Epilogue
SLOANE
It’s a festival, but it’s more of a fever dream.
Lights flashing like an out-of-control disco ball, the whole place flooded with the scent of popcorn, sweat, and, okay, probably a few other things I’d rather not think about. But all I can focus on is Wild Reverie up there on stage.
I’m not just talking about the music… they’re killing it.
The crowd’s energy is contagious—a mix of eager fans, screaming with a level of enthusiasm that could rival any sporting event. The bass thumps, the drums pound in a rhythm that you feel deep in your chest, and Roman, well, he’s practically floating through it all.
I’m watching him live his best life in front of thousands of people. And yeah, I’m over here being the proudest fan in the crowd, but I can’t help it. These guys—my guys—are incredible.
Roman has that same magnetic pull he always does. His voice is raw, smooth, and oh-so-soulful.
Ezra’s lost in his own world, his eyes closed as he shreds the bass, and I can practically feel the music vibrating through my bones. He’s the quiet one, but when he’s on stage? Everything he’s been keeping inside is just pouring out in a perfect wave of sound. It’s hard not to stare at him.
Creed, on the other hand, is a force of nature.
The drumsticks I gave him for Christmas are a blur as he pounds the kit, having the time of his life.
He’s got this wild, untamed energy. If he weren’t playing drums, he’d be somewhere running around a mountain with wolves or something. It’s that kind of vibe.
But me? I’m in the midst of the crowd, trying to keep my cool while also wishing I had a sign that said I’m with the band, just for kicks. Because not only am I working with the band, but we all belong to one another in the best way possible.
The band’s new music? Holy shit, it’s good.
The crowd’s responding to it like they’ve been waiting their entire lives for this exact moment. Roman is an emotional punch to the gut, Ezra’s bass pulls you under like a wave, and Creed’s drumming is thunder on a summer night.
They are everything.
There’s a moment where Roman’s eyes meet mine across the stage, and I swear the world stops spinning.
I mean, yeah, there’s a thousand other people around us, all screaming and waving their arms, but in that second, we’re the only two people in the universe.
He grins at me, full on, stage lighting up kind of grin, and I can’t help but grin right back.
It’s ridiculous how quickly he can make me feel I’ve just won the lottery.
The music swells, the crowd jumps, and suddenly I’m in it. Not just watching from the sidelines but actually feeling the rhythm in my bones. Everything clicks. This weird, messy, wonderful family of misfits, my misfits, on stage, together, making magic. And I am so here for it.
Then, just as I think it can’t get any better, Roman leans into the mic.
“Alright, alright, let’s wrap this up, but before we do,” he says, looking out at the crowd with a grin that could power a small city, “there’s someone here who I think deserves a little attention.”
My stomach drops. What the hell is this? I didn’t know the band was having guests…
“Sloane!” Roman shouts, and the crowd cheers as if they know exactly what’s coming.
I freeze. Seriously, how am I supposed to not panic right now? The spotlight hits me like I’ve just walked into a disco ball… wham, blinding and way too bright.
I’m the guest?
Roman’s eyes are locked on me now, and before I can think straight, I’m moving through the crowd, pretending I’m not internally screaming. Why did I wear this dress? Why am I wearing shoes that are impossible to walk in?
Somehow, I manage to get on stage without tripping over my own feet. Roman’s already there, waiting for me, holding out his hand, about to pull me into some dreamy romantic moment.
And maybe he is.
He pulls me close, and the crowd’s excitement is almost deafening.
“This is Sloane,” he says, as if I’m not standing right here, but the crowd eats it up, clapping and cheering wildly.
“What’s all this about?” I laugh, about three octaves higher than usual.
Can someone get me a paper bag? Maybe a fan?
Roman smirks as if he’s got the world figured out.
“Well, Sloane’s been with us from the start of this project.
She’s fed us when we were hungry. She’s been there when we needed someone to just…
listen. And she’s become part of the band.
She’s part of us, and there’s no way in hell we’re letting her go. ”
I feel my cheeks flame. I glance at Ezra and Creed, who are standing just behind Roman, and… are they… are they actually looking at me like they’re in on this?
Roman pulls something out of his pocket, and before I can even process what’s happening, he’s down on one knee, and I swear I’m about to faint.
The crowd gasps. I would too, if I could make any noise.
Roman looks up at me, his eyes intense, but his smile is full of all the mischief I’ve ever loved about him.
“Sloane Katz,” he says, “Will you marry me? Well, not just me.” I glance at Ezra and Creed. “Will you marry us?”
I blink. Once. Twice. Three times. Is this happening? Is this real life?
“Sloane Katz. Will you, metaphorically, platonically, and perhaps questionably, marry this band?”
I look out at the sea of faces, then back at the three of them, the music, the love, the absolute insanity of my life, and I can’t help it. I start laughing. Big, messy, can’t breathe laughter.
“Oh my,” I gasp between giggles. “You’re all idiots.”
Roman beams. “That’s not a no.”
I shake my head, still laughing as I take the ring pop from him and slide it onto my finger. It’s sticky, too big, and perfect.
“Fine,” I say, loud enough for the mic to catch. “I’ll marry the band.”
The crowd goes wild. Confetti cannons explode, because of course, Roman somehow planned that, and Creed starts drumming an impromptu wedding march. Ezra even cracks a smile, which, honestly, feels rarer than sunshine in Seattle.
As I look around, at Roman’s ridiculous grin, Ezra’s quiet smirk, Creed’s wild energy, and the flashing lights and chaos and joy, I realize something.
I didn’t just stumble into their world.
Somehow, without meaning to, I became part of it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.