Chapter 70
Cole · Now
Welcome To The Black Parade – My Chemical Romance
I freeze in the doorframe of the greenroom.
“What the fuck are you three wearing?”
Saint brushes his thumbs down the lapels of his black-and-white pinstriped suit jacket. He looks like Jack Skellington with his hair slicked back and black eyeliner framing his lashes. I tilt my head. Not sure I’ve ever seen the man wear a suit, and we’ve been friends for nearly thirty years.
Axel’s rocking sequined silver pants, a white vest, and an unbuttoned black shirt.
And Carter…
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
The Elvis costume he’s donning doesn’t disappear.
I scrub a hand over my eyes. “What the fuck?!”
“When in Vegas.” Carter’s face is as impassive as ever. “I think you’re underdressed, actually.”
I glance down at my own attire. Black T-shirt, black jeans, chain hanging from the waistband. A frown tugs my lips. This is my go-to show get-up.
“I think I’m good, dude. You can keep your…” I wave a hand up and down the goddamn awful outfit, my brow furrowing. “Costume.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs, tapping his sticks against his white flared pants.
I blink again.
My gaze darts over my friends, my stomach clenching as laughter bursts from me.
“You look like a bunch of right twats.” I slap my hands on my thighs as I hunch over. “You’re not seriously going out there like that, right?”
They just stare back at me blankly.
Tears spring to my eyes. “Fucking hell. Your funerals when the press get their hands on the pictures.”
“I look dapper.” Saint preens, folding his arms over his chest. “Teddy is gonna fall to her knees when she sees me, fuck you very much.”
I wheeze. “Uh-uh. Sure.”
The door bangs open.
I press a hand to my stomach, trying to steady my breathing as Tommy pokes his head around the frame. “They’re ready for you.”
Laughter spills from me as the guys saunter out of the greenroom without a care in the world.
I tug the black beaded bracelet from my pocket and slip it on my wrist. Then I rake a hand through my hair, mussing it up.
My steps are light, my mood fucking joyous as I follow my strangely dressed crew out.
The sound from the crowd bounces through the hallway.
Carter steps onto the stage first, standing behind the black, glittering drum kit. I tuck myself into the wings. A spotlight shoots onto him.
The crowd halts a breath, then they scream. Phone lights flicker across the room, lighting up the dark arena.
I brush my thumb over the hummingbird on my wrist and strain my eyes, searching for her in the crowd.
Another spotlight.
Axel thumbs his bass, a steady beat flooding the speakers. His pants fucking glitter.
A heady lick tears through the speakers.
Saint is still as a statue when a spotlight hits him. His eyes are bright, a smile locked on his face as he watches me. He winks.
I bounce on my feet before jogging onto the stage.
I tip my head back, my arms dangling at my sides as my spotlight hits.
The arena explodes in a chorus of screams, yells, and cheers.
A sharp wolf-whistle sneaks past my in-ear.
I drop my gaze, my heart thundering when I see her.
Hendrix stands right at the barrier, her hair a riot of loose waves that dangle down to her waist, black winged liner coating her eyelids, black gloss staining her lips.
She wears a T-shirt with a disturbing amount of pictures of my face on it.
The words My Boyfriend Is a Rock Star printed along the chest.
I shake my head and grin.
Idiots, the lot of them.
But they’re my fucking idiots, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
It’s not been an easy journey for us to get here. There was a moment—a long fucking one—where I didn’t think we’d still be standing. But instead of giving up and calling it a day, I bucked up the courage to drive my sorry arse back to Chesterton and knock on that studio door.
My veins hum, my pulse racing.
This is our time now. Nobody to tell us who and what we get to be. It doesn’t get fucking better than this.
I tug my in-ears out and jump off the stage.
Hendrix watches me, her eyes alight, her expression nothing less than awed.
She opens her mouth when I step in front of her, but I don’t give her a second. I slam my lips to hers.
Another scream bursts around us, but I lose myself in the moment. In this kiss. In this woman.
She clings to me, her hands sinking into my hair, her breaths syncing to mine as I tangle our tongues. I drag her as close as I can until she’s half over the barrier. She nips my lips, and fire licks across my body, sparking every inch of me.
I shudder.
She pulls back an inch. Her chest expands, her lipstick chased away by my mouth.
She locks our eyes, tilting her head. “What are you doing, dude?”
“Loving you.” I curl my hand around the back of her neck.
She beams. “Is that right?”
“Yeah.” I kiss her jaw. “Always.” I kiss her cheek. “Forever.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “And even after that.”
“That’s good. Otherwise this next bit would be real embarrassing for me.”
I inch back, my gaze slanting. “What next bit?”
A mischievous grin sits on her lips.
“You’ll see.” She pecks my cheek, then pushes me back with a gentle press to my chest. “Now go be a rock star, dude. I’ll see you after the encore.”
I tip my chin to Dean, who nods back and strolls over, pressing his back to the metal frame. While most of our fans are chill, there’s no way I’m having my girl standing in the crowd without some security after I just publicly claimed her. You can never be too careful in this life.
Saint gives me a high-five when I jump back on the stage before I wrap my hand around the microphone stand. He’s waiting for my nod to play the opening notes. But he can wait a second longer.
There’s something I’ve gotta do first.
“Hey, Rixie Moore.” My voice bellows through the mic.
The crowd goes wild, but I don’t look away from her.
The woman of my fucking dreams.
“You are my muse, my melody, and everything in between.”
She stares up at me.
“I fucking love you.”
I see her sharp inhale, her slow exhale, and the way her fingers tremble around the barrier. She presses a hand to her lips and blows me a kiss, before mouthing. I love you.
A beat passes, adrenaline sweeping over my bones and coursing through my bloodstream.
I draw in a breath and nod.
Saint brings his arm down. Carter hits the snare. Axel thumbs the bass.
The crowd surges. The stadium vibrates, and everything dims around me as I tighten my grip on the microphone stand.
Blood rushes through my ears, and I drop my head back, music flowing out of my mouth as we bring in a new era. A new sound for Reckless Abandon. A new legacy to build. A new life to live.
And all of it with Hendrix Moore right by my side.
“Where are we going?”
Hendrix ignores me as she drags me down the Vegas Strip.
An unopened bottle of tequila dangles from her fingertips, the joint Saint tossed her after the show tucked behind her ear. Her white skirt floats around her knees, teasing me with the gaping thigh split that keeps brushing one ink-sleeved leg.
She squeezes my fingers tight as she weaves us through a boisterous crowd on the pavement.
A few of them gawk as we pass.
I laugh.
It’s not every day I’m spotted out and about being dragged around by a woman. Guess there’s a first time for everything.
My body is still buzzing from the show, ears ringing.
To say the crowd responded well to the new songs is an understatement. It’s only been a couple of hours, and the internet is already blowing up with videos and photos.
As expected, they’re amused—and fucking confused—about the guys’ attire. But mostly, the focus has been on the music. And on the mysterious woman in the crowd I snogged senseless.
Hendrix just laughed it off when Saint announced she was trending within minutes of us coming off stage.
Turns out, she really does give less than two fucks that her boyfriend’s famous.
Not surprising.
She’s always cared more about the music than the life that comes with it.
She tugs me around the corner and careens to a stop.
Air lodges in my lungs as a sea of white floods my vision.
A neon-pink, gaudy sign flickers above the chapel. Strings of white fairy lights hang from the awning, tangled in plastic ivy and glitter-dusted roses. The stained windows are shrouded in darkness, but I spy my best friend as he plasters his face to the glass.
My pulse skitters. “Rixie—”
I stumble as Hendrix steps in front of me.
The T-shirt with my face all over it has gone, leaving her in a white, corset-top-style dress.
Tulle skirt, lacy sleeves that slip down her shoulders, and ink fucking everywhere.
She’s wearing black Converse on her feet with frilly white socks poking over the ankles.
“I’m feeling a little…” She flicks the cap off the tequila and swigs a shot before propping it on a bench. “Reckless.”
Emotion crawls up my throat. “Have you been spending too much time with Saint?”
“Always.” She tilts her head, her lips curling sweetly.
I follow her gaze down to her thumb, where she twists off a ring and tosses it at me.
It arcs through the air, glittering beneath the flashing lights of Vegas. I snatch it up, looking back at her as a thick white-gold band sits heavy in my palm. My vision mists. “This yours?”
“For now.” She bridges the distance between us, only stopping when the toes of her Converse hit my chequered Vans. She slides a warm, trembling hand over my cheek and brings me down until our lips touch. “Was hoping you might want to take it off my hands.”
“Rixie, baby.” I trap her fingers between mine and crane my neck, pressing a kiss to my microphone on her wrist. Then I lock our eyes, a smirk curving my mouth. “You gonna take my last name?”
She hums, tilting her head side to side as she tests the idea on her lips. “Hendrix Hayes.”
Yeah, no, it doesn’t sound right.
“Absolutely not, dude.” Her nose wrinkles, her lips twisting as gold sparkles behind her irises. “Cole Moore has a ring to it, though.”
I hike a brow. “Really?”
“Definitely not.” She throws her arms around my neck, a bright grin on her face. “Oh, well. At least we tried.”
I wrap my arm around her back and lift her into my chest.
Her legs wind around my waist, and she giggles.
A man could really get used to this.
Carter pokes his head round the door, and the Elvis costume suddenly makes a fuck-ton of sense.
I press my forehead to Hendrix’s as I step forward. “How the hell did you get Carter to wear that monstrosity?”
“He volunteered, actually.” She drags her nails over my scalp.
“I was trying to get Axel on board, but he point-blank refused. God only knows why—the man has worn far worse. I was just gonna dress him myself if I had to, but Carter stepped in and said he’d do it before I had to resort to such extremes. ”
I slide her to the floor, my laughter warm as it coasts past my lips.
Saint barrels over.
He presses a kiss to Hendrix’s head before throwing an arm over her shoulders and hiking a brow at me. “Are we doing this shit or what?”
I tap a finger on my chin. “You maid of honour or best man?”
“Both, obviously.” He grins.
I glance over the glowing room.
Axel bounds around, dodging the guitar picks Lyric and Melody are sprinkling through the air. Riley sits on the front pew, Theo next to her, Hendrix’s friend Talia on the other side. They’re wearing matching black tutus and black vests.
How in the fuck did they pull this shit off without me knowing?
I open my mouth to ask just that when I hear a piano trickling through the room. A familiar melody floods my ears—a mash-up of Welcome to the Black Parade and Helena. Hendrix beams.
Should have known this woman was never gonna let me do this the traditional way. Guess I’ll just have to give her the black diamond I’ve got waiting in my bedside table a little earlier than planned.
My heart tugs.
I turn back to my girl.
“What do you say, Rock Star?” She arches a brow and holds her hand out to me. “Wanna be reckless with me and abandon all your sensibilities?”
I thread my fingers through hers, bring her knuckles to my lips, and kiss her fourth finger. “Rixie Moore. I can’t think of anything I’d like better.”
the end