Page 102 of Sixty Days Of Summer

As I walk up, my eyes catch Scarlet rising from behind the drum kit. She steps forward, joining us at the front of the stage.

Xander steps back up to the mic, his voice cutting through the ambient buzz of the crowd as they start to quiet down. He glances at Scarlet, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before turning to face the audience.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here with us tonight,” he says. “It’s been an unforgettable ride, and none of it would have been possible without all of you."

The crowd roars, their voices crashing together in a wave of pure, electrifying energy that pulses through every inch of the stadium.

“I want to take a moment to give a massive shoutout to someone who’s been absolutely crushing it these past two months,” Xander starts, the crowd instantly quieting, eager to hear what he has to say next. “Let me tell you without Scarlet stepping in, this tour wouldn’t have happened. She’s not just a stand-in; she’s proven herself to be one hell of a talented drummer.” He pauses, his gaze locking onto hers, pride radiating from him. "Scarlet, you’ve got something in you that the world needs to see. This is just the start for you, and I know you’re gonna do amazing things." He turns back to the crowd. “You all need to keep an eye on her because this girl’s got big things coming. When she starts with her new band, she’s gonna blow the fucking roof off.” He turns back towards Scarlet. "So, from all of us up here, thank you, Scarlet, for everything.”

The crowd erupts into cheers again. Scarlet’s smile lights up her face, and I can see the glimmer of tears in her eyes as she nods her head toward Xander. I step closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a tight squeeze. I press a kiss to the top of her head. I’m so fucking proud of her—for everything she’s done for us and for our label. All those assholes who said we couldn’t pull this off. Well, fuck you. We didn’t just do it; we fucking nailed it. And a massive part of that is because of her.

I lean down to whisper in her ear, my voice low but full of emotion. “You’ve earned every bit of this, Scar. You’re a fucking star.” She looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and her smile widens as if she can’t believe it either. But she should. Because she is.

“Until next time,” Xander says into the mic, his voice echoing across the crowd. We all wave one last time at the audience, Theo, Scarlet and I wait, expecting to follow our usual routine—Xander walking off first. But then he gestures for Scarlet to go ahead, giving her the spotlight one final time.

As she walks across the stage, my eyes can’t help but lock onto her ass. She’s mine now, and I’m not about to waste a single fucking minute with her. Every second counts, and I intend to make the most of every moment we have together.

When she reaches Nate at the side of the stage, he pulls her in tight, wrapping his arms around her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. I can’t catch the words he whispers in her ear, but the way she nods, that small smile playing on her lips, speaks volumes. Despite their ups and downs, their bond as siblings is unbreakable. There’s a loyalty between them that runs deep, and moments like this make it crystal clear.

As they pull back, Theo steps in next, wrapping her up in a solid hug of support. It’s about damn time these twooverprotective assholes started giving her the space to take charge of her own life.

When Theo finally lets go, Xander steps in and places a hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Thanks, Scarlet,” he says, his voice carrying a rare sincerity that breaks through his usual stoic exterior. It’s no surprise that Xander skips the hug—that’s just not his style. He reserves that kind of warmth for Poppy and Alex, keeping things a little more guarded with the rest of us.

As soon as Xander steps back, I can’t hold back any longer. I step in and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close, breathing in the scent of her hair mixed with the faint hint of sweat from the night’s performance.

“I can’t wait for us to get home,” I say, and the words roll off my tongue. The thought of Scarlet living with me, of having her there every day, feels so damn right. We’ve practically been living together for the past month, and the idea of not having her beside me in my bed—feeling the warmth of her body next to mine—is something I can’t even bear to think about. My house was built as an escape from everything I left behind—the poverty, the brokenness, the feeling that I had nothing to offer. A few months ago, the idea of being with the same woman every day would’ve terrified me, but now? The thought of my place without her feels like the worst fucking nightmare.

I lean in and kiss her, pouring every ounce of my heart into that moment. It’s raw and intense, a desperate attempt to claim every bit of her joy as my own. I want her to know how deeply in love I am with her, how she’s become my everything.

When we finally pull away, I can’t help but grin like an idiot, my heart racing like it’s the first time I’ve ever felt this alive. This is it. This is everything I’ve ever wanted, and it’s just the beginning. I can see the future stretching out ahead of us, brightand full of promise, and I’m ready to dive in headfirst with her by my side.

Epilogue

Ace

One Year Later

As I sit in this cramped little room, a backstage pass weighing heavy around my neck, the memories come crashing down on me, relentless and sharp. It’s been years since I’ve thought about those days—when we were just the fucking opening act forone of the biggest bands in the world. That gig was the turning point. It didn’t just change the game; it catapulted us from obscurity to the top. And now, as I get ready to watch Scarlet’s band, I feel it deep in my gut—they’re on the brink of that same kind of explosion. They’re not just good—they’re fucking incredible. There’s no question in my mind that they’re about to take over, just like we did.

But sitting across from me… This fucking guy. The lead singer’s boyfriend, who’s been glued to his damn phone the entire time he’s been here. Not a single ounce of interest in what’s happening around him, no excitement in his eyes. It’s like he doesn’t even grasp how huge tonight is for his girl. It pisses me off—how clueless some people can be when they’re right on the verge of something that could change their whole fucking life.

Each of the band members were only given one backstage pass for the night. Tomorrow, Nate will be Scar’s plus one, and the night after, it’ll be Theo. What she doesn’t know, though, is that the guys are already sitting out there in the stadium, dressed in their ridiculous disguises, ready to lose their shit cheering her on from the crowd.

As I sit here, waiting for someone to take us to the wings of the stage so we can catch the show from the side, my eyes wander to the massive bouquet of flowers I brought with me. A smirk tugs at my lips, and I shake my head. I remember a time when I thought guys who bought flowers were either completely fucked up or just plain pussy-whipped. But damn, if that isn’t me now. And you know what? I don’t give a shit. Not one bit.

I’d do anything for Scar. If that means this tattooed, rough-around-the-edges asshole is walking around with a bouquet of flowers for his girl, then so fucking be it. She’s worth every second of it. Hell, anyone who’s got a problem with it can catcha fist to the face. That’s where I’m at now. She’s mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to show her that—every damn day.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, already knowing who it is.

Nate:How is she?

I quickly type back my answer, my thumbs moving fast.

Ace:Good. She was fucking pumped. They're gone now, so the show should kick off soon.

I can practically picture them now, sitting there like a couple of dickheads, waiting for the show to start. Nate with his black wig, doing his best to look incognito, and Theo, of course, rocking that ridiculous seventies pornostache, like he’s about to start the next big trend. The guy’s a fucking trip. He doesn’t care about the weird stares or whispers—hell, he thrives on it. Always has. That’s just Theo.

The door swings open, and this young guy strolls in, looking like he’s just walked into the holy grail of backstage moments. He’s got one earbud in, clipboard clutched in his hand like he’s managing the damn Grammys. The second he spots me, his face lights up like I’m Santa Claus about to drop off his Christmas gift.

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