Page 37 of The Road to Forever (Beaumont: Next Generation #7)

TWENTY-FIVE

T he tour bus pulls into Manhattan just as the city starts to wake up, and I can’t help but feel like everything’s different now. Not just the skyline with its towering buildings or the energy—though New York always has this electric pulse that gets under your skin—but me.

I’m different.

I’ve been back on tour for three days, and I still haven’t told the guys about Justine and me. Not officially. But Dana keeps giving me these knowing looks, and Hendrix asked me yesterday if I was “finally going to make it official with our girl.” Even they can see it.

The conversation with my family at Christmas changed something fundamental in me.

Hearing that none of them actually liked Nola, seeing how easily they accepted my breakup, watching my dad’s face when I told him about Justine—it all showed me what I’d been avoiding.

I’m tired of living my life for other people’s approval. Tired of second-guessing what I want.

What I want is to walk around New York City with her band, probably drinking coffee and going through every boutique they can find. What I want is a future that doesn’t involve walking on eggshells or pretending to be someone I’m not.

“Nervous?” Keane asks as he slides into the seat across from me in the bus lounge. We’re parked outside Madison Square Garden, and the reality of playing here—selling out MSG—is starting to hit.

“About the show? Nah.” I set down my coffee and look at him. “Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you guys about.”

Dana appears from the back, Hendrix behind her with his guitar slung over his shoulder. They both look at me expectantly, settling into the booth like they’ve been waiting for this conversation.

“What’s up?” Ajay asks, though there’s something in his expression that tells me he already knows.

I take a breath. Here goes nothing. “Justine and I are together. Like, really together. Not just tour hookups or whatever. I’m falling in love with her.”

The silence stretches for about three seconds before Dana breaks into a grin. “Fucking finally!”

“Dude,” Hendrix says, shaking his head. “We’ve been waiting for you to figure that out for months.”

“You’re not surprised?”

“Surprised?” Keane laughs. “Quinn, the sexual tension between you two could power this entire city. We were starting to wonder if you were blind.”

“I mean, we all saw it,” Dana adds. “The way you light up when she walks into a room. The way she looks at you when you’re performing. Hell, the way you two write together—it’s like watching two people have a conversation no one else can hear.”

Relief floods through me. “So, you’re cool with it? I know it might complicate things with Elle managing both bands?—”

“Elle wants you?—”

“Happy,” Elle’s voice breaks through our meeting her face takes over Chandler’s phone.

“That’s what your sister wants,” she says with a huff.

“Your manager wants her bands on the top of the charts, and right now Sinful Distraction and Plum’s popularity is skyrocketing.

I know I should be mad, maybe throw some shit because you didn’t tell me when you were home, but I’m not.

At least not as your manager. As your sister, your ass is grass, Quinn.

I own you . . . but I’m happy for you. And Justine makes you happy. End of discussion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me. My two biggest bands are about to play to a sellout crowd at MSG on NYE and . . . shit I need more acronyms.”

We all laugh.

“Chandler is in charge today. Do what she says because I have her ear,” Elle says as Chandler waves her clipboard in the air.

“Oh, by the way,” she says before she hangs up. “After the show, you’re heading over to Times Square. You’ll perform one song tonight. You can thank me later. I’ll email you the specs. I’m so pissed I’m not there to watch you guys, but I’ll be up, waiting for that ball to drop!”

We sit there, dazed, and probably slightly confused if the look on Hendrix’s face is anything to go by.

“Did she?—”

“She did?—”

“Holy shit.”

“Yes, she did,” Chandler says, confirming what we all thought we heard.

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 Garden is 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 her shoulders. 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 everyone needs to have a great time.

Times Square on New Year’s Eve is controlled chaos. The cold December air hits us like a slap, but the adrenaline keeps us warm. There are barricades everywhere, cameras, people bundled up in winter coats waiting for midnight. The energy is electric, anticipatory.

“This is insane,” Justine says, staying close to me as we navigate through the backstage area they’ve set up. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“It’s crazy!”

The production team briefs us quickly. We’re scheduled to perform at 11:30, thirty minutes before midnight. After that, we’re supposed to stick around for the countdown and the ball drop. Simple enough.

There’s no need to worry about the bajillion people who are about to watch us perform or the fact that we could sound like shit because we won’t have sound check.

Nope, nothing to worry about.

“You okay?” Justine asks, noticing my silence.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how this time last year, I thought I knew exactly what my life was going to look like.”

She leans against me, her warmth seeping through my jacket. “And now?”

“Now I have no idea what comes next, and I’ve never been happier about being wrong.”

Ryan Seacrest introduces us to the crowd and the millions watching at home, and suddenly we’re on a platform in the middle of Times Square with cameras everywhere. The crowd stretches as far as I can see, a sea of faces lit by phone screens and neon signs.

We’re doing two songs, one with Justine. Pretty much a repeat of what we performed an hour or so ago. Only vastly different. I step up to the mic and my heart pounds in ways I’d only dreamed of.

“New York City,” I yell into the microphone. My voice echoes for what seems like miles and miles. Ajay starts us off and there’s no turning back. This moment won’t make or break us, but if we don’t do well, people will talk about it for a while.

Dana stands next to me, bundled in fake fur and some white hat.

Everything about tonight goes down in my book as a first. First time playing a sold-out crowd at MSG.

First time playing for the people of Times Square on NYE.

First time singing outside and seeing my breath.

The latter is only cool because of where I am.

When Justine comes on stage, her face is flashed on every screen. The crowd, once again, goes wild. She’s definitely a fan favorite. I think after tonight, her popularity is going to soar, and I’m here for it.

Despite the cold and the chaos, something magical happens. I’m watching Justine sing her heart out on national TV and realize that I want everyone to know that I’m starting the year off with a happy heart.

We hit the last notes and finish the song staring into each other’s eyes. The crowd quiets, caught up in the intimacy of the moment, and it feels like we’re performing just for each other.

Instead of stepping back like we’re supposed to, I stay at the mic. This is it. Everything about this moment feels perfect.

“Can I say something?” I ask the crowd, and they cheer in response.

Justine looks at me, confused but trusting. I can see in her eyes that she knows something’s about to happen.

“We all know we’re supposed to make resolutions tonight,” I say, my eyes never leaving Justine’s. “So here it is. This year, I let go. And I lean in.”

The crowd cheers, but they don’t understand yet. Justine does, though. Her smile is radiant, and I can see tears gathering in her eyes.

“I let go of being afraid. Of worrying about what people think. Of playing it safe.” I turn fully to face her now, the mic still in my hand. “And I lean into the things that matter. The music. The people I love. The woman standing right here who changed everything for me.”

Justine’s eyes go wide. “Quinn?—”

But I’m already reaching for her, my free hand cupping her face. The crowd has figured it out now, and the cheering is deafening, but all I can hear is my heartbeat and the sound of Justine’s quiet laugh.

“Happy New Year, Justine.”

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, until she melts into me, and it becomes something more. Something real and honest and completely ours, even though we’re sharing it with millions of people. Her lips are cold from the winter air but warm underneath, and she tastes like mint and possibility.

When we break apart, the jumbotron above us shows our faces, and I realize this moment is being broadcast across the country. Tomorrow, everyone will know. There’s no going back now.

“Was that your resolution?” Justine asks, her forehead resting against mine.

“Part of it,” I say. “The other part is loving you for . . . shit, I don’t know, Justine. What I do know is I’m not waiting another second to start living a life with you.”

She laughs, tears spilling over. “That’s a hell of a resolution, Quinn James.”

“I mean every word.”

As the countdown to midnight begins around us—ten, nine, eight—I think about everything that had to happen to get us here.

Nola leaving.

The tour.

Finding myself in the music again.

Finding Justine.

Seven, six, five . . .

Sometimes the best things come from the worst moments. Sometimes you have to lose everything to realize what you actually want.

Four, three, two . . .

“I love you,” I whisper against Justine’s ear.

“I love you too,” she whispers back.

One.

The ball drops. Fireworks explode overhead. Confetti falls like snow. And in the middle of Times Square, on national television, with the whole world watching, I kiss the woman I love and know that this—right here, right now—is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

The road to forever led me straight to her.