Chapter Thirty-Four. The Boy Natalie Nielsen Loves
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Boy Natalie Nielsen Loves
Unfortunately, Downtown Seattle traffic doesn’t care if you have a time-sensitive love declaration to make. Rush hour serves no one.
When I move past the cluster of traffic, I speed toward Climate Pledge Arena a little faster than what’s legal. The clock on my dashboard becomes a ticking time bomb, and whenever the number changes, I nearly break into a cold sweat.
Finally, I arrive. Unable to find parking, I have no choice but to park in front of a fire hydrant. I peer at the bomb-slash-dashboard and grimace. 6:27 p.m. Only thirty-three minutes until showtime. Thirty-three minutes to find Felix.
I make a mad dash for an entrance. Please don’t get a parking ticket. Please, I beg any and all divine beings.
Thankfully, most fans are already inside, and the lines aren’t unbearably long. Once I’m through security, a tough-looking person stops me. “Scan your ticket.”
I grab my phone to present the ticket Lachlan sent, but it isn’t in my inbox. I check my junk folder, but it isn’t there, either. Shit.
“Um. Hi”—I look at the security guard’s name tag—“Glenn Fitzgerald. This is really hard to explain, and you look like a busy person, so I’ll spare you the details, but super funny story … I don’t currently possess a ticket.”
Glenn Fitzgerald blinks at me.
“I’m guessing you’re not going to believe me if I tell you I’m with the band?”
“Correct.”
Double shit. I move to the side and check the time. 6:38 p.m. Twenty-two minutes.
I open Contacts and scroll to Lachlan. He’s my final chance at getting past Glenn Fitzgerald. (No shade; they’re very good at their job. If I were them, I wouldn’t let me inside, either.) I hit the Video Call button and continue pacing as it rings, but it times out.
I call again. Thankfully, he answers. He’s in a dark area. The light from his phone barely illuminates him enough for me to see the collar of his sweater-vest and middle part.
“I’m here!” I exclaim, in disbelief he actually answered. “Your email didn’t come through!” I rush to explain the situation and where I am.
“We’re about to perform!” He pinches the bridge of his nose while he thinks. “Okay,” he says, “I’m coming.”
He hangs up, and I pace, trying to expel nervous energy while I stare at the time on my phone and wait. My anxiety skyrockets when two minutes turn into five, and there’s now only seventeen minutes left before showtime.
Worst-case scenarios run through my head. What if Lachlan tripped and broke his ankle? Or Necktie forced him to stay? Or he wanted to get the last laugh, so he lied about emailing the ticket and isn’t coming to my rescue after all?
Just as I’ve convinced myself Lachlan won’t have a redemption arc, he barrels into the atrium. The few fans left in line squeal or yell his name, and he waves hurriedly before rushing to security and flashing his Artist Pass. “That one’s with me.”
Glenn Fitzgerald eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t fight it.
“Thank you!” I rush, glancing at the time. Alarms go off in my head. 6:47 p.m. Thirteen minutes.
Lachlan’s eyes widen as he peers at my screen. “Damn it. Follow me.”
He grabs my hand and we take off running through the building, a long hallway, and down a flight of stairs. We go through a door labeled UNDER STAGE ACCESS and enter a dark corridor. Dozens of cords run along the ground, and it’s jam-packed with stressed stagehands.
“Shit,” Lachlan hisses, looking past me. “Natalie, go! Go!” He shoves me, which causes me to headbutt a metal beam.
“Ow! Jesus, we’re in a rush, but a concussion isn’t going to help—” I shut up when I spot Necktie storming toward us.
“Go!” he repeats.
I elbow past staff members and stagehands as I search for Felix. I stop when my path is blocked by a boy in a familiar pink cropped sweater and jeans. “Mateo, move!”
Mateo jumps out of his skin and whips around. “N-Natalie?!” he stutters. I feel bad for startling him, but when he moves and I have a clear view of who’s in front of him, the emotion vanishes.
Hunched because of the low ceiling, Felix is a ghost of himself. Gauntness sharpens his cheekbones, and his silky V-neck button-up hangs looser on his frame. His dangly gold earrings seem out of place—a glimmer of gold on someone who’s been dimmed.
My stomach twists, a painful mix of guilt and helplessness claws at me. I creep forward until the tips of our shoes touch, overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and breathe life back into the broken, fragile boy.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. My throat closes, trapping every unspoken emotion inside.
How do people in romance novels do this? How do characters find the perfect words to slice through chaos and lay everything bare?
I meet his eyes, praying that somehow he’ll see in my tear-filled gaze the words I can’t find. I can feel the vibrations as my heart pounds.
When he only blinks at me, expression unreadable under the low lights, my brain scrambles for the right words. “I never meant to hurt you. I was trying to p-protect you, but I fucked up. I only wanted … I just … if you tell me to leave, I will, but please don’t,” I urge.
My fingers tremble as I pull our Post-it note promise from my pocket, smooth it between my fingers, and offer it to him. He doesn’t move.
“Rain or shine,” I breathe, quoting the contract, “up or down. Hold me to it, baby. Please.”
He still doesn’t take it.
With a huff, I stand on my tiptoes and smack it onto his forehead—like he’s done to me dozens of times. His lips part in surprise and he peels it off, eyes roving over it.
Time stands still.
I’m on a cliff’s edge.
But then, in one fluid motion, his arms circle my waist and haul me close. Before I can even breathe, his lips capture mine.
The kiss is fierce and electric. My fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, anchoring me to him so letting go isn’t an option. The boys cheer, but they seem a thousand miles away. There’s nothing but Felix—lips hot against mine, our love blazing bright.
We smile into the kiss, and I step back. His forehead rests against mine, and the air between us is charged, humming with everything we’ve said and everything we haven’t.
“I love you, Felix Song.” The words tumble out, and they feel right. So right. “I love you, I love you, I love you. And I’ll say it every day of my life if you’ll let me.”
His face softens into something achingly tender. He cups my cheeks like I’m the most precious thing in the world. “I love you, too,” he signs. “I want nothing more than to hear that every day.”
I drag him into another deep, dreamlike kiss, my hands sliding into his hair as his arms tighten around me.
Kissing under a dark, cramped stage, surrounded by confused staffers and hollering bandmates, seconds before Felix will be presented to thousands of adoring fans may not sound like a fairy tale ending … but I don’t want a fairy tale.
I just want the boy with stars in his eyes.