Chapter 24
The final show in San Diego had been electric.
Three months of sweat, music, and pure adrenaline culminating in a performance that left the entire stadium screaming for more.
Now, as the buses sat parked in a circle behind the venue, the real celebration was beginning.
"Last night of tour!"
Lacy shrieked, appearing with a bottle of champagne that definitely hadn't come from catering.
Her stage makeup was smudged in all the right ways, hair wild from ninety minutes of dancing under hot lights.
"Where did you even get that?"
I laughed, accepting the bottle she thrust into my hands.
The cork popped with a satisfying explosion, champagne spraying across the concrete and earning cheers from the growing crowd around our buses.
The entire tour family had materialized as if summoned by some invisible signal.
Backup dancers sprawled across folding chairs someone had produced from nowhere.
The lighting crew had rigged up an impromptu sound system, music pumping from speakers that made our usual bus stereo sound like a tin can.
Even the security guards had loosened up, leaning against the fence with beers in hand.
"This is insane,"
I grinned, surveying the chaos.
Someone had dragged coolers of beer from the catering truck.
Jake was teaching three of the riggers some ridiculous dance move he'd apparently been working on all summer.
Maya sat cross-legged on the ground, deep in animated conversation with our bass tech about the philosophical implications of sound mixing.
Tom appeared at my side, his stage clothes replaced by a simple t-shirt and jeans, hair still damp from his post-show shower.
"Having fun, beautiful?"
"The most,"
I said, meaning it completely. His arm slipped around my waist, solid and warm and familiar in the way that made everything else fade into background noise.
"Aria!"
Sarah bounded over, makeup artist brush still tucked behind her ear.
"Remember freshman year when we said we were going to be famous rock stars living on tour buses?"
"Eating nothing but gas station snacks and living off adrenaline,"
I added, clinking my champagne bottle against her beer.
"Well, the gas station snack part was accurate,"
Luke's voice cut through our nostalgia as he joined our little circle. He looked relaxed in a way I hadn't seen all summer, shoulders loose, that perpetual hint of mischief in his eyes replaced by something softer.
"Speak for yourself,"
Hunter appeared.
"Some of us have standards."
Three months of close quarters had worn away his sharp edges, or maybe I'd just learned to see past them.
Mickey materialized from the bus, drawn by some invisible thread that connected us across any distance. His guitar was slung across his back, fingers unconsciously finding chord shapes even in conversation.
"Impromptu jam session?"
he suggested, nodding toward the cluster of instruments that had somehow accumulated near the bus steps.
"Always,"
I replied, the familiar thrill of making music with him sparking in my chest. Some things never changed, no matter how complicated everything else became.
The next hour blurred into a haze of music, booze and laughter. I found myself singing harmony with dancers who'd never performed vocals, watching stage techs discover they could keep rhythm, laughing until my sides hurt when our usually stoic bus driver turned out to have an incredible voice.
"You know what's crazy?"
Lacy said during a brief lull, appearing at my elbow with her third or fourth drink.
"Six months ago you were playing dive bars to twelve people. Now look at this."
She gestured broadly at the scene around us. Hundreds of people who'd become family, all gathered because of music we'd made together. The weight of it hit me suddenly, how much had changed, how much I'd grown.
"It doesn't feel real sometimes,"
I admitted.
"It's real,"
Tom said, his voice warm with certainty.
"You made this happen."
"We made this happen,"
I corrected, looking around at the guys, at Lacy, at the entire crew that had become home.
As if summoned by my sentiment, Maya climbed onto the makeshift stage with a beer raised high.
"Speech! Speech!"
she called out, and suddenly everyone was looking at me expectantly.
"Oh no,"
I protested, but willing hands were already pushing me forward until I stood elevated above the crowd.
The noise gradually quieted as people noticed I was standing there, all eyes turning toward me with expressions ranging from expectant to affectionate to slightly drunk.
"I'm terrible at speeches,"
I began, which earned knowing laughter from people who'd watched me stumble through interviews all summer.
"But I just want to say..."
I paused, looking out at faces I'd grown to love.
"Three months ago, I thought I knew what I wanted. A record deal, fame, success, all the usual stuff. And I got all of that."
Cheers erupted from the crowd, beer bottles raised in salute.
"But what I didn't expect was this,"
I continued, gesturing around us.
"This family. This feeling of belonging somewhere, with people who understand why we do this crazy thing."
My eyes found Tom's in the crowd, then Luke's easy grin, Mickey's intense focus, Hunter's barely perceptible nod of approval.
"So thank you,"
I said, voice getting rough with emotion.
"For the music, for the friendship, for teaching me that home isn't a place, it's people."
The cheer that went up was deafening, and suddenly I was being hauled down from the stage into a mass of hugs and back-slaps and people shouting things I couldn't quite hear over the music that had started up again.
Hours later, as the crowd gradually thinned and people began the process of packing up their lives for the journey home, I found myself sitting on the bus steps with a beer I'd been nursing for an hour.
The guys had claimed spots around me in the way that had become second nature.
Tom's hand rested on my knee, thumb tracing absent patterns.
Luke sprawled in a folding chair he'd commandeered, long legs stretched out.
Mickey sat on the ground, back against the bus, guitar across his lap as he picked out a melody I didn't recognize.
Hunter stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed but expression soft.
"So what happens now?"
I asked the question that had been lurking in the back of my mind all evening.
"Now we go home,"
Tom said simply.
"Rest. Write new music. Figure out what comes next."
"The album release,"
Mickey added without looking up from his guitar.
"Promotion cycle. Probably another tour eventually."
"But different,"
Luke said, and something in his tone made me look at him more closely.
"This was special. Lightning in a bottle type of thing."
"Everything ends,"
Hunter said quietly, and for once his usual cynicism felt like wisdom rather than pessimism.
But as I sat there surrounded by people who'd become my family, watching the last of our tour crew pack up the remnants of three months that had changed everything, it didn't feel like an ending.
It felt like a beginning.
"Come on,"
Tom said, standing and offering me his hand.
"Let's go home."
And as we walked toward the bus that had been our world for so long, I realized he was right.
Whatever happened next, wherever we went from here, we'd always have this.
We'd always have the summer we became us.
The bus door closed behind us with its familiar hiss, and through the tinted windows, I watched the last lights of our tour family disappear into the California night.