Page 103 of Sixty Days Of Summer

“I’m here to take you out to the wings so you can watch the show. But first, can I snag a photo with you, Mr. Roberts?” He’s already heading my way before I’ve even got a chance to respond, phone out, ready for his moment of glory.

The douche sitting across from me finally lifts his head from his phone, his brows pulling together as he tries to figure out who the hell I am.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, standing up from the couch.

“I’m a huge fan of your band,” the young guy says, tilting his head toward me for the selfie. He snaps the photo, quickly tucking his phone back into his pocket with a grin. “Thanks, man,” he adds, then motions for us to follow him. “Alright, this way.”

I fall in step behind him, the bored douchebag reluctantly following along. I know damn well I could find my way to the stage on my own, but tonight isn’t about me—it’s Scarlet’s night. It’s her show, and I’m here to support her.

As we make our way through the narrow corridors, crew members spot me. Some shout my name, others give quick fist bumps or nods.

“So, you’re in a band?” the douchebag finally pipes up, walking next to me.

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah. Something like that.” My tone is flat, dismissive. I’m not in the mood for a conversation with this guy. Earlier, when Scarlet left and I was bored, I tried to make small talk—he ignored me, glued to his phone. Now that he thinks I’m someone important, he suddenly wants to talk. Fuck that. I channel my inner Xander, giving him nothing. Let him take his fake interest and shove it. I’m not here to boost his ego.

He doesn’t stop with the questions, probing relentlessly about who the hell I am, but I shut him down with short, disinterested responses. By the time we make it to the stage and the clipboard guy leaves us in the wings, I’m already losing my patience.

“Listen, asshole,” I snap, my voice low but cutting. “I’m here to watch my girl and enjoy the show, not answer twenty fucking questions. So, back the fuck off.”

He blinks, clearly thrown off, but I don’t give him the chance to reply. My focus is already back on the stage, waiting for the only person who matters to step into the spotlight.

And then I see her—drumsticks in hand, sitting behind the kit—everything else fades away. The idiot beside me. The background noise. It's just her and this moment, the one she’ll remember for the rest of her fucking life, just like the four of us do.

As Scarlet sets up behind the drums, she looks towards me in the wings, her eyes locking onto mine. I catch a brief flicker of nerves, but it’s gone in an instant. She takes a steadying breath, and when I give her a nod, I see the small, reassuring smile on her lips.

That look. It says everything. She’s about to give it her all, and I know she will. I’ve seen her step in and crush it before.

As the lights dim and the guitarist counts them in, I watch Scarlet take one last deep breath, steadying herself. I know she’s got this. She’s played in front of eighty thousand people before. This smaller venue should be a fucking breeze.

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