Page 32

FOURTEEN

W e’re in Seattle, third-to-last stop on the tour. Only five days left, and I’m already counting down the hours. After this, it’s San Francisco, then LA. And after? I finally get to go home .

I’m not the only one who’s been feeling it, either.

You can just feel it in the air tonight; we’re so close to the finish line, and people are just itching to go back to their loved ones.

The energy is fucking electric tonight. People are louder, grinning wider, dancing harder, like they’re trying to squeeze every last drop out of the chaos before it ends.

The club they chose to go to after the gig is fucking packed , and I’m kinda glad we can stay in the VIP lounge in a corded-off area to the right.

The music’s still blasting loud here, and lights flicker and flash over the crowd, but at least there’s room to chill if you need a break in between dancing.

I’ve been making the rounds with the crew, bouncing between our group and some of Six of Hearts’ people. If I’m not dancing with Ava that is, dodging the occasional line of coke being offered like it’s fucking Halloween candy.

But despite the noise and sweat and fucking wild energy, I can’t stop smiling as I sip my drink. And I’m not only feeling the fucking vibe tonight because we’re this close to being done, this close to getting back to my Ty.

It’s because, finally, people are talking about other shit again instead of… well, me and Mick.

Mick’s still Mick. Still obnoxious as fuck, still hovering or staring at me like he’s doing now from the other side of the lounge.

But he can just keep on looking, because people don’t care anymore.

The surrounding buzz kinda fizzled out a while ago.

It’s old news, and I think they don’t buy the duet act anymore, since it’s the same damn thing every show. And I think he knows it, too.

Even with all the media attention, all the twisted fucked-up headlines, all the speculation on socials…

Tyler’s been a fucking rock. He never wavered.

Never lashed out. Never questioned me. I know for a fact that if the roles had been reversed, I would’ve lost my shit at some point.

But not him, nope. He held on. To us. For me.

He’s awesome like that. To be honest, there were moments I wasn’t sure we’d make it. I hoped. I dreamed. But there was always that sliver of doubt gnawing at the back of my brain, whispering that maybe it’d be too much. That maybe we’d break under the pressure.

And at times? Yeah, it was too much.

But we didn’t break.

We fucking pulled through.

He pulled through.

I know that if it weren’t for Ty, we wouldn’t be as strong as we are now.

And now, with the finish line in sight, the thought of finally heading home has me so freaking giddy, I’m buzzing from the inside out.

I want to celebrate. I want to let loose.

I want to drink, and dance, and laugh my ass off with my friends.

So, yeah, I just dropped into one of the half-circle leather booths tucked into the back of the lounge, fresh drink in hand, legs stretched out and trying to catch my breath after Ava dragged me through a couple of songs on the dance floor like we were headlining Coachella.

Which we will, someday.

“Judging by that smile,” Missy drawls, dropping onto the armrest beside me, “I’m guessing we’re officially in party mode?”

“Fuck yes,” I grin, holding up my glass before she clinks hers against mine. “Only five more days, Miss.”

“Well, who would’ve thought that’s what’s got you grinning like a dumbass.”

“I can feel the sarcasm there,” I deadpan.

“Fuck off. Your smile’s so damn big you look like you’re on molly. You take something? People are popping like crazy tonight. Which is stupid, because we have to get on the road in a couple of hours. It’s a long drive to San Francisco.”

I take another big gulp, welcoming the cool burn, and shake my head. “Well, they can sleep it off on the bus. And nope, you know I don’t do drugs.”

I tried that shit twice. Once back when I first started out with my old band, everyone told me it was part of the lifestyle and I was too green to stand up for myself.

The second time was with Her Majesty herself, and judging by the shit-eating grin now playing on her red-painted lips, she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“Ugh. Still an amateur,” she says fondly, ruffling my hair before leaning in. “This stuff they got here? It’s not that potent at all. It doesn’t come close to what we had at that festival we went to for your twentieth. That was the actual shit. I swear I saw God.”

I snort into my drink. “Yeah. You saw God, I saw the inside of a porta-potty for six hours straight.”

Missy grins like it was the best night of her life.

I smile at the memory. Even though I’d already figured out by then that I’d much rather have a drink and dance my ass off than use drugs, my friends definitely went full-on Dutch with it and I tagged along. Festivals and party drugs are practically a cultural phenomenon back in my home country.

“I love you, Miss. But just because you didn’t sleep for three days straight and had the time of your life doesn’t mean it was like that for all of us,” I say, tipping my glass at her. “The molly really didn’t agree with me and I’m not that eager to try again.”

She nudges me with her fishnet-clad knee, grinning. “I know. But it was all tested stuff, and it was fun to try once.”

“Once?” I raise a brow. “So last month doesn’t count?”

“The good stuff, I mean. Like I said, X really isn’t that potent here. I popped half a pill, had an amazing night with Bowie, and everything was fine.”

Yeah. Until you pop the wrong pill. But I keep my mouth shut.

I know she’s careful, as careful as you can be with that kind of shit.

And I’m always around to have her back. We’ve had a buddy system since forever.

She knows how I feel about it, and I know she’ll do whatever the fuck she wants, anyway.

Doesn’t mean I won’t keep an eye on her to try to keep her safe.

I down the last of my drink just as Ava appears, weaving through the crowd like a pro, holding a tray high above her head.

“Shots delivery!” she yells over the thumping music, grinning wide as she slides the tray onto our table before she sits next to me.

Tequila. The slices of lime kinda give it away.

“God, I love you,” Missy says, already grabbing one.

“Two rounds, honey, and stat,” Ava says. “We’ve got more dancing to do.”

Asher’s not here tonight. He stayed back on the bus as usual.

Big clubs aren’t his thing. Too loud, too crowded.

I get it. But that means it’s officially my job to keep the girls entertained, and safe, especially Ava.

She’s like me—loves the music, lives for the beat, and could spend hours on the dance floor without ever needing a break.

I really fucking hope the DJ keeps playing like he does. Because tonight? I need to move . To let it out. To leave every ounce of stress and shit from the last eight months right here on this floor, on this tour. Even if it’s only for a couple of hours more.

We knock back the first in one go. It burns hot and sharp, and is exactly what I need. Ava cheers, her bubblegum-pink curls bouncing as she throws her hands in the air like she just won something. Missy laughs as she slides off the armrest, nuzzling in against my side.

“You two bitches are stuck with me forever, you know that, right?” I say, grinning as I lean back and toss my arms around their shoulders, hugging them close.

“Pinky promise?” Missy says immediately, sticking out her manicured finger without hesitation. “That we’ll never let this shit get to our heads. No diva meltdowns and no dressing room tantrums. Just dressing room fucks,” she winks.

I snort a laugh and hook my pinky with hers, already starting to feel the warmth spread, the edges of everything going a little hazy. “Pinky promise it is. Too bad we can’t do a penis promise.”

Ava blinks at me. “A what now?”

“Nothing important,” I say with a grin, nudging her. “Come on, babes. Give us the ceremonial Encore seal of eternal friendship or whatever the fuck this is.”

Ava rolls her eyes but grins wide, then wraps both her pinkies around ours. “One’s for Asher. Even if he’s not here, he’s still one of us.”

“Always.”

“Encore forever?”

“Encore forever,” we vow, soft and serious, before downing the second shot and sealing the deal.

Ava nudges me while I’m still shuddering from the tequila burn. “So… how’s lover boy doing?”

I smile down into my empty shot glass. “Counting down the days,” I say, voice a little quieter than before. “Just like me.”

“Aww, you’re so cute! And that pic from the other day with him and Lam? Ugh. My heart.”

I grin. I fucking loved the pic of Ty and Lam passed out on the couch that Tuck sent. Fast asleep, with Lam drooling on Ty’s head like a damn golden retriever. She’s right, it was fucking adorable.

Honestly, I love our friends for doing this. The constant stream of pictures. The never-ending texts. I love them for helping us through this, for keeping us connected with every ridiculous update.

Ever since Cardboard Ty showed up, there’s been this mutual group chat with the band and Ty’s crew. It started as a joke; just random snapshots of his cardboard doppelg?nger on the road.

Cardboard Ty on the bus, serving as a wayward coat rack.

Cardboard Ty at soundcheck, front row like the VIP he is.

Cardboard Ty missing his head because someone thought it’d be hilarious to let him crowd surf.

That was the green light, apparently. It’s shifted into something more now. Like there’s this silent agreement between us all to document our lives apart for each other. It’s hilarious. It’s stupid. And it’s honestly been keeping me sane these last weeks.