25. Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
Nate
The afternoon races by too quickly. Before I know it, we’re back at Lacey’s apartment, finishing a quick meal, and I’m checking my flight time.
“I have to go,” I murmur against her lips. She reaches over and steals a French Fry.
“Get your own,” I grumble, pulling her closer.
“Yours tastes better.” She says, gripping my shirt tighter. “Five more minutes?”
My laugh is rough. “If I stay five more minutes, I’ll drag you back to bed and miss my flight.”
Lacey knows I’m right, but she daringly kisses me anyway.
“Thief,” I say as I drop one last lingering kiss on her shoulder, exposed by my t-shirt that she’s wearing. “Speaking of stealing, is that my shirt?”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” She says with a sexy smile. “Besides, you like me in your clothes.”
My hand slides under the hem. “I like you out of them better.” I try to memorize everything about this moment as I press her even closer. When I finally pull away, we’re both breathing hard.
“Call me when you land?” She asks. “Even if I can’t pick up, I need to know you’re okay.”
I nod, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. “Every day, princess. I’ll call or text every day.”
She watches me leave, and I can tell we’re both already regretting the distance between us. But the memory of the past twenty-four hours warms me, and I know—that no matter the distance, no matter what Rachel or the company throws at us. We’ll somehow find a way to be together.
As I settle into my seat on the plane, I text her one last time: ‘Missing you already! P.S. My shirt looks better on you, anyway.’
The roar of the crowd is deafening, the flashing lights nearly blinding. The stage is alive with energy, the kind that thrums through my veins, electric and raw.
This should be enough.
The music. The adrenaline. The high of performing for thousands of screaming fans, the rhythmic pounding of my drums a steady force against the chaos.
It should be enough—but it’s not.
Because every night, after the last note fades, after the last encore is played, and after the final group of fans is ushered out of the venue—Lacey’s not here.
I throw my drumsticks into my case and run a hand through my damp hair, breathing hard as the stadium’s lights start to dim. The rest of the guys are already dispersing. Cass and Kendrick slip away to the family bus, where Cassidy is already sleeping. Sam and Emily aren’t far behind, and Luke has already disappeared, probably somewhere with Lila.
Vince?
Vince is exactly where I expect him to be—smirking like a damn fool, heading toward some blonde in a tight dress who’s clearly been waiting for him all night.
I shake my head. The perpetual bachelor. He never changes, but even he has some companionship, if only the temporary kind.
And me? I exhale heavily, rolling my shoulders.
I have nothing to distract me. No wife or fiancée waiting for me. No girlfriend sneaking past security just to see me. No Lacey.
Just me, alone with my damn stock portfolio.
I slip past the VIP lounge and head toward the tour bus, bypassing the family bus, where I notice Emily and Sam knocking on the door to join Cass and his family. I briefly wonder if they are missing their toddler, Presley.
I catch a quick glimpse inside, and it feels so homey that it should make me happy to see my friends getting exactly what they want. Instead, it just makes me realize what I’m missing—what I don’t have—
I step onto the next tour bus—empty, quiet, way too silent—and immediately grab my laptop, logging into my trading accounts to distract me from thoughts of who’s not here.
If I can’t be with Lacey, I can at least be productive.
The numbers flicker across the screen. Stock values are shifting, and my investments are climbing. I should be satisfied—my latest trades have already made me a boatload of money on this tour.
But my mind keeps drifting back to her—to the way she looked when she opened her door, all soft and sweet. The way she felt under my hands the last time I saw her. The way she moaned my name when I pressed her against the shower wall, steam curling around us—
I shove a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. I’m losing my freakin’ mind.
Three weeks. It’s been three weeks of late-night texts and barely any real conversation.
She answers now, at least. So that’s something.
But it’s always late—after she’s done filming, after her PR obligations, after whatever brand event the company has dragged her to. Her messages are short, sometimes playful, sometimes exhausted.
But I still haven’t heard her voice in over a week.
I push the laptop away, rubbing my temples. And glance up as Luke and Lila come in.
As they sit down across from me, I cock an eyebrow at the look they exchange.
“Lila and I are worried about you, man.”
I snort, but something in my chest tightens. The entire band can see I’m not myself.
“Have you talked to Lacey?” Luke asks carefully.
“Texted.” I close the lid of my laptop a little too hard. “She’s busy. The company’s got her doing press junkets, script readings, costume fittings.”
“But no actual conversation?”
I shake my head. “Different time zones. When I’m free, she’s filming. When she’s free, I’m on stage. When we’re both awake...” I shrug. “Something always comes up.”
“What are you doing with your time?” Luke presses.
“I’ve gotten really good at watching my investment stocks.” I grimace. “Checking market trends at 4 AM, analyzing trading patterns between shows. Made another fifty grand today.”
“And you think that’s helping?” Lila asks, giving me a knowing look. “What color are her eyes?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Lacey’s eyes. What color are they?” Lila asks again.
“A deep brown,” I answer automatically. “But sometimes they darken and look almost black—especially when she laughs. Or when she’s just woken up, and...” I stop, catching their knowing smirks. “Shit. I can’t believe I fell for that.”
“That’s what I thought,” Lila says smugly, leaning back in her chair. “You know, there are these things called planes. They can fly back and forth across the country pretty regularly.”
“I know that. But we have shows booked solid—“
“We have three days off next week. In Seattle.” Luke states.
I freeze mid-beat. “What? The band’s going to Seattle? We’ve—we’ve never played Seattle before…”
“Emily reworked the schedule. Something about travel logistics.” They both stand smiling and head for the door, then pause, looking back. “We just thought you needed a push.”
After they leave, I pull up the tour schedule on my phone. They’re right—we have a three-day gap in Seattle. Seventy-two hours. I frown thinking about that city, and my gut tightens, but then I smile as I glance at Lacey’s contact photo—the one I snapped that morning in her bedroom, her hair messy, wearing my shirt, her smile soft and private.
I scroll through my texts, stopping at our last communication from yesterday.
Lacey: 12:50 AM PST’ Long day. Filming ran late.’
Me: 12:51 AM PST’ How was it?’
There was a long pause before her response.
Lacey: 12:57 AM PST’ Exhausting. But at least I didn’t forget my lines this time.’
I frowned.
Me: 12:58 AM PST ‘ You’re pushing too hard.’
Lacey: 1:00 AM PST’ No choice. The schedule is packed. Rachel says I need to keep up.’
I gritted my teeth. Fuck Rachel.
Me: 1:02 AM PST’ What about what you need?’
There was another pause, this one even longer.
Finally, she sent back—
Lacey: 1:10 AM PST’ I need you.’
My chest had tightened. I hated the distance. Hated that I couldn’t pull her into my arms. Hated that we exist in only stolen moments, late-night messages, and whispered promises.
I had closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter.
Me: 1:12 AM PST’ Say the word, Lace, and I’ll be on the next flight.’
I hadn’t expected her to say yes.
And she didn’t.
Instead, she just responded back with—
Lacey: 1:14 AM PST’ Soon.’
I blink, staring at the word she had typed for a long time, my jaw clenching.
Knowing she’s probably busy, knowing she might not see this until later, I type out a message. Letting her know about my free seventy-two hours. I continue to stare at the phone, but she doesn’t reply back.
It’s the next week already, and the last of our performances before our break between shows, but Lacey isn’t in Hollywood. She sent me a message stating that Rachel had her booked for out-of-state talk shows promoting the new film.
I’m so mad I could spit nails, but it doesn’t do any good. I’m currently stuck in Nevada, our last stop before heading to Seattle, Washington.
I slam my water bottle down harder than necessary, making Sam jump.
“Easy there, killer,” he says, eyeing me warily.
I ignore him, pacing the empty dressing room. My phone sits silent in my pocket, mocking me with its lack of messages. Seventy-two hours. We have seventy-two fucking hours once we reach Seattle, and Rachel—
A knock at the door interrupts my brooding.
“Five minutes to soundcheck,” a stagehand calls.
Perfect. I can take out my frustration on the drums.
But when I yank open the door, I freeze.
Because there, in tight black jeans and one of my stolen Wild Band t-shirts, stands Lacey.
Her hair is mussed like she’s been running her hands through it. There are shadows under her eyes, but her smile—God, her smile lights up the whole damn room.
“Surprise?” she says softly.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. “But... the talk shows—?”
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. “I may have convinced Rachel that doing a surprise appearance at my fiancé‘s Vegas concert would generate more buzz than another morning show interview.”
“You...” I shake my head, still processing. “You’re actually here.”
Her fingers trace my jaw. “I’m actually here.”
I don’t care that we’re in a hallway. Don’t care that anyone could walk by. I pull her against me, crushing my mouth to hers.
She tastes like coffee and airplane mints and home.
“Jesus,” I breathe against her lips. “I missed you.”
She presses closer, her body fitting perfectly against mine. “Show me how much.”
My grip tightens on her hips. “Soundcheck—“
“Can wait.” Her teeth graze my bottom lip. “I didn’t fly across the country just to watch you practice drums.”
A throat clears behind us.
Sam stands in the doorway, grinning. “Actually, soundcheck can’t wait. But...” He checks his watch. “You’ve got five minutes.”
Lacey laughs against my neck. “Only five minutes?”
I already have her backed against the dressing room wall. “I can work with that.”
Sam rolls his eyes and closes the door, leaving us alone.
Later, after soundcheck, after I’ve thoroughly messed up her hair and she’s left marks on my shoulders, we lay tangled in the too-small couch of my dressing room.
“So,” I trace patterns on her bare shoulder. “We should have about three days.”
She hums, pressing closer. “Actually, I negotiated for a week. I told Rachel it would be good PR to document some ‘behind the scenes’ moments of life on tour with my future husband.”
I pull back to look at her. “An entire week?”
Her smile turns wicked. “Think you can handle that much... PR?”
My answering kiss tells her exactly how I feel about that.
Maybe distance makes the heart grow fonder, but having her here, in my arms?
That makes everything else fade away.
The concert that night feels different. Electric. Every beat, every rhythm pulses with renewed energy because I know she’s watching from the wings.
Between songs, I catch glimpses of her—the way she moves to our music and how she lights up during her favorite tracks. At one point, she catches me staring and deliberately licks her lips with a wink, making me miss a beat.
The minx.
But it’s during one of the ballads that everything shifts. The crowd fades away, and suddenly, I remember one morning as I secretly watched her dancing to this song in my kitchen, feeling that instant spark of attraction.
Now she’s mouthing the words, her eyes locked on mine, and the memory of our kiss as I joined her there in my kitchen floods through me. The way she tasted, how perfectly she fit against me, the electricity that crackled between us as we slowly danced together… then afterward…
The same electricity that’s here now, only stronger than ever.
When we finally leave the stage, she’s waiting in the wings. Her eyes are bright, cheeks flushed, looking exactly like she did that one night.
“That was so great,” she breathes, and before I can respond, she’s in my arms.
I don’t care that I’m sweaty from the show. Don’t care that the crew is bustling around us. All that matters is the way she feels pressed against me, how her heart races in time with mine.
“Ready for your behind-the-scenes tour experience?” I murmur against her ear.
Her laugh vibrates through my chest. “Lead the way, drummer boy.”
And as I guide her toward my hotel suite—our’s for the night—I realize something.
The music has always been enough before. The rhythm, the crowds, the rush of performing.
But now?
Now it’s even better because she’s here to share it with me.