35. Epilogue
Epilogue
Quinn
The Crypto.com arena hums with anticipation, thousands of sequined gowns and tailored tuxedos creating a constellation of light under the sweeping camera arcs. I shift in my seat, grateful for the stretchy panels hidden within the elegant emerald gown that matches both my ring and my husband’s eyes. Those same panels accommodating the barely-there curve of my stomach—our little secret for just a few more weeks.
“Nervous?” Emily whispers, leaning over from the next seat.
“For them? Never.” I smile, watching the Wild Band members whisper amongst themselves. Vince catches my eye, winking conspiratorially. That sexy wink that still sends butterflies through my stomach—or maybe that’s the baby.
The memory of his face when I told him the news floods back, the stunned joy when I’d handed him the positive test over coffee, Jasmine obliviously stacking blocks at our feet.
“Are you serious?” he’d whispered, voice cracking. “We’re having a baby?”
I’d barely managed a nod before he swept me into his arms, laughing against my hair, reverent hands already cradling my still-flat stomach. “A sibling for Jazz,” he’d murmured, green eyes bright with unshed tears. “God, Quinn, I love you so much.”
Now, under the glittering lights of music’s biggest night, I touch my engagement ring—Reenie’s emerald, now paired with a simple platinum band. The beach wedding had been perfect: just family, close friends, and Jasmine toddling down the sandy aisle scattering flower petals with gleeful abandon.
“And the Grammy for Album of the Year goes to...”
The presenter’s voice pulls me back to the present. I reach for Emily’s hand on one side, Cass’s wife Kendrick on the other, along with Lila and Lacey. All the Wild Band women, as we’ve jokingly dubbed ourselves—bound together by love and the particular brand of chaos that comes with loving rockstars.
“...’Our Wild Love,’ The Wild Band!”
The roar is deafening. My heart soars as the guys leap to their feet, exchanging back slaps and grins. Vince turns to me first, one hand dropping to briefly caress my stomach before he kisses me—hard and passionate, caring nothing for the cameras surely capturing the moment.
“For luck,” he murmurs against my lips before following his bandmates toward the stage.
I watch him go, this beautiful, complicated man who rewrote my entire life. The album title flashes across the screens—Our Wild Love. Their album—filled with more heartfelt ballads and tender love songs than ever before—is an open declaration that each one of these former wild boys has found his soulmate.
On stage, the guys gather around the microphone, their five Grammy statues glinting under the bright lights. Cass speaks first, thanking Kendrick and Cassidy for their love and support, followed by the label and producers. Each member of the band follows, expressing love and gratitude for their families and their fans.
Last but not least, Vince steps forward. “Music has given me so much,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “A career. Brothers.” He gestures to his bandmates. “But nothing compares to the woman sitting right there.”
The camera finds me, projecting my image across the massive screens. Heat floods my cheeks, but I hold his gaze across the crowded room.
“Three years ago, I was a mess with a good sound and too much attitude. Then this fiery redhead walked into my life, completely unimpressed with my fame, and challenged me to be better.” His voice softens. “Now, I have a family I never dreamed I deserved.”
Vince raises the Grammy high, emerald eyes finding mine with laser precision despite the blinding lights. “This one’s for you, Red. For giving me your love and the perfect family.” His voice drops, intimate despite the thousands listening. “And for the new adventure we’re starting.”
Gasps and whispers ripple through the crowd as his hand settles meaningfully on his own stomach, the universal signal understood immediately by the audience.
I laugh through sudden tears, one hand instinctively cradling my barely-there bump. Leave it to Vince to announce our pregnancy to the entire music industry with a gesture. I nod, confirming what everyone is already suspecting, and the crowd erupts in cheers and applause.
A smile touches my lips as I glance over at the Wild Band women. A wave of warmth spreads through me, a comforting sense of camaraderie knowing I can lean on any of them for pregnancy advice. Kendrick and Emily as seasoned veterans. Lila's knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment of her own whirlwind pregnancy and the arrival of her twins. The image of Lacey's sleepy smile as she introduced the world to little Nick. Their presence a warm reassurance, a silent promise of shared understanding and invaluable advice in the months to come.
As cameras flash and the orchestra begins playing the Wild Band members off stage, I watch my husband—rockstar, father, love of my life—and marvel at how perfectly imperfect our story has been. From social media manager to wife and mother, from irresponsible rock idol to devoted family man—we’ve rewritten every rule and composed our own life’s melody.
And our song, I know, is just beginning.
The End.