Chapter 42
Tai
Three Years Later
“You’re sure you won’t let me dye it?” Connor asks as he leans closer to the mirror, inspecting the silver streaks above his ears. They’ve spread over the past few years, sprinkling his dark hair with highlights, although he’s still far more pepper than salt.
I cross my arms, leaning against the doorframe of our hotel bathroom. “Not a chance. No one ever looked at a silver fox and thought, ‘Oh, let’s just get rid of all that dignified sexiness.’”
“Dignified sexiness,” he snorts, fingers moving to tug at the skin around his eyes. “Is that what these wrinkles are, too?”
I walk over and bat his hand away, planting a gentle kiss on both sides of his temples. “Those are laugh lines, and they just prove to the world how funny your husband is.”
He furrows his brow and points at the creases that form. “And these show them how much he tests my nerves?”
I swat him on the ass, then tug him against me. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”
“There you go, being sweet when I’m trying to be a jackass,” he murmurs as he pulls me into a kiss.
I hum against his lips. “You’re always trying to be a jackass.”
“Trying?”
“Succeeding,” I say with a laugh. I head to the closet and grab our suits, fingers grazing the material as I remember the last time we wore them.
We got married last summer, back at the resort that started it all.
It was a small ceremony with the band and a select few family and friends.
Cho and Andrew were there, and Beth came with her new husband.
Any jealousy is long gone as we’ve gotten to know each other over the years.
We served shots of banana rum and waded in the ocean, eating pizza and donuts. It was the best night of our lives.
Arms wrap around me, then Connor places gentle kisses on my neck. “Are you ready for tonight?”
I take a deep breath to fight the nerves that are trying to form. “Ready as I’m going to be.”
We get dressed in relative silence, my mind drifting to a thousand different things as I watch him slide into his suit.
The years haven’t taken anything away from his size—if anything, he’s even bigger now than he was when we first met.
His gym is still his pride and joy, and he’s been toying with the idea of opening a second location.
My fingers rake through my hair as I pull it back into a ponytail.
It’s grown past my shoulders again, even though pushing through that awkward stage was a struggle and I almost gave up a few times.
I run my palms over my suit when I’m done, smoothing the plum material.
Connor sidles up behind me. He’s wearing black, but I convinced him to wear my purple floral tie to add an explosion of color—and to make sure the world knows he’s mine.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss behind my ear. A buzz sounds, and he pulls out his phone and waves it at me. “That’s Dante. They’re here.”
We head through the hallway and into the elevator, a few stares and excited squeals following us as we walk through the lobby. Outside, a black stretch limo waits.
Theo stands with his entire torso out of the open moon roof, a bottle of champagne in his hand as he holds both arms straight up in the air. “Party time, bitches!”
“Well, that’s going to be in the tabloids tomorrow,” I mutter.
Eric’s voice carries through the windows. “Theo, I swear to god, if you pop that bottle and get us wet, I’m going to toss you out the window on the way.”
“Rude!” Theo gasps, then disappears inside.
The driver opens the door for us as we approach, and I try my best to ignore the flashing lights and shouts of our names as we climb in.
Back home in Charlotte, the attention isn’t too bad.
We’ve been ingrained in the community for so long that people give us a little more space.
Out here, in LA, on a night like tonight, the paparazzi are vultures and the crowds are celebrity-hunting.
We get settled in our seats after a few one-armed hugs and fist bumps, and I let my eyes sweep over the guys. Theo and Dante just celebrated their second anniversary after Theo planned the most extra wedding of the century. Tonight, both are more subdued in matching navy blue suits.
Eric and Dmitri are wearing black, with pastel pink ties and pocket squares to celebrate the upcoming birth of their daughter.
Their surrogate is six months along, and Eric wanted to bring her so their little girl could be present.
Dmitri put his foot down, though, and said flying was too dangerous.
Life has slowed down in the best possible way.
We haven’t toured since our international run three years ago, but between Eric and me, the creative juices have been flowing steadily.
We’ve released two new albums and a string of singles that have performed better than any of us could have expected.
There have been no scandals or spotlight-stealing moments, and right now we’re simply enjoying the life we’ve built for ourselves.
“Are you ready for this?” Eric asks, bouncing his legs underneath him. His hair has grown longer, the blonde curls swooping over his forehead and curtaining his eyes. Without even looking, Dmitri reaches over and pushes it out of his face.
I smile at the easy familiarity in the touch. “Ready as I’m going to be.”
The rest of the drive is filled with excited chatter, and nerves take flight in my stomach as we arrive at the venue. Eric flashes one of his giant smiles—the kind that lets him get away with almost anything. “Alright, boys. Let’s do this.”
The driver opens the door, and we’re hit with an onslaught of voices and flashing lights as we step onto the red carpet.
It’s a storm of people shouting our names, cameras clicking nonstop, hands outstretched as fans try to get our attention, and reporters closing in, looking for a quote.
Connor squeezes my hand and grounds me, and I glance up at him with a thankful smile.
If you asked me tomorrow what happened between the time we stepped out of that limo and the moment we were guided to our seats, I couldn’t tell you. The chaos is a blur that my mind simply shuts out, but once we’re inside the arena, the atmosphere becomes a little calmer.
Theo is in heaven, gushing and gasping over every famous face that glances in his direction.
He gets so worked up by the handful of celebrities who approach us that I’m convinced he’s going to faint.
We manage to get him seated, but he remains restless, bouncing in his chair while frantically waving at several musicians who grin and wave back.
He’s still impossible not to love.
Overhead lights dim, and my hands grow nervous, fiddling with my suit jacket and buttons until Connor takes my hand and winds his fingers through mine. I squeeze him, silently thanking him again, as I inhale a deep breath and try to center myself.
The Grammys.
The most prestigious awards for a musician, and we’re here.
Us.
Five guys from Charlotte who started with nothing but a dream we never truly thought we’d fulfill.
The announcer’s words blur together as the show begins, but I pull my cues from the audience and laugh when I’m supposed to.
My heart pounds steadily in my chest as the nominations start rolling in, and I reach over to grab Eric’s hand beside me.
He holds Dmitri’s on his other side, who in turn begrudgingly takes Dante’s, and Theo completes our chain of support as we hold on for dear life.
“Now for our most anticipated award of the night—Album of the Year!”
Nerves buzz between us, knees knocking together and controlled breaths forced from our noses as we all fight the impending panic. Hearing our band listed as a nominee feels surreal, and I’m not entirely convinced I won’t wake up to discover this is all just a dream.
“And the winner is…”
The dramatic pause stretches on forever, and beside me, Eric groans under his breath. “Just spit it out already.”
“Falling Absent with their third studio album, Faultlines.”
For a second, we sit there in stunned silence as the words sink in. Connor’s grip on my hand tightens as he leans over, placing an ecstatic kiss on my lips. “You did it, sweetheart!”
We did it.
We did it.
A burst of surprised laughter escapes my throat as Theo shatters the silence, pumping his fist in the air with a triumphant whoop that draws chuckles from the audience.
It feels like we’re floating among the clouds as we make our way to the stage.
An ocean of faces swims in front of us while Eric accepts the trophy.
I fight tears as he rattles off our lengthy list of people to thank, and his eyes are shining when he turns to face us.
“Most of all, I’d like to thank these guys…
my brothers. My best friends. The men who have had each other’s backs through this crazy life.
I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else. ”
He steps away from the mic and we fall together, wrapping each other in a giant group hug. Just for a moment, we’re no longer standing on that stage. We’re back in that dusty garage again, dreaming of the day we might become something more.
We made it.
We’re here.
And I wouldn’t trade a single step of this journey for anything in the world.