Page 125 of I Just Want to be Yours

My hands shake as I walk through the airport, my fingers gripping the strap of my duffel tighter than they need to.

My heart pounds in my chest with every step toward the main exit.

Then, I see him. He’s alone. There’s no other bandmates,there’s no Mya, he doesn’t even have his guitar. It’s just Jackson. He must have taken an Uber to meet me.

I stop in my tracks, and just look at him. He hasn’t seen me yet. His back leans against the outside wall as he looks down at his foot as it scuffs the pavement. All the anxiety and stress I’ve held on to all day finally melts, and the rush of it has my eyes prickling as happy tears threaten to spill over.

Jackson looks up, and those steel-blue eyes come alive when they see me. He grins, and I hope I never forget what he looked like in this moment. I hope I never forget how the way he looks at me made me feel at this very second.

Rushing toward him, I drop my bag as soon as he’s within reach so I can wrap my arms around him. He feels familiar, and safe, and exciting, and unknown all at once.

And when he kisses my hair and says, “Welcome home, Red,” he feels a lot like that, too.

epilogue

One Year Later

jackson

The vibrationsfrom the show we just played and the energy from the crowd reverberates through me as I step inside the tour bus. Tonight, we played the amphitheater in Tampa, and it feels surreal to perform where I’ve paid to watch some of my favorite bands.

Pulling my sweat-soaked shirt over my head, I grab a fresh one from my bunk and slip it on before walking back to the front of the bus.

The band is all talking over each other about the show with grins on their faces.

Dave and Brady sit on the couch in front of the TV with their fiancés, Lynn and Kasey, by their sides. Kasey lives with us on the bus, but Lynn still lives here. Dave usually flies back and forth between shows to see her, and tonight he’ll probably stay at her place.

Marty has already gone to a fan’s hotel room nearby and told us not to expect him until morning. The girl was waiting for him at the side of the stage, so I’m starting to think he setsup his hookups in advance. We’re busier now. We play bigger venues with less down time, so his usual tactics of sneaking into the crowd to pick up a fan are obsolete.

Mya and Brian left to pick up our leftover merchandise from the venue, but they’ll be back soon. Mya doesn’t even have to run the table anymore. Now the venue staff takes care of it, and she just picks up the inventory at the end of the night, takes count, and makes a new order.

Everything has worked out. I don’t know how the hell I got this lucky, but I wouldn’t change a single thing about my life on the road.

Then my eyes land onher. Margot sits at the small foldout table as she types on her laptop. She’s wearing leggings with a lightweight pullover, one leg folded underneath her. She’s comfortable here—relaxed. Hell, she’s at home here, with me, and I’ll never get sick of seeing her when I walk off the stage. Most nights she comes out and watches the show, but then there are nights like tonight where she works through them. Walking up to her, I place a finger under her chin to lift her face toward mine to kiss her. “Still working?”

She smiles against my lips. “Almost done.”

When I release her, those bright eyes fall back to her screen where she types a few more lines before she stops and looks at me again. “Another band reached out to me to do a post on them.”

“Nice. Which one?” She’s had so many bands contact her. At this point, it’s impossible to keep track. She writes about her life on the road, the cities she sees, the local places where we stop for lunch. She writes about everything. She wrote about a couple of the bands who have opened for us to try to get them more publicity, and it’s worked. Now other bands are catching on.

“Air Trek? Heard of them?”

I try to think. “Yeah, I have actually. One of their songspopped up on a playlist while I was working out a while back. I don’t remember much about it, but I remember liking it.”

The familiar spark of motivation shines in her eyes. “Okay, I’ll look them up. No talk about them in the industry yet?”

It’s what she always asks. I think she likes helping the small fish in the pond more than anyone else. “Not that I know of, but you’d have to ask Brian.”

She looks back at her laptop and types something else. “Okay. I will.” Glancing back at me, she adds, “How was the show?”

“Great.” I sit across from her and prop my elbows on the table. “And did you finish your homework?”

With a tight-lipped smile, she playfully tilts her head to the side, her long hair cascading down her arm. “Yes, I did.”

“Good.” I lean forward across the table and kiss her again. “Because they’ll be here any minute.”

She blinks like she might have forgotten. “Shit, that’s right. We’re in Tampa.”

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