Page 144 of Drive

“Proud of you,” we both said at the same time before we shared a watery smile. She broke away from me and readjusted her grip on her backpack, hesitating before she eyed me over her shoulder.

“Go,” I shooed her away. “I don’t want to cry.”

We were crying anyway as she saluted me before she disappeared. I turned my eyes back to the drummer.

My heart stuttered as the opening piano keys filtered through the air and into the screaming crowd. My eyes drifted back to the man behind the drum set, my hero, and my favorite storyteller, Don Henley.

Don opened his mouth and poured out the opening lines to my favorite Eagles’ song, “Wasted Time”. He sang of a broken-hearted woman trying to find her footing, a woman going through the pieces of her love story and wondering where it went wrong.

Oh, the irony.

It was always the music that reminded me where I’d been and where I was going. Aching from the truth of the lyrics, sweet relief came in the form of the beautiful man who appeared on the other side of the stage. He was desperately searching for someone,for me. I stood waiting, as different tears—tears I’d sworn I didn’t have left—swam in my eyes. And his search stopped when he spotted me, his deep-blue gaze found mine. I saw him visibly relax and for a minute all was right with the world. I expected him to bridge the gap, to come to me. Instead, he leaned against the side of the stage and slid his hands into his suit pockets, his eyes never leaving mine. No matter how much water was under the bridge beneath us, the man gave me as many of my dreams as he could, even after I broke us with my selfish heart. In the end, he gave the greatest gift he could ever give me. Nate gave me music.

In that moment, I let my love show and my tears fall freely as Don’s raspy voice conveyed more to him than I ever could. Because our love was real. It was truth. And I would never take what we had for granted.

I lifted my duffle bag from the floor and threw it over my shoulder as the last notes of our song played and our story ended on that stage. I took one last look at him, memorizing his details while I pressed my hand to my heart.

I love you, Nate Butler. Thank you for loving me.

My seat belt sounded as I hastily unbuckled it after seeing my husband standing in the driveway waiting . . . for me. His hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes searching for mine. Tears blurred my vision as I hiccupped through my sobs with a grateful heart. Because no matter how far I strayed from him, he waited.

Barely able to shove the car in park, my heart thundered as his soul spoke to mine across the distance. Through the beams of my headlights and the drizzle pinging on my skin, I launched myself into his waiting arms. “I love you so damn much,” I cried as he gripped me tightly to him, relief evident and seeping between us as I sobbed in his hold. My heart home, my life wrapped around me. Because I was safe, just like he told me I was all those years ago.

“Hey,” he said, holding me like I was his life force. “Hey, hey, baby, what happened?”

I answered with a feverish kiss as it began to rain around us. I tasted him, breathed him in, his scent, and his warmth filling me to the brink and spilling over.

“I missed you,” I murmured, placing reverent kisses all over his face, his jaw, and his soft lips.

“Stella, what happened?”

I pulled back and gave a knowing smile. “We happened.Wehappened, Reid. And I’m so fucking glad I asked you to kiss me.”

He fisted my hair in a possessive grip, his beautiful green gaze flitting over my face. “I promise you won’t have to ask for that again, Mrs. Crowne.” He pressed hungry lips to mine, his tongue sweeping gently before our flames touched and we ignited, hot and burning bright blue, high enough for the stars to notice. When he pulled away, I saw our past the same way I saw our future when we collided back into each other’s present.

The music had led me back to him, solidifying us, and I would forever follow. He was my song, my soul, my everything, and his love had propelled me forward into the woman I wanted to be. And that woman would burn out with the man who was made to keep her warm.

He wiped the tears away as I stared up at him. “How did you know I was almost home?”

“The way I’ve always known when you’re close,” he said, delving deep into my mouth and leaving me breathless. He pulled away after a lingering peck on my lips. “I felt it.” He watched my face closely.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Never better,never,” I said, gripping his face in my hands, longing for more. Even only inches away, with our bodies aligned and pressed close, I would never get close enough.

“Welcome home,” he murmured warmly, ignoring the rain before he dipped his head and devoured me, a hungry man who was done waiting, reclaiming me with his heart as the lock reinforced in mine, with us safely inside.

When he pulled away, I had only one request. “Take me inside and waste me, Mr. Rock Star.”

“Gladly, Grenade.”

EPILOGUE

“Who Knew”

Pink

TWO YEARS AGO