Page 147 of Punk 57


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Fifty-seven nights of nothing but you.

His eyes are closed, and his face is so beautiful. Everything inside me is crumbling, because it’s the most perfect song I’ve ever heard, and I want him to keep going.

When did he write that? When we were fighting? Before we met?

A chaperone walks on stage after the song ends and cocks her head disapprovingly at the band. They smile and take off their instruments, quickly getting out of there, because while they may have had permission to perform a song, they probably didn’t have permission to say a few of the words that were in those lyrics.

I laugh as Dane takes a dramatic bow and the crowd cheers. I don’t even know what just happened. Were people dancing? Where’s Trey and Lyla? I don’t know, and I don’t care.

Misha hands off his guitar to one of the guys, and I inch forward through the crowd, waiting for him to come to me. He hops down off the stage as the other band takes over again and starts playing.

He comes up and wraps his arms around me under my ass and lifts me up. I laugh even though tears wet my face.

I touch his cheek, looking down at him. “I didn’t want to cry.”

“A lot of your words are in those lyrics,” he tells me. “We do more than a few things really well together, you know?”

“Good and bad.”

He stretches his neck up, brushing my lips. “And I want it all.”

I kiss him, everyone else forgotten. So that was 57. He’d sent me pieces of the song in the past year, but I’d never heard the whole thing.

“I love you,” he whispers. “And I’m ready to leave as soon as you are, so keep me posted.”

“I’m ready.”

He smiles and sets me down. “Let’s go have some fun.”

He takes my hand, and we walk through the crowd of dancers, running into J.D. as we pass the food tables.

“Where are you guys going?” he asks.

I glance at Misha, and he shrugs.

There’s a girl whose name I don’t know at J.D.’s side. I don’t want to take him away from her or the after parties, but…

“Can you disappear with us for an hour?”

He thinks about it and sets his plate down. “I’m in.”

“Remember you said that,” I warn.

He whispers something to the girl and jogs after us while Misha knocks on Ten and Manny’s table. “Let’s go.”

We all pile into Misha’s truck, and I see my duffel sitting on the passenger side floor as I climb in.

“So where are we going?” Ten asks as Misha starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.

“To the school.”

I pull on my seat belt and put the bag in my lap, unzipping it.

“Why?”

I shoot a look to Misha, everything in his expression telling me to go ahead.

I pull out a can of the washable spray paint. “Because…it’s nearly the end of the year, and I have a few more things to say.”

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