Page 53 of Hymns of the Broken
“I promise nothing,” he grins, and I feel my stomach flip for reasons that have nothing to do with the carnival rides.
The ride leaves me breathless and a little dizzy—Jasper’s arm slung casually around my shoulders, steadying me when I stumble off. “Need a minute?” He teases.
Ash is already buying lemonade for the group. Jace and Micah are arguing about who’s the better shot at the ring toss. Silas is lurking in the shade, probably wondering how he got roped into this circus.
We wander through the food stalls; the boys daring each other to try deep-fried everything. Jasper slips away for a minute, giving my waist a little squeeze before he goes. “Don’t let Jace talk you into eating anything on a stick,” he calls back, grinning.
“Come on, Sawyer,” Jace says, holding out a deep-fried Twinkie. “Live a little.”
I shake my head. “I’d rather not die before the next venue, thanks.”
A few minutes later, Jasper returns, two burgers in hand. He hands one to me, his eyes soft. “Figured you’d want something real. You don’t look like a corn dog girl.”
I roll my eyes but take the burger anyway, grateful for something hearty after all this sugar and adrenaline. “You calling me boring?”
His lips twitch. “Not even a little.” His gaze drops to my lips, then back up. “Just making sure you’re taken care of.”
Ash slides up next to us, trying to steal a bite from my burger, and Jasper arches a brow—one silent look and Ash backs off, hands up.
Jace, catching the moment, snorts. “He doesn’t share well, Ash. Figured you’d have learned that by now.”
“Damn, alright, keep your food and your girl, Reign.”
We all collapse on the grass, legs stretched out, listening to music pulsing from the main stage. Jasper sits beside me, his thigh pressed against mine and his arm thrown lazily over the back of my shoulders as we eat. He glances down at me, his mouth quirking. “Still with me?”
I nod, mouth full. “Yeah, right here.”
The guys drift in and out of conversation, passing food and teasing each other. Ash tells a story about their last tour, Jace and Silas heckle every detail while Micah shakes his head, smiling quietly in the sun.
For a while, everything feels easy. I laugh until my stomach hurts, sticky with sweat and sugar, my body humming from too much adrenaline and too many looks from Jasper that say ‘you’re mine’.
But sitting there, I can’t help but think of another fair.
Cotton candy melting on my tongue, my sister’s laughter in my ear. I was a kid again, maybe nine, and the world seemed impossibly big and bright. My dad carried my younger sister on his shoulders so she could see over the crowd, and my stepmom handed me and her daughter our ride bracelets.
I remember all three of us riding the Gravitron, the lights spinning so fast, laughing and seeing who could turn upside down, and stay stuck to the wall the longest. Our parents are laughing as we stumble down the ramp to get right back in line for another go. We rode every single ride we could, as many times as we could, even the ones that rattled and squealed.
Our favorite was the Zipper—a battered old deathtrap that everybody wondered why it was still being operated, but rode anyway. They squished together in that tiny metal cage, my dad and I in the other, laughing so hard we could barely breathe. We spun and rattled and screamed. The world turning upside down. Metallica playing on a speaker was my favorite background fair noise. My stepmom waited below, pretending not to worry, but grinning every time we made it through another loop.
For a while, it felt like nothing could touch us—all five of us, all caught up in the bright lights and impossible noise of being a family.
I blink,the memory fading, replaced by grass under my back, festival music in the air, and Jasper’s fingers tracing lazy circles over my arm. For a moment, I almost believed I could get that feeling back—laughter, safety, family.
***
The sunlight’s gone syrupy—pink and gold, slanting low as the festival winds down. The group is full, sleepy, and everyone is a little sun drunk as we start the slow walk back toward the buses. I hang behind, snapping pictures—Micah, Jace and Ash stalking around in the long shadows, Silas glancing back to make sure nobody gets left behind.
Jasper loops his arm around my shoulders, and every so often, he leans in, voice husky in my ear. “Save some film for me.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s digital, and I already have enough of you.”
But I keep my camera ready, eyes peeled for the perfect shot. As we near the main stage, the crowd thickens again, caught in the wash of pulsing lights. Riot’s band, Reckless Saints, is up, and I can feel the shift in the air, the way the crowd surges as the drums kick in.
I pause at the edge of the stage, lifting my camera to my eye. Riot is a blur of motion. His shirt clinging to his body, hair dripping sweat, and his eyes wild under the colored lights. He plays as if he’s fighting for his life, like every beat matters.
I crouch low, snapping a few rapid shots—catching the way his hair whips across his face, the gleam of the drumsticks in his hands, the veins standing out on his arms. He’s beautiful in that reckless, chaotic way some musicians are—messy, real, and impossible not to notice.
Suddenly, Riot’s eyes find mine through the lens. He grins, drumming even harder as if for my benefit. My heart skips.
