Page 32 of Big & Burly Rockstar

Epilogue

Devon

1 year later

Nervous excitement has me pacing through the living-room. I’ve both been looking forward to this day and dreading it. Looking forward to it because Elli and I have worked so hard to get here and finally get to celebrate our achievement. Dreading it because anniversaries have a tendency to bring up memories, both good and bad.

While we waited for Adam’s trial, we needed something to distract ourselves with. So we wrote songs. Enough to have a full album. And today, exactly one year after that piece of shit kidnapped Elli, we’re having the release party.

I probably asked Elli fifty times if she was sure she wanted to have it on this date. I don’t want any nasty memories to mar our day, to take away any of Elli’s joy for what we have achieved. I’d never tell the guys, but this album with Elli is the best I’ve ever done. I can’t wait for the world to hear it.

Still, on a day that should be pure excitement and happiness, I’m thinking of that piece of shit. At trial, he tried to deny his intentions were bad. Claimed all the pictures he took of her were because he was in love with her. That he sent them to her to show her his affection because he was too shy to tell her in person. It took everything in me not to throttle him.

And when they read the diary that he kept, where he’d written out all the sick things he’d planned to do to her—had we not been in a courtroom, had Elli not squeezed my hand as if I were the one who needed comforting, I would have killed him. And I would have smiled when the light in his eyes went out. The only good thing about the trial was seeing the bastard sentenced to twenty years in prison.

I shake my head, trying to get rid of the memories. “I’ll remember this date for the rest of my life,” Elli said yesterday when I asked her if she really wanted to go through with the party. “I want some good memories to cancel out the bad.”

I glance at the clock hanging above the door. Elli should’ve been back an hour ago. She was gone by the time I woke up, leaving a hastily scribbled note that she’d forgotten about an appointment and would be back by twelve. Worry gnaws at my insides. I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight; not today. She’s been struggling with PTSD. What if she’s somewhere all alone, having a panic attack?

I pull my phone out of my pocket and try to call her again, but by the first ring the front door opens and Elli walks inside. Relief rushes through me as I pull her into my arms. “I was worried about you,” I murmur, nuzzling her neck.

She pulls out of our embrace and cups my face, smiling. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually.”

For the first time, I fully take in her appearance. Her eyes are bright, dancing with joy, her lips curved in a relaxed smile. She looks happy. Not at all like someone who, one year ago today, went through hell.

“Where were you? And why didn’t you pick up your phone?” I ask, trying not to sound accusatory. I worry about Elli. Too much, according to her. But I can’t help myself. I failed to keep her safe once. I’ll never do so again.

“I had to run some errands,” she says, walking past me. “And I forgot that I put my phone on silent.” Her voice is a little too even.

“You’re hiding something.”

She grins at me over her shoulder. “Yup.”

“Tell me,” I demand, but Elli just laughs.

“All in good time. I need to get ready for the party.”

I watch her go upstairs, her hips swaying seductively, the sound of her quiet laughter still filling my ears. And I marvel at her. Marvel at her strength, her beauty and kindness. Marvel that she chose me. Praying that I’m worthy of her. Knowing that I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to her that I deserve her love.

Elli

I was scared that I’d feel like shit today. That the memories would overrun me, would ruin what’s supposed to be an amazing day. But when I woke up this morning, I felt calm. That is, until I remembered I had an appointment at my OBGYN. I rushed through a shower and barely made it on time. It was supposed to be a routine check-up, but then—I smile at the memory, absentmindedly placing a hand on my belly. I can’t wait to tell Dev. I just have to find the right moment.

I hurry to get ready, rushing through my make-up and throwing on a red and white sundress. Thank God we decided to keep the party low-key. Just us and our friends and family, plus the producer and The Bayonets’ new manager. I’m so damn proud of what Dev and I did. We turned some of our darkest moments into something beautiful.

By the time I rush downstairs, Dev is already waiting by the door. He looks so handsome in his simple jeans and black T-shirt. Really, it shouldn’t be allowed to look this damn good with so little effort.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready when you are.”

Throughout the drive, I tap a nervous staccato with my foot. Only we and the producer have heard the songs. We didn’t want other people’s opinions to influence our songs, wanted them to be our brainchild, equal parts him and me.

We’re the last to arrive at The Feathers, the bar we rented for the party. When we walk inside, everyone erupts into loud cheers, rushing to greet us. I look at the people I love, come to celebrate us, and my heart swells.

“D’you want a drink?” Dev asks, and I nod.

“Coke, please.” I wish I could drink alcohol. I could definitely use something to calm my nerves. We’re going to perform a few songs tonight. It’s been so long since I’ve been on stage that I’m super nervous. We sidle over to the bar, where Finn sits next to his mother. Both of them smile when they see us approach.

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