Page 54 of Pretty When It Burns (When The Lights Go Down #1)

Chapter fifty

"STAY" - Justin Bieber & The Kid Laroi

Grayson

Six weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since the accident.

Since I almost lost everything. Since the almost proposal—where she’d told me not yet with tears in her eyes and my heart in her hands.

We’d stayed in Austin long enough to make sure the fuckers who hurt my girl would stay behind bars, but now we’re back in LA.

Mia’s family has gone back to the East Coast, but the rest of our crew has returned to the band house.

Things are slowly getting back to normal, and I’m counting down the seconds until I can ask her to marry me properly.

Before she left, Makenna made sure to remind me—loudly—that she’d warned me Mia would make me work for it.

I intend to prove to my future sister-in-law that I absolutely will.

Mia is healing—slowly, stubbornly, like she does with everything.

It kills me to watch her wince when she reaches too far or laughs too hard, but the color is back in her cheeks.

The spark in her eyes that I love so much has returned.

She’s regaining her footing, editing again, picking up her camera, easing back into her world—our world—one frame at a time.

The ring, the one she hasn’t even seen yet, is tucked carefully away in my nightstand.

I check on it every morning like some sort of gremlin hoarding treasure.

I have one chance to make this moment everything she’s ever dreamed of—something she’ll actually want to say yes to—and that means I need help.

That’s how I found myself in our practice room, surrounded by all the people who love Mia almost as much as I do.

Tony sits backwards on a chair, twirling a drumstick in his hand, looking like a chaotic youth pastor.

Brandon is cross-legged on the floor with his emotional support burrito from Chipotle.

Eric and Rylee are curled up in the leather loveseat laughing at something on her phone while Johanna sits on top of a stack of amps looking entirely too calm for someone who’s so invested.

I lay it out for them. Simple. Honest. Big.

“So, I think you all know I want to marry Mia,” I say. “I want to do it the right way this time. I need your help, guys. I need her to say yes.”

Tony lets out a low whistle. “Well, it has to be at a show. That’s very Mia-and-Grayson coded.”

Everyone’s eyes light up at the suggestion, but Brandon holds up a hand.

“Let’s just all agree now—no ring on the jumbotron. No one needs to see a forty-foot close-up of a trembling hand holding a diamond.”

“My hand wouldn’t be trembling,” I say flatly.

“It was last time,” Johanna smirks. “The nurse at the hospital said she watched the whole thing. Said it looked like you needed a bed.”

“I was stressed! And she was definitely exaggerating.”

Eric snorts as he and Rylee share a knowing look. “Sure she was.”

“Can we focus on this proposal?” I groan, dragging both hands down my face. “It’s important. You guys do want her to say yes to this one, right?”

“I’m so focused,” Tony says, already scribbling something on the notepad he keeps by his drum kit.

“Here’s the plan—you invite her on stage to sing Collapse Into You with us.

Last note rings out. Lights drop. Spotlight hits center stage.

You pop the question. She says yes. Crowd loses their minds.

Internet breaks—again. Music history made. ”

The whole room is in quiet astonishment at how much thought Tony—the only one of us who has never been in a serious relationship—has put into this.

“Damn, dude,” Brandon says. “That’s actually good.”

Tony beams as if he’s just brokered world peace.

“We could even have a confetti cannon!” he adds excitedly.

“No confetti,” Johanna and Rylee say in unison.

Still weird that those two agree on anything, but honestly? It’s kind of nice.

“Art is dead,” Tony mutters, dramatically scribbling something off his pad and tossing his drumstick toward the corner.

“Tony, having her come out during Collapse is a great idea,” Rylee says, sitting up straighter. “We can tell her the label wants their own footage of her on stage with you guys. I don’t think she would question that.”

“She’ll definitely question that,” Johanna says dryly. “She hasn’t stepped on stage since the guys signed. Not since before her accident. She probably thinks the label wants her nowhere near it. But we’ll clear it with them. We just need to keep her distracted until it’s time.”

“I’ll get Jake onboard,” Brandon says. “He can corral the Label Gods and get the venue to greenlight it. Hell, he’s probably already halfway through a spreadsheet for this and doesn’t even know why.”

“If we use the same venue where Mia first showed up,” Eric adds. “I can get the lighting guy to time everything perfectly. I know the dude running the board there.”

“Perfect,” Johanna says, pointing her pen at Eric. “That’s gold.”

The room buzzes as ideas fly. The planning has this high-stakes, ride-or-die intensity of a full-blown military operation—and I love it. I love how much they care. About her. About us.

Brandon is already texting Jake, who responds in all caps and probably does a fist-pump from across town. Eric and Tony are mapping out the stage cues. Rylee and Johanna disappear and return with a garment bag full of outfit options for Mia.

“This is so much better than hospital room desperation,” Tony says proudly, tossing the notepad on the coffee table.

I groan. “Can we not keep talking about that?”

“But he’s right,” Eric says. “This is how it should’ve happened.”

“What should we call the plan?” Rylee asks, hanging the garment bag on my mic stand. “Every great plan needs a name!”

“Grayson—no peeking!” Johanna says, slapping my wrist away as I try to look inside the bag.

“That’s a terrible operation name,” Tony says. “I’ve got one, anyway—Operation Collapse Into Yes.”

He even makes a rainbow motion with his hands as he says it.

Brandon groans, looking up from furiously typing on his phone. “Tony, no.”

“I love it,” Johanna admits with a sigh. “I hate that I love it.”

Eric chuckles. “It is kind of perfect. It’s your song.”

“I’m in,” Rylee agrees.

I just shake my head, but I’m grinning so hard it hurts.

“Fine. Operation Collapse Into Yes it is.”

And just like that, it’s all set.

The plan. The people. The moment that’s going to change my life as I know it forever.

I just have to survive the next forty-eight hours without giving anything away.

God help me.

Please let her say yes.

I’ve been a complete disaster the last two days leading up to this night. If Mia doesn’t know something’s up by now, it’ll be incredible. The guys have even joked about sending me on a “business trip” just to keep me from spoiling the surprise.

Mia had her final post-op check-up this morning. Her new doctor here in LA gave her the all-clear—stitches out, incisions healed, ribs stable.

“She can resume more strenuous activity,” he’d said with a clinical nod.

I’d made damn sure to clarify what all kinds of activity meant.

Mia had smacked my arm, cheeks pink, but the doctor just chuckled and told us to be careful. “But yes,” he added. “You're good to go.”

Good to go.

The words have been sending shivers down my spine.

Now she’s curled up on our bed—the one that used to just belong to me but now only feels like home when she’s in it—in her gray drawstring sweatpants and one of my old Catastrophically Charismatic t-shirts, her checkered Vans discarded by the door.

She looks soft and cozy, and so fucking beautiful it almost physically hurts.

There’s something about seeing her in my clothes that has always made me come undone—it proves she’s mine in a way I don’t need the whole world to see to believe.

I can’t wait to put my ring on her finger so the whole world knows it, too, though.

The last six weeks have been torture.

Six weeks of watching her heal—slowly, stubbornly, achingly. Of shifting her pillows, lifting her gently out of the tub, coaxing her through moments of pain I couldn’t take away. Pain that I still feel like I caused.

Six weeks of seeing her bare, vulnerable, soaked in warm water and moonlight—and not touching her. At least, not the way I wanted to.

I’d run cold water in the shower after every bath I helped her with, jerking off behind a closed door like a goddamn teenager while the love of my life waited for her painkillers to kick in on the other side.

I cross the room, climbing into bed with her, and it doesn’t take long for my hands to find her hips and tug her close to me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t position her ass perfectly against my dick, because I want her to know I’m here.

“If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do anything,” I murmur in her ear, even though it’s taking all the restraint I have to not rip her clothes off right here, right now.

She rolls over a little so she can look into my eyes and gives me a sleepy little smile that damn near knocks me out.

“I am ready,” she says softly. “I miss you.”

That’s all it takes.

I’ve missed her, too, more than anything—even though she’s been right here, we both know that’s not what she means.

I move closer to her to press a kiss to her forehead and each of her cheeks before finding her lips.

“I’ll be gentle, sweetheart,” I whisper as I lift her gently to remove her—my—shirt. “I’m not trying to almost lose you again. But fuck, Mia… I can’t wait to touch you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. About this.”

My breath catches a little as she’s now bare from the waist up, the shirt tossed aside. Her scars are healing. The largest one, about four or five inches long on the upper part of her stomach, is still a little pink—a reminder of a nightmare I may never fully forgive myself for.

But even through the pain, she’s still the most gorgeous girl in the world to me.

She tries to turn away, wanting to shield herself from my gaze, but I stop her.