Page 129 of Becoming Us

“Stop ogling our drummer. His boyfriend will gouge your eyes out.” Brice was tousling his hair in the mirror next to ours.

Paxton sat cross-legged in the corner, eyes closed, headphones on, sipping hot tea. Always unbothered. I would never not be baffled by that man. If you asked me, he looked about a gazillion times cooler than I ever could.

“As if. Atty is the sweetest puppy dog on the planet.” Jaden crouched down to tighten the laces on his boots.

A laugh slipped past my lips. “Did you just call him Atty?”

Jaden sat up wide-eyed. “That’s not what we call him?”

“That’s what Noah calls him,” Brice said. “It’s like me calling Lexie ‘baby’ just because you do.”

Jaden’s tan face darkened. “Oh shit. I think I’ve said it to his face too.”

I tousled my hair with my fingers. “That’s okay. He probably didn’t mind. Besides, that’s not the only thing I call him.” I grinned as they responded with exaggerated catcalls and wolf whistles.

The door swung open, and one of the staff poked his head in. “Ten-minute warning, guys.”

A million butterflies took flight in my stomach.

We’d been rehearsing nonstop all week—at the garage, at my studio. And it worked. We worked. But standing in front of a crowd? That was different. That was terrifying.

Maybe I’d bitten off more than I could chew.

“Go time,” Paxton said calmly, cutting through the noise.

I found his eyes, and he gave me a steady smile.

Brice and Jaden were bouncing around, grabbing their stuff and shouting over each other. Somehow, they made the chaos work. I stared back at my reflection.

I had cut off a shirt for this—similar to the one Atty used to love. It made me feel a little self-conscious looking at myself in it now. The fit was so different. I knew my arms looked stronger—that was the whole point. They’d look better behind the kit. But still…it felt like a costume. A couple of chains hung from my neck, my dad’s medallion hidden beneath my shirt. I’d styled my hair and swapped out my hoop for a dangling cross. The whole look screamedwannabe rock star.

Maybe I should change.

“Hey,” Paxton said, appearing beside me. “You got this, man. Just trust your body to take you there.”

“Trust is feeling a little fickle right about now.”

He nudged me toward the door. As soon as it opened, the full crash of sound hit me—music, voices, footsteps. The crowd was definitely bigger than before.

I held my drumsticks in my hands, twirling one nervously between my fingers.

“Trust me on this, Noah. You’ve never felt what you’re about to. This kind of energy—there’s nothing like it.” Paxton leaned in, his eyes steady on mine. “Don’t fight it. Trust your gut, and let your body do the rest.” He clapped me twice on the back, then walked off to talk to a guy by the stage.

My palms were slick against the sticks, the sweat making them harder to grip. Definitely not ideal. I wiped one hand on my jeans, then edged closer to the curtain and peeked outside.

Holy fucking hell. That’s way more people than I was expecting.

I swallowed hard and scanned the crowd. It wasn’t long before I spotted his taller frame right in front of the stage. He was chatting with Ezra and Holly, smiling—dimples showing, eyes crinkling—and the sight alone was enough to calm the erratic rhythm in my chest.

With both sticks in one hand, I reached for my necklace, pulling the medallion free. I pressed the cold metal to my lips. I let my eyes close, trying to harness the nerves, the anticipation, the fear of it all—and set it on a new path. My lungs expanded as I took in a big inhale and held it.

Hope you’re watching. You’d get a kick out of this.

Also, please, god, don’t let your stage fright be hereditary.

I kissed the medallion and tucked it back under my shirt.

The lights shifted. Someone waved. Suddenly, we were walking onto the stage. Cheers erupted around us like a wall of sound. I moved to the kit, adjusted the stool, rolled my shoulders back, and twisted the drumsticks once in my fingers.