“Good night, Sugar.”
As I drive away, I glance in the rearview mirror.
He’s still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching me go, but this time, I don’t feel like I’m leaving something behind.
As Danny said, it’s not the end.
I’m just driving toward the next beginning.
And with Patty, I plan to enjoy every moment of the ride.
EPILOGUE
ONE MONTH LATER
LOU
“You getting tired, Queenie? You’re stumbling around out there like you stayed up too late makin’ out with your boyfriend,” Patty says in my ear as I do a quick wardrobe change at side-stage.
“Wishful thinking,” I tell him. “I stayed up too late trying to convince my boyfriend to make out while he was too busy watching Sean’s game.”
“Like you weren’t?”
I smirk. “Only under protest.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself. You know you love hockey now.”
I grin as I rush past him. “I prefer the commercial breaks.”
“Me too,” he says in a voice so intense it sets my nerves on fire.
I’m playing at the famous Red Rocks Amphitheater in Colorado—a bucket-list venue if there ever was one—and the view steals my breath. Also, the altitude.
The acoustics are insane. Even with my in-ears, I can tell the difference. The rock walls create an incredible acoustic environment, and the unique seating makes it feel so much more intimate than it should with 9,500 people in the audience. I’m used to looking down and out, straining to see faces. But here, the seats rise up from the stage, and I can see them—the eyes, the smiles, the energy—all of it.
I love it.
I feel connected to the crowd, connected to my band, too. The girls are finishing their instrumental, and we’re about to transition into my last song before the encore. We smile at each other, both because of the sheer electric thrill that comes from performing in one of the most iconic venues in the world and because we’ve become close in the past month. I know we’ll only grow closer in the months ahead on tour—and in the years of touring after that.
Patty was right to ask me to open up, to let more people in. I thought relationships would create risk, but they’ve only made me stronger.
Manny, Alicia, my band—heck, every crew member I know—they’ve proven themselves again and again.
For so long, I thought the way to stay safe from being hurt was to hide. But being known isn’t a liability—it’s a strength. My isolation and fear hurt worse than being seen and loved ever has. And yes, love comes with risks, but loving Patty is worth it. Every time.
Our families and friends are in the crowd, and I can feel their support as I sit at the piano, letting my joy and love and heart open for everyone to feel.
“Gorgeous,” Patty whispers in my ear, and I know he’s talking about the song.
Okay, me too.
But the compliment means so much more when it’s about the music.
All I can do is smile and let my fingers glide across the piano. And when I finish the song, I bow and bring my band out to rapturous applause, my lips stretched into such a wide, aching smile it almost hurts.
And then we leave the stage to drink water before the encore.
I love the break before an encore—the way anticipation builds, how the fans grow louder and wilder with each second we’re gone. The energy churns, a fever-pitch wave, as we catch our breath.
