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“Good, because I’m not planning on sleeping alone tonight.”

Chapter twenty-eight

ZANDER

By seven, Ruby’s artwork is everywhere.

It’s on the posters taped inside the front windows, stacked beside the merch table, printed across shirts, and blown up behind the stage big enough that I can see the details from halfway across the room. The dark redwoods, the coastline, the route worked through the design, and the waveform buried inside it all look even better at this size.

The album officially went live this morning.

Tonight is ours.

We could’ve done the release show somewhere bigger, but nobody in the band argued when we decided to do it here. We’re leaving for tour soon enough. One hometown show before we go feels right, and judging by how packed the waterfront venue is already, half of Redwood Point agrees.

I spot Mom near the front almost immediately because she’s talking with both hands while Dad stands beside her holding two beers and pretending he isn’t scanning the room to see who’s shown up to watch his son. Lachlin and Briar are nearby, with Jack apparently spending the evening with a sitter. Conlin is talking to Sloane near the bar, and whatever he says gets him a look that makes me wish I were close enough to hear it.

The ladies from Black Fern have claimed a section near the stage. Nell waves when she catches me looking.

Ruby is beside her.

That’s where my attention stays.

She looks hot as hell, and the second I spot her, I have a hard time looking anywhere else. She’s holding one of the vinyl copies while someone from town talks to her about the cover, and the smile that spreads across her face is nothing like the polite one she gives clients. She looks proud of what she created, and watching her get to have that moment makes me ridiculously proud too.

One of the guys bumps my shoulder as he passes. “You planning to play tonight or just stare at your girlfriend?”

“I can do both.”

We have less than ten minutes before we go on, so I force my focus away from Ruby and head backstage.

The room beyond the stage is barely big enough for the band and our gear, but we’re so ramped up, it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s talking at once. Our manager sticks his head through the doorway to tell us we’re at capacity, then disappears again before anyone can ask what that means for the fire code.

I pick up my guitar.

The familiar weight settles against me, and everything else narrows.

This part has never been complicated.

The first song barely gets going before the crowd starts singing along. By the third, the room is hot and loud, and every bit of nervous energy I had before coming out here is gone. This is the thing I’ve spent years chasing. The sound coming back from the crowd, the lights, the band locked in around me, the feeling that every song belongs to more people now than it did when we wrote it.

Europe changed something for us, and tonight proves it wasn’t temporary.

Halfway through the set, I glance toward Ruby and find her watching me.

I shift my hand on the guitar and play the opening progression of the next song.

It started months ago as a half-finished idea I couldn’t get right. Ruby heard me working on it through the wall, gave me exactly the push I needed, and somehow became tangled up in the song long before either of us admitted what was happening between us.

I don’t explain any of that to the crowd. They don’t need to know.

When I look toward Ruby during the second verse, she’s smiling like she knows exactly why this one matters.

Because she does, and that’s enough.

The show runs long.

Nobody seems interested in leaving afterward, which is probably good for merch sales and bad for my chances of making a quick escape.