Page 91 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

I groan. “Please tell me you didn’t exchange numbers.”

Her grin is wicked. “What kind of future daughter-in-law would I be if I didn’t?”

The words hit differently now. Future daughter-in-law. The concept doesn’t shake me like it used to.

My phone buzzes again—Cass this time, asking where the hell I am. But before I can reply, Lacey’s already gathering her things.

“Come on, drummer boy. Time to make your mama proud.”

And for the first time, that phrase doesn’t sting.

At the venue, everything feels amplified. Each beat, each rhythm pulses with new energy. During soundcheck, I catch myself playing differently—looser, freer, like some internal restraint has finally snapped.

“Dude,” Luke says during a break, “whatever’s got into you, bottle it. This is fire.”

If he only knew.

The crowds start filling in, and I spot Lacey in her usual spot off-stage. But tonight, she’s not alone. My mother and Richard stand beside her, and the sight nearly makes me miss a cue.

“You good?” Cass calls over his shoulder.

I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. Because they’re all here—the woman who gave me music, the man who gave me my first real drum set, and the woman who helped me find my way back to them.

As we launch into our set, I pour everything into the drums: every hurt, every fear, every moment of healing. The rhythms build and break, and I feel it all—past and present colliding in perfect time.

When we hit ‘Midnight Confessions,’ I close my eyes, letting the music take over. But instead of the usual darkness behind my lids, I see light, see hope—I see family.

Later, much later, when the crowds have gone and the equipment has been packed away, I find Lacey waiting in the wings. She’s still talking with my mother, and they’re laughing about something.

“Nathan,” Mom calls when she spots me. “You were magnificent.”

The praise washes over me, pure and clean. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Mom?” Cass says in shock, looking at me with wide eyes. “This is your mother?”

“Yes, and my stepdad.”

Sam, Luke, and Vince exchange looks, probably remembering all the times I’ve dodged questions about family and changed the subject when parents came up. But before they can say anything, Lacey introduces them.

“Nancy, Richard, I’d like you to meet the band,” she says smoothly, handling the introductions like the professional she is.

“We’ve watched all your performances,” Richard says, shaking hands with everyone. “The way you boys work together is remarkable.”

My mother can barely take her eyes off me, but she manages to smile at the others. “Nathan would always get lost in his music—in the rhythms. Now I can see that’s what makes him so great.”

There’s a moment of silence as if nobody knows what to say. But Cass, bless him, jumps in. “Well, you raised one hell of a drummer, Nancy. Even if he is a pain in the ass sometimes.”

The tension breaks. Mom laughs, and it’s the same laugh I remember from childhood—bright and unreserved. “He gets that from his father,” she says, then immediately tenses.

“Nah,” I find myself saying, “pretty sure that’s all you, Mom. Remember that time you threw Dad’s guitar out the window?”

Her eyes widen in surprise—both at the memory and at me bringing it up. Then she smiles, really smiles. “It was terribly out of tune. I did that man a favor.”

The guys crack up, and suddenly it’s easy. Natural. Like these two parts of my life were always meant to merge.

Luke claps me on the shoulder and looks at my mother. “You’ll have to come around again. We’d love to hear more stories about Nate as a boy.”

“Absolutely not,” I growl, but there’s no heat in it.

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