when she looks at me during the line about seeing through facades, I forget we’re performing for thousands of people. It’s just us, lost in the music we’ve created together.
The song ends to deafening applause, and Justine grabs my hand, raising our joined hands above our heads. The crowd goes wild, and I realize this might be the moment . . . this could be our public declaration right here.
But something tells me to wait.
We finish the set with “Come Undone,” our voices intertwining in ways that feel almost intimate despite themassive crowd. When the last note fades and the lights go down, Justine throws her arms around my neck, and for a second, I forget where we are.
“That was incredible,” she breathes against my ear, and I have to resist the urge to kiss her right there on stage.
Backstage is chaos. Congratulations, high-fives, everyone talking at once about the performance.
“Elle says the car will be here in twenty minutes,” Chandler tells us in the greenroom.
I find a quiet corner and pull Justine aside. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” She’s glowing, still riding the high from the performance. “That was amazing up there. Did you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“That connection. Like the whole arena was breathing with us.”
I nod. “MSG has that effect. But it wasn’t just the venue. It was you. The way you owned that stage . . .”
She blushes, and it’s adorable. “We owned it. Together.”
I kiss the back of her hand and then tuck her into my side as security rushes us out the door and into the waiting van. Bottles of champagne are passed around, and the girls from Plum drink even though they’re not of age. I don’t think anyone cares. It’s New Year’s Eve; everyone needs to have a great time.