I step inside. He shuts the door after me, and I’m alone.
My pulse spikes. My nerves rocket to the sky.
I offer all the pleas in the world to the universe, and I click open my email.
Then, I read.
Stone,
I hereby tender my resignation from my position as your bodyguard. Please consider this my two weeks’ notice. I would like to tell you why after the show. I hope you have a fantastic one, and that you play your heart out like you do every night. I will be in the wings, watching you, enjoying every second of watching you, like I have done for the last several months.
Like I’ve enjoyed every night we’ve worked together.
Every night we’ve been together.
Then, when you’re done, if you want to know why I’ve quit, you know where to find me. I’ll be the guy by your side.
If you’ll let me.
Jackson
I want to kiss the phone. I want to jump to the sky. I want to hoot and holler.
I. Can’t. Wait.
But when I push open the door, Candi tackles me. “Picture for Insta before your last show?”
“Sure,” I say, frazzled.
“Wait. This is a bad location. Let’s move over there,” she says, gesturing closer to the stage.
I follow her, and she snaps a shot, then shakes her head when she looks at it. “No. You look flustered.”
“I am flustered,” I say, since Jackson is mere feet away. I want to talk to him, but Zoe is finishing her last song, and the show is timed to the second.
Candi sets her hands on my shoulders. “Breathe. You’ve got this. It’s just a pic. Just a show.” She glances around, having no clue it’s not the show that has me rattled. “Where’s your guitar? Let’s get this man his Strat.”
A stagehand chimes in. “Got it!” He carries it over and hands it to me.
I sling it on, and Candi brandishes the phone. “Better.” But when she checks the shot, she screws up the corner of her mouth. “Nope. You look annoyed.”
I sigh. “I’m not annoyed.”
“Then give your signature smile.”
I try to smile, but all I want is a minute with Jackson.
The song is ending.
Candi needs a picture.
My heart is bursting.
I’ve got to get onstage.
“Smile like you’re happy.”
I groan, gritting my teeth, but then my eyes find Jackson. He’s standing a few feet behind Candi, smiling like he knows why I’m suddenly grinning too.
I am happy. I am ecstatic. He is here.
She clicks. “Perfect.”
I only have eyes for him. I walk around her, touch his arm, and melt. “J.”
He’s all soft and swoony when he says my name. “Stone.”
The notes from the stage fade away. Then Zoe says my name too. I have to get out there.
There’s a guitar between us. I don’t care. I reach for him, my hand on the back of his head.
One touch, and it feels so right.
The world is silver and gold, beautiful and brilliant.
“I love you something fierce,” I say to Jackson, and his eyes glimmer with happiness and hope and something I’ve never seen before and never want to lose—love returned.
His smile is all I need.
It’s big and real and all mine.
He parts his lips to speak, but the noise is deafening. My cue sounds, and I don’t know what he said.
I mouth, Stay here, and point to the wings.
He mouths back, I will, still smiling.
Hell, I am too. I may never stop.
Then I hit the stage to thunderous applause, to seismic cheers, and it is glorious.
But the way I feel for Jackson is better than anything else in my life, and I want the world to know.
“Look at you!” I shout to the audience through the mic I wear. “Look at all you beautiful people.”
They roar back at me, rocker salutes appearing across the theater, voices echoing everywhere.
“I am in love with all of you,” I say, then I grin, wiggle a brow, and give a dramatic pause. “And someone else. And I wrote a song about it.”
Cheers erupt like wildfire.
“Wanna hear it?”
The yes is a reverb, an anthem.
I strum the first chord. “This is the new song I’ve been teasing you about.”
Noise rains down.
I power through the next few notes, playing them before a crowd for the first time, still talking. “You sure you wanna hear it?”
The shouts are electric.
“It’s a love song. It’s my favorite one.”
I swing my gaze to the wings, and there he is. That man. Tingles rush over my skin. My pulse surges.
I turn back to the audience. They are stomping their feet, clapping their hands, screaming.
I am the luckiest man in the world.
I launch into a new song.
I remember the day, when you shared them with me . . .
All of these pictures . . .
Pictures of you . . .
That’s when it started . . .
That’s when I knew . . .
That someday I’d want it all . . .
And want it with you . . .
With the guy in the picture . . .
I walk across the stage as I play, walk toward my man without giving him away, holding his gaze as I hit the line with the title in it.
Jackson dips his face for a second, then raises it again, his cheeks pinker than they’ve ever been, his blush noticeable from several feet away.
It is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, and I fall deeper in love with my guy.
I launch into the next verse, returning to the center of the stage, giving the audience everything they came for.
I sing my heart out.
Play my ass off.
And I do something I’ve never done before.
Pour the entire truth of my soul into a song.
When it ends, I lock eyes with Jackson, and I hold his gaze as a brand-new happiness floods me. Possibility. A future. A forever.
The audience hollers. They cheer and roar for nearly a minute.
When the noise settles down, I clear my throat and ask, deadpan, “You like it?”
They whoop.
And then it’s my turn again. “I want to tell you all about the song. I want to tell every last person here about this guy. I wrote it for him.”
I grin, and they howl.
“Want to know why?”
A collective yes resonates.
I flick my gaze to the wings. Dude is still smiling.
My life is awesome.
I pluck a few notes from the chorus, since words need music. “I fell in love for the first time. Has that ever happened to you?” I ask the crowd.
They shriek in response. And kiss—lots of them kiss whoever they came with.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” I say with a grin, turning once again to the guy in the wings. “See, I’ve written all these songs, but I didn’t truly get it till a few days ago.” I stop, shaking my head, still amazed that this crazy thing called love is happening to me.
I drag a hand through my hair. “There’s this guy, and, my God, I love him like crazy. Like, he’s the one.” I take a beat, look to my left, and repeat the words that matter most as my chest flutters—fucking flutters—when I look at him. “He’s the one.”