Page 90 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

Lacey’s thumb strokes across my knuckles, grounding me.

“You weren’t that much older, just a teenager yourself when you had me,” I say roughly. “After Dad left...”

“That’s no excuse.” She shakes her head. “I let my fear of being alone drive every decision. I put too much on your shoulders. All those failed relationships made you grow up too fast.” Her eyes meet mine. “But watching you now—seeing the man you’ve become, the success you’ve built, this beautiful woman you’re going to marry—I’m so proud of you, Nathan. So incredibly proud.”

Something hot and painful lodges in my throat. All these years, I’ve carried this anger, this hurt. But sitting here, seeing the pride in her eyes, the genuine warmth in Richard’s smile...

“I missed you,” I whisper, and it feels like a confession.

She’s crying now, silent tears tracking down her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too. Every single day.”

Richard clears his throat. “Nancy, why don’t you show them the albums? All the clippings...”

She brightens, hurrying to pull out a scrapbook. Inside are newspaper articles, magazine covers, concert reviews—every mention of the Wild Band she could find.

“I have digital ones, too,” she admits, blushing. “On my iPad. Richard taught me how to make folders...”

Lacey leans forward, genuinely interested, and soon they’re talking about music, about the band’s success. My mother tells stories I’d forgotten—my first drum set made of pots and pans, the time I sprained my arm trying to recreate Keith Moon’s moves.

As I watch them together, something shifts inside me. The wall I’ve built starts to crack, letting in some light.

When we finally stand to leave, Mom hugs me again, longer this time. “Don’t be a stranger,” she whispers. “Please.”

“I won’t.” And this time, I mean it.

Richard shakes my hand, then surprises me with a quick hug. “You’re always welcome here, Nate. Both of you.”

Outside, the Seattle rain has stopped. Sunlight breaks through the clouds as Lacey and I walk to the car.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.

I pull her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I think I am.”

Because for the first time in years, the rhythm in my chest feels complete. Like a song that finds its missing note. Like a wound inside of me has finally healed.

Back at the hotel, I’m still processing. Everything feels different, as if the world has shifted slightly on its axis. Lacey gives me space, settling into the armchair with her laptop while I pace near the windows.

The city sprawls below, no longer feeling like enemy territory. My phone buzzes—a text from Mom, just her number with a heart emoji. So tentative. So hopeful. I immediately save it.

“The guys are heading over for soundcheck soon,” Lacey reminds me gently.

Right. The show. For the first time in my career, I almost forgot we’re performing tonight.

“You going to tell the band?” she asks.

I run a hand through my hair. “Maybe. After.” The guys know only bits and pieces of my history, but not everything. Not like Lacey does now.

She sets aside her laptop and crosses to me. “Whatever you decide is fine.” Her hands smooth down my chest, grounding me. “But you should know—you’re kind of glowing.”

“Glowing?” I catch her hands, raising an eyebrow.

“Mmhmm. Like some massive weight just lifted off those broad shoulders of yours.”

She’s right. I feel lighter. Clearer. Like, I can finally take a full breath.

“Thank you,” I murmur, pulling her closer. “For pushing me. For being there.”

“Of course.” She rises on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to my jaw. “Though I have to say, your mom is absolutely delightful. And the stories she could tell...”

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