Chapter 64 Chase #2
The crowd is losing it. I can feel the stomp of boots through the stage floor, the growl of roars in my ribs. My fingers blur across the strings, and the neck of the guitar hums in my grip like it’s alive, answering every heartbeat with its own.
By now I’ve memorized the space. The distance between me and the mic stand. The tilt of the wedge monitor by my feet. I can see the lights flashing overhead, feel the warmth of them on my face, sweat tracking down the back of my neck.
Tag howls something to my left, pure chaos and joy, his guitar squealing under a final distorted riff. I feel the thud of his boots through my soles.
I grin.
Show-off.
He shoulder-checks me on the way to the front of the stage, light and deliberate, a gesture that we made it. That we’re still us. I chuckle under my breath and toss a quick chord back his way like a musical middle finger.
Then Annie’s voice cuts through.
She’s not just singing the lyrics. She’s throwing them. Hurling them into the crowd like a lifeline wrapped in fire. When I join her on the last chorus, our voices braid together, worn and fierce and ours. The way they always were. The way they were always meant to be.
As the final note rings out and the crowd erupts, I take a step back, steadying myself in the feel of the stage under my feet.
Crowley kills the house lights behind us. The temperature drops, the air thick with adrenaline and the echo of a thousand lives pressed into one room.
I find Annie’s hand before she finds mine.
She’s shaking, laughing. Her fingers intertwine with mine, and then she’s there, bowing beside me, a vision of neon-orange and purple-streaked hair.
Tag’s final chord fades into smoke and heartbeat and noise, and for a moment, I just stand there, soaking it all in.
The crowd’s still screaming, still riding the high of the set, and I should be walking offstage, grabbing water, maybe an oxygen tank. But I don’t move.
Instead, I reach for the mic again.
“Thank you, New York,” I croon, breathless, voice rough with nerves and a telltale high. “Before we go, there’s one more thing I need to say.”
The crowd begins to hush, a slow ripple of curiosity cutting through the cheers.
I feel Annie shift beside me, her hand still in mine. She squeezes, just once, probably thinking I’m going to thank the fans. Give a heartfelt speech.
She doesn’t know I’m about to tip her world sideways.
I take a breath. “This next part wasn’t on the setlist.”
A small tide of laughter rolls across the front rows. I turn slightly toward Annie, angling my body just enough to feel her there. I can’t see her face clearly, but I know her. Inside and out.
I know the slope of her head, the wrinkle of her nose, the tremble in her breath when she’s caught off guard.
“Annalise,” I say into the mic, swallowing hard. “Annie.”
She laughs softly under her breath, nervous and warm. “Chase…”
“I used to picture this.” I inch toward her, trying to smile around the thunder in my chest. “Not the stage, not the crowd, not the lights. Just you. Always you.”
My heart pounds as my skin sweats.
The crowd starts to murmur.
“We’ve played midnight sets in bars that smelled like spilled whiskey and magic.
We’ve snuck around hotels like teenagers, hiding something everyone already knew.
We’ve cried in parking lots, collapsed backstage from the weight of it all, and spent days in a rundown van that smelled like cheese fries. ”
Laughter flickers from the audience.
Annie chokes back a joyful whimper.
“We’ve survived international tours, secrets, pain, and a diagnosis that nearly took everything from me. But we’ve held on anyway. And we’re still making music. Still choosing each other.”
I release her hand just long enough to reach into the inner pocket of my jacket. My fingers close around the ring box I’ve carried for weeks, waiting for this.
I drop to one knee.
Annie gasps.
“I’ve been a lot of things in this life,” I say, voice raw. “Broken. Bleeding. Lonely, lost, healing, determined, and scared out of my damn mind. But I’ve never been sure of anything the way I’m sure of this. Of you. Of us.”
I lift the box and open it.
The ring gleams—delicate, silver, and shaped like a crescent moon wrapping gently around a tiny cluster of diamonds, stardust caught mid-fall.
It feels like her.
“Annalise Adams,” I say, tasting her name like it’s the only thing that matters. “I fell halfway in love with you beneath a honey moon, and the other half came just as easy.”
A tiny sob breaks free.
She doesn’t move. Hardly breathes. But I feel every bit of her, anchored in the moment.
“I’ve spent years trying to make sense of this life.
And somehow, you were always the quiet answer waiting in all of it.
I don’t need perfect, Annie. I just need you.
The girl who held my hand through the dark and sang me back to life.
” I hold up the ring, my pulse tearing through me. “Will you marry me?”
For a second, she doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me through tears I can’t see but feel pouring from her like light.
Then she laughs, wrecked and radiant.
She sinks to her knees in front of me, grabbing my face in both hands and kissing me hard, fast, full of every lyric we never wrote down.
When she finally pulls back, her voice breaks on one word. “Maybe.”
I hear the smile in her voice, feel the love wrapped around all her perfect pieces, and I swear her eyes are twinkling with every star, every moon.
Grinning wide, I pull her closer.
Dip her.
And cover her mouth with mine.
“Sounds like a yes.”