Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
AFTER
Istared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to keep my hand steady as I traced the outline of my bottom lashes with black eyeliner. I aimed for a light touch, a soft line. Tilting my head, I checked the angle, then smudged it gently with my finger.
Jaden sat on a stool beside me, mouth slightly agape. “That looks fucking amazing. Where’d you learn to do that? It’s better than Lexie’s stuff,” he said, raising his brows at his own reflection and giving himself a once-over.
“Stuff I picked up from what feels like a lifetime ago,” I said. “Want me to check yours? It looks great to me.”
“Are you doing anything else?” he asked, still watching me.
“I’m adding a little gold.” I held up the pen for him.
“Where?”
Leaning closer to the mirror, I traced a fine golden line from the center of my eyelid, winging it slightly at the corner. I turned to show him.
“Wow…”
I chuckled as I attempted the same on the other eye. “It’s just a little eye makeup, Jay. Nothing earth-shattering.”
“You look ridiculously cool, Noah. People are going to lose their shit over you.”
A flush crept up my neck at the thought. It really did feel like a lifetime ago that I was used to hearing those kinds of things—used to knowing how to play the part and act nonchalant. Right now, I felt anything but.
Even inside the dressing room, the pulse of music and distant voices filtered through, setting my nerves on edge.
“Stop ogling our drummer. His boyfriend will gouge your eyes out.” Brice was tousling his hair in the mirror next to ours.
Paxton sat cross-legged in the corner, eyes closed, headphones on, sipping hot tea. Always unbothered. I would never not be baffled by that man. If you asked me, he looked about a gazillion times cooler than I ever could.
“As if. Atty is the sweetest puppy dog on the planet.” Jaden crouched down to tighten the laces on his boots.
A laugh slipped past my lips. “Did you just call him Atty?”
Jaden sat up wide-eyed. “That’s not what we call him?”
“That’s what Noah calls him,” Brice said. “It’s like me calling Lexie ‘baby’ just because you do.”
Jaden’s tan face darkened. “Oh shit. I think I’ve said it to his face too.”
I tousled my hair with my fingers. “That’s okay. He probably didn’t mind. Besides, that’s not the only thing I call him.” I grinned as they responded with exaggerated catcalls and wolf whistles.
The door swung open, and one of the staff poked his head in. “Ten-minute warning, guys.”
A million butterflies took flight in my stomach.
We’d been rehearsing nonstop all week—at the garage, at my studio. And it worked. We worked. But standing in front of a crowd? That was different. That was terrifying.
Maybe I’d bitten off more than I could chew.
“Go time,” Paxton said calmly, cutting through the noise.
I found his eyes, and he gave me a steady smile.
Brice and Jaden were bouncing around, grabbing their stuff and shouting over each other. Somehow, they made the chaos work. I stared back at my reflection.
I had cut off a shirt for this—similar to the one Atty used to love.
It made me feel a little self-conscious looking at myself in it now.
The fit was so different. I knew my arms looked stronger—that was the whole point.
They’d look better behind the kit. But still…
it felt like a costume. A couple of chains hung from my neck, my dad’s medallion hidden beneath my shirt.
I’d styled my hair and swapped out my hoop for a dangling cross.
The whole look screamed wannabe rock star.
Maybe I should change.
“Hey,” Paxton said, appearing beside me. “You got this, man. Just trust your body to take you there.”
“Trust is feeling a little fickle right about now.”
He nudged me toward the door. As soon as it opened, the full crash of sound hit me—music, voices, footsteps. The crowd was definitely bigger than before.
I held my drumsticks in my hands, twirling one nervously between my fingers.
“Trust me on this, Noah. You’ve never felt what you’re about to. This kind of energy—there’s nothing like it.” Paxton leaned in, his eyes steady on mine. “Don’t fight it. Trust your gut, and let your body do the rest.” He clapped me twice on the back, then walked off to talk to a guy by the stage.
My palms were slick against the sticks, the sweat making them harder to grip. Definitely not ideal. I wiped one hand on my jeans, then edged closer to the curtain and peeked outside.
Holy fucking hell. That’s way more people than I was expecting.
I swallowed hard and scanned the crowd. It wasn’t long before I spotted his taller frame right in front of the stage. He was chatting with Ezra and Holly, smiling—dimples showing, eyes crinkling—and the sight alone was enough to calm the erratic rhythm in my chest.
With both sticks in one hand, I reached for my necklace, pulling the medallion free. I pressed the cold metal to my lips. I let my eyes close, trying to harness the nerves, the anticipation, the fear of it all—and set it on a new path. My lungs expanded as I took in a big inhale and held it.
Hope you’re watching. You’d get a kick out of this.
Also, please, god, don’t let your stage fright be hereditary.
I kissed the medallion and tucked it back under my shirt.
The lights shifted. Someone waved. Suddenly, we were walking onto the stage. Cheers erupted around us like a wall of sound. I moved to the kit, adjusted the stool, rolled my shoulders back, and twisted the drumsticks once in my fingers.
I looked up—and found his gaze again.
Atty was locked on me. Wide-eyed, smiling like he was trying not to. That look made something explode in my chest.
“Hello, everybody,” Paxton said into the mic. His guitar hung low as he leaned forward. The crowd roared back.
“We’re Echo Run, and we’ve got something special for you tonight.”
He paused and looked over his shoulder—at me. My heart kicked, but I nodded.
“Tonight, we’re welcoming our newest member—Noah Rossi, on drums.”
I raised my sticks, and a fresh round of cheers broke out. This time, it hit different. This time, it sparked something deep in my core.
“And to break him in right,” Paxton said, “we let him choose the opener.” His voice curled with a rough chuckle, and the girls in the front row went wild.
I shook out my wrists, then planted my feet, adjusting the kick pedal with a slight shift of my heel. A breath in. A nod at Paxton.
He counted us in—one, two, three—and struck his chord.
Now or never.
I closed my eyes tight and started to sing. “Josie’s on a vacation far away…”
For a heartbeat, the crowd went still. Then they roared.
I opened my eyes and locked onto him again. Atty’s lips were parted, and that expression—that fucking look—was gasoline to the spark. Every cell in my body lit up.
I grinned wide and sang, “You know I like my guys a little bit younger,” then winked at him.
His smile was blinding. He laughed, head tipping back, eyes glinting.
Then I came in hard with the drums—snare, hi-hat, kick. The crowd erupted as the full sound crashed in behind me.
The song took off like a shot.
The rhythm flowed through me instinctively. Every limb locked into place, striking at just the right moment. Keeping the beat sharp and driving, my arms fluid, my timing clean. I stayed close to the mic between fills, letting my voice ride above the crash of sound we were building.
Paxton was right. It was muscle memory.
My body moved on its own—locked into my rhythm, into ours, into the pulse of the crowd. I didn’t have to think; I just felt. Reacted. Drove forward with arms that burned and legs that powered through every kick.
And every time I caught a glimpse of him—eyes locked on me, mouth open like he couldn’t look away—the fire inside flared hotter, wilder.
I’d never felt anything like this. Not this kind of rightness. Like every downbeat, every note, every movement belonged to me. Like I was made for this.
All those nights drumming in my room until my knuckles ached. All the yelling into the void, all the rawness left behind in my throat.
It all led here.
And I could do this.
I could do this so fucking easily.
Our voices wove together, mine slicing just above the rest, unpolished but powerful. I let it climb—let it roar—even as my arms kept time, as my feet worked the pedals in a steady, relentless drive. Crash. Kick. Snare. Fill. Repeat.
This was pure electricity surging through me. Fire. Life. This was everything.
I closed my eyes, letting my body take over as I belted the last lines of the chorus—drawing out the notes, sinking into them. I’d heard this song a thousand times, played it just as many, but never like this. This was different. This was perfect.
With a final crash of the cymbals and a dramatic flourish, the song ended. I opened my eyes to find his face in the crowd, cheering and clapping—and not just him, so many more behind him, doing the same.
For us.
A burn prickled behind my eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer joy pounding through me.
“Told you it was something special. Noah Rossi, everybody,” Paxton called out, pulling me out of my daze. Our eyes met, and he grinned. Really grinned. I’d never seen him this happy. His expression was almost maniacal—matching the wild exhilaration I knew was echoed in my own.
Holy fuck, we did that.
He gave me a quick nod before turning back to the crowd.
And then we played. And kept playing—driven by the roar of applause, by adrenaline, by those eyes in the crowd that set me on fire every time I caught them.
With each song, my confidence built. The rhythm locked in tighter. The energy synced. We were a unit—flawless and fast, feeding off each other until the final number had the whole place shaking.
We took our bows. Hugged it out backstage, breathless and buzzing.
But my mind had already zeroed in on one thing.
Getting to Atty.