5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Allie
My heart is pounding so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if I dropped.
Right here.
In the middle of this crowded Boston sidewalk.
My skin feels like it’s on fire, and the sun isn’t helping whatsoever. I try looking for something to distract my mind. Anything from the fact that…
He remembered me.
Jax Owens remembered me .
That should feel amazing, right? Not like I’m on the verge of having a full-blown panic attack.
But all I keep thinking about is the moment our eyes connected while he was up on that stage. How incredible it was to see him in his element up close for the first time. It felt like I came alive just from watching him, like something inside me lit up.
That was just the soundcheck? I can only imagine how it’s going to be in a few hours.
“Are you okay?” Ana asks softly.
She gently places her cool hand against my overheated skin, and it instantly lulls me. Something I didn’t realize I needed until now to slow my still-racing heart, even for a second.
I stammer for words, unsure if I should just come clean and tell them I already bumped into Jax.
Honestly, I’m not even sure why I haven’t told either of my closest friends yet.
I guess in a way, I just wanted to keep that moment to myself, even for a little while.
Or risk them teasing me for not asking for his number—especially when I’m not sure I’m ready for something like that.
Not with my self-esteem still bruised and Trevor’s shadow constantly looming, reminding me that I won’t ever get my fairy tale…
Nope. Scratch that. There’s no need to make excuses. What gives me the right to think he’d even be interested in someone like me?
“Hello? Earth to Allie.” Ana waves her hand in front of my face, pulling me out of my spiral.
“Do you think she’s in shock?” Nora asks, her head tilted as if she’s studying a science experiment.
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. I just… need a minute.”
Ana’s hand grips my forearm, squeezing gently. “You ready to have some real fun?”
I nod, inhaling a breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs the way I need it to. Even being outside now, I can still feel the tremble running through me in a way that tells me it’s more than likely staying for the night.
“Alright, girls,” I say, glancing between them. “Let’s go inflict pain and steal someone’s boyfriend. Or whatever it was Ana said.”
Ana throws her arms in the air. “That’s my girl!”
When we open the doors, the marble flooring is already streaked with tracks from people scrambling to get inside. A few stragglers linger near the merch tables or the bar, which only tells me one thing. Getting close to the stage is about to be a pain in the ass.
By the time we reach the general admission area, it’s exactly what I feared. The space is filled to the brim, bodies pushed together so tight their shoulders are squeezed like packed sardines.
At least it doesn’t smell like that… yet.
My feet already cling to the floor, sticking to the bottom of my shoes with an unknown substance that I pray to God is just soda. We push through so many people to get even a fraction closer to the stage, and the second we finally find a decent spot—
The lights cut out.
The crowd erupts into cheers so loud it might actually blow out my eardrums. Adrenaline surges through me in the most addictive and nostalgic way, making goose bumps spread across my arms.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen a live show, it feels like the first time all over again. But this? This was my entire childhood.
Before I had my girls, underground shows were everything . The highlight of my week, just about every week.
There was something about being sixteen and slipping into a packed, dimly lit venue with your boyfriend and best friend on each arm.
We always made it a point to sit along the bar with our sodas served in beer glasses—just to get a small taste of adulthood.
Being surrounded by like-minded people who just needed to scream, sweat, and forget the world existed for a while? It was incredible.
My mom didn’t exactly approve , but she always said she’d rather know I was at a show than at some random party. So we made a deal: as long as I stayed out of trouble, I could go to concerts as much as I wanted.
And I kept that promise. I never once got into trouble.
Instead, I got pregnant the second I turned twenty—two years into nursing school and three years into dating Trevor.
The overhead lights flicker, casting a red glow that sweeps across the stage when the first band members rush out. First thing I notice? Their face masks look way too much like Slipknot’s. Like, borderline copyright lawsuit.
The lead singer’s face is completely concealed behind a Halloween mask, long dreadlocks and all that sway with every subtle movement.
I chuckle before glancing beside me to find Ana already jumping wildly, her attention completely fixed on the band like they’re the best thing since sliced bread.
When the guitarist hits the first riff, the sound explodes into the air so hard that my heart leaps into my throat, pounding like it wants to burst out and join the crowd.
Then my eyes fall on Nora beside her. The pure look of terror on her face is impossible to miss, especially as the red and yellow lights dance across her wide eyes. She’s gripping her phone tightly to her chest while her gaze darts across the stage.
I know that look all too well. She’s trying her hardest to enjoy this, but she doesn’t know how to say that this just isn’t for her.
I quickly place my hand on Ana’s back, signaling her to let me squeeze through, and carefully weave my way through the tight space. When I reach Nora, I slip my arm through hers.
“You okay?” I shout over the music while the bodies around us sway us back and forth as if we’re on a boat.
When Nora turns to look at me, her face is ghostly white. She looks like she’s either about to pass out or puke, maybe even both, but she nods anyway. Her grip tightens on my arm as if I’m a lifeline and am the only thing keeping her from drifting away.
I tilt my head at her, then point up toward the balcony. “Do you want to go upstairs until Bottom Line?”
She nods slowly, her eyes bouncing between the constant sea of bodies surrounding us.
I tap Ana on the shoulder and lean into her ear. “We’re going upstairs!” I shout over the music, though I’m not sure it’s even audible. But she nods and starts shoving her way through the crowd.
The second we’re done climbing the million stairs to the balcony, Nora exhales loudly with her hands on her hips.
“I don’t know how you guys used to do this every weekend,” she admits, breathless. “That’s a lot.”
“You get used to it,” I say with a shrug.
“Well, this is better,” Ana says, plopping down into one of the empty chairs. “Now I don’t have to endure the stench of body odor for at least another hour.”
I shake my head and lean against the banister, looking over the ledge at the bobbing wave of fans below.
The view from up here is actually… pretty cool.
Watching the swarm of swinging limbs and crowd surfers from above, rather than worrying about a boot to the head, feels like stepping into a completely different world.
“They almost look like ants from up here,” Nora comments from beside me.
I turn to look at her and instantly notice how much better she looks. The pink has returned to her cheeks, and her eyes don’t look like they’re about to pop out of her head and roll across the floor anymore.
That’s one thing Ana and I tend to forget about Nora—she’s not used to this. The loud music. People constantly bumping into you. But us? We thrive on it.
“Do you want to stay up here for the rest of the show?” I ask, mentally crossing my fingers that she says no. Even though if she did, I wouldn’t hesitate to park myself up here the whole night.
She turns her head slowly, her eyebrows knitting together. “No, of course not.” She shakes her head. “I think I just needed to dip my toes in before fully committing.”
I purse my lips, not fully buying it, but deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, but if you change your mind, just let us know.”
The three of us settle in upstairs, conserving most of our energy for Bottom Line. I peek over the banister one last time and finally see the stagehands swarm the stage, wheeling away the amps to replace them with bigger ones.
Then the lights turn back on, and the surround sound hums softly in the background as people start to pile out for the intermission. Or, in other words, our cue to head downstairs and claim spots closer to the stage.
I turn quickly, nodding to the girls to signal that it’s time, and don’t bother waiting for a response. I dash for the stairs, not even sure if they’re behind me anymore or getting swept up in the flood of inebriated adults spilling into the aisles.
By the time I make it halfway to the stage, the lights flicker twice, and the speakers start blasting Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline.”
Anyone who’s ever been to a rock concert can all agree on at least one thing: the intermission playlists are always the best.
I glance back to check on Nora, half expecting to find her overwhelmed again, but there she is, swaying right along with everyone else. The same girl who was on the verge of a panic attack not even an hour ago is now moving along with a crowd of strangers.
The irony should make me laugh, but instead, it just reminds me why I love concerts in the first place.
That feeling of finally finding where you belong—it’s rare.
But when you eventually do find your people, it’s like the whole world clicks into place.
It makes you forget the moments you ever felt out of place, or the times you wondered if you’d ever fit in.
Because here, nobody asks questions. They just accept you.
Nora shouts, or sings, the chorus from “Sweet Caroline,” swaying into me so hard I nearly stumble.