Chapter 33 Chase #2
The roar on the other side grows louder, restless, expectant.
My palms sweat around the neck of my guitar.
We reach the side of the stage. Our names aren’t lit up anywhere. No banners. No fanfare.
But this moment…it’s ours.
With a short nod, Crowley steps aside as the stagehand waves us forward.
The lights are bright, electric, nailing us all at once.
The crowd erupts, a tidal wave of sound crashing over the stage, and for a second, I just stand there, letting it wash over me.
Annie strides out first, now fearless in her silver boots and spine-straight confidence.
Tag follows, tossing a wink and an over-the-top bow to the front row.
Zach is next, bass slung low, cool as ever, flashing a grin as he finds his spot. “Breathe. Play clean,” he reminds us, like a mantra.
Rock brings up the rear, twirling one drumstick between his fingers as if we’re not standing in the middle of the biggest show of our lives. He takes his throne and gives his kit a single tap.
I’m last.
I step into the sea of lights, the weight of my instrument hanging across my chest, my heart pounding like a kick drum in my ears.
The mic waits for me at center stage.
I grip it, glance back at my band, and then scan the room packed wall-to-wall with strangers who have no idea who we are.
Yet.
I bring the mic to my lips. “We’re Honey Moons,” I announce, voice steadier than I expect. “Thanks for giving the little guys a chance tonight. We’ve got five songs. Hope at least one sticks with you.”
Annie and I share a look, a smile, a tether vibrating with silent strength.
Then I look over at Rock, give him a nod.
He counts us in.
Annie takes her place at the mic stand just left of center, one hand curled around the stem like an anchor. With no guitar to hide behind, she commands the space differently, her eyes scanning the crowd, a white-toothed grin glowing ear to ear.
When the music climbs, she’s a storm in slow motion, moving with the rhythm, hips swaying and shoulders dipping. Never over-the-top, just enough to draw eyes in. Her hands tell stories between verses, fingers painting the air when she harmonizes or breathes melodies on her own.
During the instrumental breaks, she drifts closer to each of us, hyping up Rock with a spin, sharing a grin with Zach, throwing Tag a playful eyebrow raise like it’s all just a jam session in his stifling garage.
My boots are planted, but everything else moves. The lights sweep across the stage like search beams, and the first row leans in, trying to memorize us. My chest expands with the next breath, and I let it out on the high note. Raw, stretched thin, but dead-on.
My throat’s already rough from strain, but I don’t hold back. I never do. Every line digs into me before it leaves my mouth, clawing its way out, demanding to be felt.
Annie’s voice trails beneath mine, a steady current under the musical downpour. She knows just when to rise and when to fall back, letting me hit the hook hard and heavy, and when she joins me on the choruses, it lands. We’re synced tight, fully aligned.
We end the set with “Night Song.”
While it works well as a melancholy acoustic, we spiced it up for the show, adding a distortion-heavy riff beneath the chorus and layering in a slow-building drumline that thunders on the final verse.
Zach threw in a grungy bass slide that gives it grit, and I rewrote the solo to lean into a psychedelic ’60s feel just for Annie.
Fuzzed-out and swirling, it’s something you might hear echoing through a smoky Laurel Canyon lounge.
It aches and haunts but also hits with bared teeth and smudged eyeliner.
As the first note crests, I swap out my performance guitar for the eye candy.
The moment I strum, the guitar sends a signal through a custom MIDI system.
Each note manipulates both the soundscape and visuals, the reverb trails bending like heat waves.
The frets are embedded with plasma-reactive strips, flaring beneath my fingers, tiny bolts of lightning flickering in blues, purples, and whites.
The crowd reacts.
Roars.
Cell phones glow from the audience as people record, dancing in place, awestruck and hypnotized.
By the time I hit the chorus, it’s not just music.
It’s a full-body experience. Annie’s voice soars beside me—“If I fall, will you still catch me? If I run, will you let go?”—and when I glance over, she’s already looking at me.
Our eyes catch, hold, and for a moment it feels like the whole stage angles toward us.
Tag drops to his knees in the breakdown, grinning like a maniac. Zach is steady as ever, anchoring us all with the pulse of his bass.
The song is a storm, alive and breathing.
And we’re in the eye of it.
When it’s over, there’s no string of words, no lyrics, no thought big enough to convey the feeling coursing through me.
It’s primal, intoxicating, and mind-bending.
Fucking euphoric. An energy overtakes me, something I’ve never experienced before.
I glance around at the crowd, my band, my people.
We all feel it. This pulsing, living thing.
“We’re Honey Moons,” I holler into the mic, sweat pouring down my neck and back, lights dazzling me until all I see is bliss. “Good night, New York.”
The cheers are volcanic.
Shrieky catcalls and emphatic applause vibrate through me as we retreat from the stage, hands and instruments in the air, everything spinning in a vortex of sound.
As we plow through the green room, I’m at an all-time high.
I don’t think.
Just react.
I reach for Annie, scooping her into my arms and lifting her off her feet. She squeals, her face a mask of overjoyed tears as two arms wrap around my neck and her legs shoot off the ground, linking behind my lower back.
I spin her once, twice, in chaotic, dizzying circles, until she’s pressed against the wall and our foreheads smash together.
I’m smiling so big, I can’t remember what it feels like not to smile.
“Fuck, Annie…” I cup her face with both hands, her legs squeezing me like a vise. “You were incredible. Unbelievable. Fucking everything.”
She nods frantically, tears streaming down her face in inky smears. “Chase. We did it. Holy shit.”
We share a laugh.
A hug.
A moment frozen in time.
We’re both slick with sweat. Little beads of moisture run down her neck and disappear into her cleavage.
My gaze dips.
The smile falters.
Our chests are flush together, the swell of her breasts spilling from her dress in pale skin and soft curves, heaving, glistening under the lights.
My lungs are trying to outrun my heart. I’m suddenly starved for her, breathing like air isn’t enough, while she’s hardly breathing at all.
Slowly, my gaze trails back up to her face.
Two baby-blue eyes pop, huge and searching.
A beast howls inside me, triggered by adrenaline, fueled by the undefinable. Every sense is tingling and alive.
I’m trembling. I’m singing. I’m burning.
I’m hard.
I feel my erection straining against tight jeans, my waist bracketed between her plush thighs as her dress inches up to her hips, giving me a glimpse of lavender lace.
Her breath catches, and I’m already gone, lost in the heat, the hush, the way she looks at me like she’s one bad decision away from closing the gap and shoving her tongue down my throat.
I wonder what she’d taste like.
Her mouth, her flesh. Watermelon and salt.
I wonder if she’s wet.
My cock jumps, and my hips thrust forward with an involuntary jolt.
I grip her cheeks between my palms, tipping her head back against the wall as my gaze settles on her pink parted lips, and my fingers tangle in long silken hair.
She chokes out a needy sound.
My pulse jackhammers in my ears.
Fuck it—
I lean in.
But the moment shatters when Crowley pokes his head into the room. “You’ve got a visitor, Annalise. Says he’s your fiancé.”
Goddammit.
Fuck.
I drop her like a hot potato.
She slides down the wall and scampers away from me, tugging down her dress, fixing her hair, mechanically tucking it behind her ears. The guys look away, pretending they didn’t see shit as they gather their gear and head to the fridge.
Crowley sings our praises. Everyone shakes hands, slaps backs, hugs like they all scaled Mount Everest and made it back down without a scratch.
A second later, Alex rushes into the room, eager to mark his territory and steal her away.
Annie freezes, fingers curling into her hands. A lump bobs in the center of her throat as she watches him sweep his gaze around the room.
Their eyes meet. He spots her.
And she runs to him.
I watch the scene unfold on repeat.
Her arms crisscross around his neck, her long, creamy legs circling his waist as he lifts her off the ground and spins her in a circle, pressing her against the wall. Their foreheads fuse together.
She smiles.
He grins.
The only difference is—
He kisses her.