“Sure you’re up to this?” Austin checks. The roar from the crowd is audible even inside the car. “You can skip ahead and meet us backstage if you want.”

I shrug numbly. “I better get used to it, they’ll be screaming like this for our shows.”

“Yeah they will,” our new drummer, Dante, whoops, opening the car door and emerging with a million-watt grin. They go wild for him, and I watch as he plays up to the crowd, posing and kidding around with the VJ host who comes to interview him on the red carpet.

“Let’s do it,” Austin slaps me on the back, and then I’m out of the car, waving to the crowd, letting their screams wash over me in a blur.

I’m on autopilot now, a smile here, a handshake there. I must have done this same old routine a hundred times, it’s always the same chore. But when I go to sign a couple of autographs, I see the fans’ excitement close up; the tears in the eyes, the adoration on their face as they thrust old tour programs and CDs at me, begging for a scribble of marker pen.

This matters to them, more than I’ll ever know.

The thought is humbling. It cuts through my melancholy haze, and makes me feel something real for the first time in weeks.

Pride. Privilege. Gratitude.

These people let me into their lives, they share my music, and they show up to see me play, and they stand in line for hours just to scream my name.

That’s something beautiful, right there. It’s an honor, one I should never take for granted again.

“Mr Callahan…” One of the security guards tries to usher me onwards, but I shake him off.

“That’s OK, I’ve got time.” I smile and wave some more, the cheers get louder. “Who’s got something for me to sign?” I yell. The response is deafening. I beckon the other guys over, “Come on,” I tell them. “I reckon we’ve got our number one fans right here in Vegas!”

We sign and chat with fans for a half-hour, until the red carpet line gets so backed up, security drags us away. But by the time we head backstage, I’m more pumped than I’ve been in a long time. This is our first big performance since reuniting, and although we’ve been rehearsing for weeks, I know, we’re going to kill it tonight.

“The Reckless report to stage for places.” The backstage area is packed with roadies, security, and masses of people with VIP badges. We’re hustled into position on-stage, hidden for now behind a massive backdrop while out front, they hand out awards and read stale jokes off the teleprompter.

“Hey guys.” I pause, letting a sound guy hook me up. They all look over. “I just want to say, I’m really glad we’re doing this. I missed you all.”

“Aww,” Dante hoots, spinning his drumsticks, but Austin shoots me a quiet grin.

“To Connor,” he says solemnly.

“To Connor,” we echo, raising our instruments in a toast of solidarity.

The stage is cleared, the screams out front get louder, and Dante cues us up for our song. I settle my guitar in place, take a deep breath, and strum the first chords as the curtain lifts, and we’re dazzled with the bright lights and a thousand cellphones flashing in our faces.

It hits me, that familiar pulse of energy, the rush like nothing else.

I stride forwards into the spotlight, and I start to sing, letting the music take me over. The way I was born to, the way she said was written in my DNA. I sing as if Alicia is right there in front of me, just me and her, the way we were at the beach house that night, when I scribbled down a melody and this song first took shape in my mind.

I sing to her, wherever she is, because there’s nobody else. Because my whole life, I never felt anything like the peace I found in her arms; never knew a brilliant mind and passionate soul like hers.

I catch a flicker of red in the crowd, glowing bronze under the spotlights. My heart catches, and I almost miss my next line, but I force myself to look away and focus on finishing the verse.

It can’t be her. I’m imagining things.

Austin comes up front for his guitar solo, flashing me a look of concern. He caught my slip, even if nobody else did. I shake my head. I’m fine.

Even if I am losing my mind.

I can’t stop myself from scanning the dark crowd again, looking for a sign of her again. It’s a desperate hope, I hate myself for even thinking it.

And then the lights swoop back, and I see her, for real this time.

Alicia, right here, in the front row. Staring up at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes, mouthing the words of the song right back at me.

The whole world falls away.

She’s here. For me. I don’t know what she’s thinking, or what changed her mind, all that matters is that she came.

Relief and exhilaration crash through me, mingling with the buzz of the crowd in a high like nothing else. I haven’t lost her. She must care enough to come here, and fuck it, I don’t need anything else, just this.

Just her. Mine.

Always.

35.

ALICIA

Right up until the moment he stepped out on stage, I didn’t know if I was making the biggest mistake of my life.

All through the flight and the cab from the airport, my logical side tried to talk me out of this. Flying across the country to show up unannounced? It was a crazy plan, doomed to fail. But through all the questions and doubts, I never wavered. I had to see if there’s still a chance. I needed to know if he loves me for real, or if all we shared was just a reckless week that’s gone now forever.