Page 179

I glance at Reese, and her eyes are glassy—but she’s smiling.

When the final chord echoes into silence, the boys stand still for a beat too long, like they’re trying to memorize the moment. Then they vanish backstage in a blur of sweat and adrenaline.

The door swings open.

And Reese moves.

No hesitation. No pause. She walks straight into Thorin’s arms and wraps herself around him like she’s afraid he’ll fall apart without her. He doesn’t say anything. Neither does she. They just stand there. Breathing. Shaking. Healing.

Fletch’s eyes find mine over their shoulders. He looks wrecked. Radiant. Alive.

“Come here,” he says, voice hoarse, tugging me forward with one hand while the other cups the back of my neck like he’s afraid I’ll disappear too.

“We did it,” he whispers into my hair. “Last one.”

“What do you mean?” I pull back enough to see his face.

Thorin’s the one who answers, stepping forward with his arm still around Reese. “We’ve been talking. All of us.”

Benji and Carson nod behind him, their expressions soft, open.

“This was our last show,” Thorin says simply.

My stomach lurches. “What?”

Fletch laces our fingers together. “Not forever. But for now? Yeah. Life on the road… it’s too hard in this season of our lives.”

Reese’s lips part in surprise. “What about the rest of the tour?”

“We canceled it.” Thorin says it like it’s obvious. “I want to be at home. With Reese.”

Benji rubs the back of his neck. “We’ve been chasing music so hard we forgot to chase life.”

Carson nods. “We all agreed. It’s time.”

“And I’d like to get started on our house,” Flech adds, giving me a wink. With everything else going on, we have yet to start rebuilding the place that will be our new home.

I’m blinking too fast to stop the tears. “So… what now?”

Fletch’s grip tightens around mine. “We’re starting our own label. We’ll make music on our terms. Help other artists get a foot in the door. Give them what we never had.”

It’s too much. It’s everything.

Reese lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re serious.”

Thorin presses a kiss to her temple. “Dead serious.”

Fletch lifts my hand to his mouth, brushing his lips against my knuckles.

“It’s not the end, baby. It’s the beginning. Just… one we actually get to write ourselves.”

The words hang between us, sweet and steady, like the last note of a song you never want to stop playing.

Carson’s already pulled two chairs into the corner of the greenroom, feet kicked up on a coffee table, water bottle balanced on his knee. Benji’s sprawled on the couch with his head tipped back and a hand over his eyes like the adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet. Thorin and Reese are curled up on the floor together against the wall, his arm tucked around her shoulder, her fingers tangled in his shirt like she’s still reminding herself he’s real.

Fletch guides me down beside him on the oversized leather ottoman and leans forward, forearms braced on his thighs, eyes bright under the shadow of his cap.

“All right,” he says. “So let’s talk about it. Not the dream version. The real thing. What does this label actually look like?”