I try to concentrate on my drums, but I can’t. I try to concentrate on the crowd, but I can’t. I try to feel the heat of the lights pouring down over my shoulders, but I can’t. All I can feel is the way my heart is knocking against my ribs at the thought of that ring and what Hailey might say when I give it to her.

I glance over at her again—standing with Rowan and Dee in the shadows of backstage—and she gives me a little wave. She’s wearing tennis shoes, tight jeans, a The Last Ones to Know T-shirt, and an oversized hoodie tied around her waist—and she’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. She claps her hands in encouragement, and I have no idea how I’m going to wait five more months to put a ring on her left hand. But then she smiles—brighter than any star I’ve ever seen—and I know: I can’t. There’s only one thing that would make this night more perfect, and I can’t wait even one more day to do it.

“I want to set them off tonight,” I tell Shawn after our encore, and his green eyes widen.

“Tonight?”

I nod, and Shawn glances at Adam, Joel, and Kit, who meet us backstage at the opposite side from the girls.

“You want to set them off right now?”

“Tonight?” Joel interrupts, his eyes even wider than Shawn’s. “Now?”

I look at Adam and ask, “Is that okay?”

The corners of my childhood friend’s mouth pull way up, and he claps me on the back before yanking me into a hug. “You’ve waited long enough, man. Tonight’s all yours.”

I hug him back, and when Shawn yanks on my shoulder, I hug him too. I hug Joel, and I hug Kit, and when I finally meet Hailey at the other side of the stage, I take her hand in mine. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

In my truck, my fingers race as quickly as my thoughts. I know Hailey picked me over school, but is she sure she wants me for the rest of her life? Does she want to grow old with me like I want to grow old with her? Does she picture the same picket fence, the same porch swing, the same orange sunflowers growing outside our bedroom window and the same banana pepper garden planted out back? My fingertips drum a mile a minute against my leg, and when Hailey looks over at me, she says, “You seem nervous.”

“How?”

She reaches over and clasps her fingers with mine, and I try to stop fidgeting. “Just leftover excitement,” I lie. “Tonight’s show was awesome, wasn’t it?”

Hailey’s eyes light up with her smile. God, she’s beautiful. “I never thought being in the pit could be so much fun,” she says, and I squeeze her hand, remembering what a blast we’d had watching Cutting the Line.

Before the show, Adam had asked what she thought of us when she first watched us perform at Mayhem back in September, and Hailey groaned as she recalled “Armpit Guy” and the terrible time she’d had with Danica. I decided she needed a better memory, and I convinced two kids right up front to let me and Hailey take their spots in exchange for backstage passes. I helped them crawl over the railing, and then I lifted Hailey up and set her down in the pit, front and center. I hopped in after her and stood at her back, my arms protecting her on both sides, and when Cutting the Line came out, the crowd went absolutely insane. I’ve always been more of a balcony guy than a pit guy, but as my body got pinned against Hailey’s backside, I decided this was one show I was definitely going to enjoy.

We jumped up and down together, screaming lyrics Hailey learned on the spot, and the harder she laughed, the harder I laughed with her. By the time it was my turn to take the stage, I was so full of happy energy, I felt like I could float right up to my drums.

“That was definitely the most fun I’ve ever had at a show,” I tell her, and Hailey smirks.

“You just liked that you got to dry-hump me for an hour.”

I can’t help chuckling as I hold on to her hand. “It was my favorite part.”

She blushes in spite of her teasing, and I brush my thumb over her hand as I stare back out at the road.

“Where are we going?” she asks, and my thumb gets restless again, threatening to start drumming against her knuckles.

“Wait and see.”

Fifteen minutes later, we pull down the access road leading to the pond, and I help Hailey out of my truck before sticking my head back inside the passenger door to reach inside my glove compartment. “I think I’ve got a flashlight in here,” I tell her, and I rummage around before closing the glove compartment and joining her outside. I hold the flashlight with one hand and sneak the other into my pocket.

As we walk, I tell her, “I came up here after I got back from touring to make sure they cleaned up, and I found a generator they left up here.”

Hailey looks up at me, and I slip my hand from my pocket to wrap my arm around her. “They just forgot it?”

“Seems like it.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Yeah, but they never came back to get it.”

We reach the clearing, and I tell her to wait for me as I walk inside the tree line to where I know the generator is hidden behind some branches. I flip a switch, and the whole forest flickers to life.

Hailey’s mouth is hanging open when I emerge from the woods, and I smile as she admires the million white Christmas lights I’ve hung in the surrounding trees. It’s been my day project—when I haven’t been writing music or practicing with the guys, I’ve been buying out Home Depot’s holiday lighting section and becoming an expert light hanger.




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