Jagger’s nervous laugh carries across the room.
“It’s okay. Try again,” Gizmo urges as he steadies the vibrating cymbal that Jagg just hit, which messed up the beat he was learning. “Stiffen your wrist this time.”
Jagger draws in a deep breath and tries again. He creates a groove on the drum kit. It’s juvenile in nature but pretty damn fucking good for an eight-year-old who’s just learning.
“That’s fucking perfect,” Gizmo says and then scrunches his nose. “Sorry. Your mom will have my ass for that.”
Jagg laughs again but then puffs his chest out, trying to be cool. Older. He loves being backstage with us.
“It’s okay. I’m used to it. My dad says it all the time.”
Dad.
The goddamn word still squeezes my heart like a vise every fucking time he says it—but in the best way.
I catch his eye. He grins and holds up the drumsticks that seem so big in his little hands.
“Looks like you’ll have to buy a set of drums next,” Hawke says as he looks Jagger’s way. “We better watch out or he’s going to come after all our jobs.”
“No shit,” I say and take a pull of my beer.
To say we’ve had to make an adjustment to our past backstage antics is an understatement.
Is there still drinking and partying? Yes. Are women still brought back for Rocket and Gizmo? Definitely.
Just a little more on the sly these days.
But I’m fine with all that because fuck if I’ll ever get used to looking up and seeing my bandmates—my brothers—hanging with my son and treating him like he’s one of their own.
You failed, old man. You thought a son would break me. Wrong. He made me more of a man—a better man—than I ever could have imagined.
Hawkin nudges me.
“What?”
He lifts his chin toward the doorway. “Look who made it after all.”
I still do a double take every time she walks in the room. It’s impossible not to when you spend years telling yourself you can’t have someone, then make it so you have a lifetime to spend with them.
And yes, the proposal is coming. She knows it. I know it. But there’s no fucking rush because us being together forever? That isn’t a question. What is though, is how to propose? How do I make that moment as special as she is?
Have I fucked up over the last year? Slipped a little in worrying about who I am? Yeah. I’m not proud of it, but it takes more than one year to undo a lifetime of abuse.
But Bristol has waited me out each time. She’s talked me through it. She’s held my hand—or poured me a drink—and not stopped loving me. Often reminding me that my different is my beautiful.
Just like hers is.
She high-fives Jagger where he sits at the drums—he says she can’t hug him around the guys—and then looks up and meets my eyes.
That look still packs one hell of a punch.
I rise from my seat and walk over to her.
“Hey, look,” Rocket says as he enters the room. “Crystal’s here.”
Bristol just gives him the side-eye and shakes her head at this running joke and then says, “Real funny, Rock. Real funny.”
“Crystal. Crystal,” Jagger chirps, having no idea the significance behind the term.
“Hey, you,” I say, hooking my fingers in her belt loops and pulling her against me so I can brush my lips against hers.
“Hi.” She brushes my hair off my forehead, her smile holding some kind of secret.
“You’re dressed up. You look incredible. And you have that look in your eye. What’s going on, Shug?”
“We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating?” I ask, before brushing another kiss to her lips and then whispering in her ear. “Is this the kind of celebrating that makes Uncle Gizmo watch Jagg while we go ‘celebrate’ in the dressing room alone?”
She lifts her eyebrows and trails a finger down my chest. “This is the ‘Bristol just got accepted to law school’ type of celebration.”
“No way.” All my thoughts fade away as her words hit me.
She nods frantically with a smile that could light up the whole goddamn state. “Really. I just found out. I’m stunned. Shocked. I mean . . .”
“You did it.” I pick her up, wrap my arms around her, and spin her around. She slides back down and finds her mouth with mine as she does. “You really did it. I’m so proud of you.”
All those years on her own. Being a single mom. Working a job and going to school. Sacrificing her sleep and her sanity to give everything to Jagger while still trying to chase her dreams. Finding the courage to tell McMann no thanks when he offered her job back to her.
All of them just realized for her.
“Dreams do come true,” I say.
She reaches out and cups my cheek. “They really do.”
