Page 79 of After Midnight

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say. Then I wave them after me. “Come on, I’ll try to get us close.”

The women exchange looks, like they don’t think I’ll be able to pull it off. But I’m used to Vegas crowds and groups of drunk partiers, and I lead the way through the mass of people, squeezing us through gaps in groups and getting us as close to the stage as I can. When the crowd refuses to budge, I look back and say, “Guess this is it.”

“Wow,” Jordan says, arching a sandy-blond brow at me. “I’m impressed. Nora and I would’ve been stuck at the very back.”

“Vegas girl,” I say, lifting my beer. “Crowds are a way of life there.”

Nora trembles like a shudder just went down her spine. “I don’t think I’d like that very much.”

The stricken expression on her face makes me laugh. “It’s an acquired taste.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, the stage lights start to pulse, catching my attention and drawing it back to the stage. The MC steps onto the stage with a mic, and immediately, the crowd roars.

My eyes widen. There are a ton of people here; I realize now how massive the crowd is and how far their cheers must carry. The entirety of LA probably heard those screams.

“Welcome!” the MC says. “Thank you so much for attending Wag’s charity event. With your contributions, Wag will be able to provide care and support for more dogs in need.”

There’s another cheer, and beside me, Jordan smiles.

“Now, I know we all love dogs, but I’m guessing you all love something else as well.”

More screaming. I look at Nora, but her gaze is fixed on the stage, brown eyes wide and focused.

“I think,” the MC continues, “that you’re here to see Loaded God Complex!”

The crowd thunders as the stage lights start to spin, sending red and white strobes flickering and dancing across the assembled crowd.

“Please allow me to introduce L! G! C!” the MC yells, and the crowd screams the letters along with him.

The lights spin in a new direction, and movement to the left of the stage catches my eye.

Amidst a roar so deafening I feel it all the way in my bones, Seb steps onto the stage, drumsticks held over his head. He’s no longer wearing his hoodie or ballcap, instead dressed in faded torn jeans and a black tank, showing off his massive chest and biceps.

“Sebastian!” some of the girls around me scream. One is holding up a sign, and when she turns it just right, I can see that it says, Seb, play me like your drums!

My lips lift in a smile, and I take another drink from my cold beer bottle.

Seb takes a seat at his drum kit, grinning at the crowd. On one of the big screens set up alongside the stage, I can see him starting to search the crowd. My gaze flicks back to him, and I’m certain there’s no way he’s going to be able to see me out here. So a shock goes through me when his gaze pauses on our section of the crowd, and I see his dimples from way back here as he smiles.

I’m pretty damn sure he just spotted me. And it makes butterflies twirl through my stomach.

Still smiling, Seb hits the kick, and it makes the crowd scream louder. Their reaction makes him laugh, and he looks so blissfully happy that I laugh too. Then, as if invited onto the stage by Seb’s drum, the three other members of LGC drift out: Dex, wearing a backward hat and acid-washed jeans; Lucas, already with his shirt off and his jeans slung low on his hips; and Michael, with his gleaming white smile and a hand held up, waving at the crowd.

They all take their positions about the stage, and Dex grabs a mic.

“Hope you’re all ready for a show tonight,” he says, garnering an ear-splitting roar from the crowd. “And I hope you donated a fuck ton of money to our charity organization, Wag. Otherwise, get your cheap asses out of here.”

Laughter and more cheers rolls through the crowd, and I look over at Nora. She’s staring at Dex, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He’s seems so sharp against her softness; it makes me wonder what they’re like in private, how it works out between them.

“Now let’s play some fuckin’ music, Cali!”

Seb hits the kick again, and Michael joins him on the bass. But even as the music rises and Dex starts to sing, prompting the crowd to sing along, I find that my eyes are glued on Seb.

Instead of looking out at the crowd, he has his eyes closed, like he and that drum kit are the only things left in the world, like there aren’t hundreds—if not thousands—of fans screaming and crying right now, taking photos and videos on their phones, trying to push their way toward the stage, their voices rising as the song’s tempo picks up.

It’s just Seb and those drums, his head moving slightly to his rhythm, sweat already gleaming on his neck and bare arms.

Suddenly, I remember what he told me about his father that second night he came to see me at Caliber: My dad hates that I play music. All these years later, he’s still waiting for me to grow out of it. Thinks it’s just a phase.