I hold the last notes, making her name last. When I finally fade out, the audience reacts so intensely, I think they must be cheering for someone else. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that they’re screaming for us. After I left LA, I thought this part of my life was over. That I’d never be up here again, feeling this unbelievable rush, sharing my words with a swaying ocean of strangers.
Thisis what music is supposed to be. It’s not about buying the right wardrobe or attending the hottest parties or having the most followers on Instagram. It’sthis. This feeling when the air turns to fire from the notes leaving your fingertips, when your heart expands past the limits of your chest cavity and connects to every other person out there listening.
“Thank you,” I say, my eyes opening. “Thank you all so much.”
I can barely hear my own words over their roars — they’ve overwhelmed the sound system. Most of them are now on their feet, flailing their arms out at me. Almost like they’re pointing at something… desperate for me to take notice…
My chin swivels.
My heart fucking stops.
She’s standing there barefoot in a gauzy white dress, looking like a goddamned angel sent straight from heaven. Her eyes are on mine and her expression is full of so much shock and joy and longing, it damn near brings me to my knees. I can’t imagine what my own expression looks like.
Felicity.
The crowd has fallen silent, waiting breathlessly to see how this is about to play out. The air thickens with tension, an electrical charge running through the entire amphitheater.
“Hi,” she whispers, taking a tiny step in my direction.
I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m too busy swinging my guitar around my back, closing the distance between us, and sweeping her up into my arms. Our lips crash together and I kiss her her until I’m absolutely sure, without a shred of doubt or uncertainty, that she’s actually here with me.
The crowd goes wild, screaming so loud the whole sky seems to shake.
I barely hear them.
She’s here.
She’s back.
She’s mine.
* * *
“I thought you were in LA!”
“I thought you left Nashville!”
“You came back?”
“You didn’t leave?”
We both laugh as we fire questions at each other too rapidly to answer. I’m still holding her close, my hands on her cheeks, my forehead pressed against hers. Her arms are so tight around me I can barely breathe, as though she’s afraid to let go.
“Uh, guys?” Linc appears a few feet away, grinning like an idiot. “Not to interrupt, but… you have an audience. Literally.”
Felicity makes a small squeak of concern as we turn to look out at the crowd. They’re on their feet, clapping and screaming, thrilled beyond belief that they’ve just witnessed a real-life love story playing out onstage. The cheers are deafening. I hold Felicity’s hand tight in mine as we walk over to the microphone at center stage.
“Sorry about that, y’all. I wasn’t exactly expecting my girl to surprise me up here… Forgive us if we got a little carried away.”
More applause rattles the sky.
I glance sidelong at Felicity and see she’s blushing all the way to her hairline. She’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. Her hair is in a messy fishtail braid, half falling out. Her bare toes press against the surface of the stage. Her dress is a size too big on her willowy frame, probably borrowed from Carly’s closet.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Ladies and gentleman… please welcome Miss Felicity Wilde!”
I think I see Felicity’s eyes flash with concern, but I’m already turning back to the audience. I drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper as I lean into the mic. “Y’all, this girl here… I’ve got to tell you, she has one of the prettiest voices I’ve ever heard. And I’m thinking, since we’ve already got her up here… if you guys make enough noise, we might just convince her to sing one with us!”