Page 137 of Allegiant

The final show is bittersweet. My legs ache through the entire thing, and so does my heart.

I think about all the years here, all the hours I’ve poured into the studio. Everyone knows now. We spent hours crying together this morning after I finally broke the news.

This is our very last show on this stage.

I make sure to cherish each moment, immortalizing them in my mind as I take my final bow, everyone clapping and cheering. My gaze finds Samson immediately, sitting in the front row like he has at each show, watching me with those proud eyes.

Marcy and Clay are on either side of me, our hands clasped as we make our way off stage, our eyes wide, lips aching from smiling. The curtain has dropped, the end of it all finally here.

“You guys did amazing. Oh god, what a show!” I say, my throat tightening. “I’m so sad it’s over.”

“It’s not over yet!” Marcy says, winking at Clay.

My eyebrows meet, and I cock my head. “What do you mean?”

Just then, I hear someone on stage—Shane, I think—make an audience announcement.

“Everyone, please remain in your seats. We have something very special for tonight only. You won’t be disappointed.”

My heart thunders in my chest at that. What are they up to? What is going on? Did I miss something? Am I supposed to be up there?

But then Marcy grabs my hand and drags me down the stairs into the auditorium. I stand there, right on the side, my eyes swiveling around the audience, confused, until the curtain lifts and I see Samson on stage, the spotlight on just him.

He lifts a microphone, and his voice booms through the speakers.

“Thank you for staying. My name is Samson Buckingham, and I have always loved dancing. I got it from my mom. Never was any good at it, but did it anyway. I was taught to hide it away, to be ashamed of it. And then I met someone—the lead in this show, Rowan Mitchell—and fell in love all over again. With dance, with music, with him.” He searches the audience, and when he finds me, he lets out a shaky breath. “This is for you.”

My mouth drops open, and my eyes blur as the music starts. It’s slow, aching even. He lifts two axes, one in each hand.

And he begins to dance.

His movements are awkward but passionate. Out of time, but thoughtful. Everything about it is captivating. I can’t believe he’s doing this. That he’s sharing this secret part of himself with so many strangers.

Because he feels safe to do so.

Because I make him feel safe.

Tears are streaming down my face as I watch him move. It’s perfect in every way that counts. You can feel the emotion of it as he sways across the stage.

When it’s over, you could hear a pin drop, the entire audience in shock. But then my hands meet in a frantic clap, my sobs choking out of me, and the rest join me, thunderous waves of hands meeting, resounding around the small auditorium.

Samson’s eyes meet mine once more, and I cover my shaking mouth with my hands, moved beyond measure as he hops off the stage and stalks toward me. I don’t wait, rushing to meet him in the middle. I tug him into me, holding him tight as our lips meet in a frantic kiss. I hear whistles and shouts from the audience and feel myself smiling against him.

“I love you,” I say, my hands clenching his shirt. “I love you, Samson Buckingham. I’m sorry I made you wait. Can you forgive me?”

“Always. For anything. You were worth waiting for,” he says huskily. “I’d go through every minute again, every second, if it means ending up with you at my side. I love you, Rowan Mitchell.”

We kiss again, but are pulled apart by a microphone screeching. I turn to see Neo on stage, his blue hair bright against the spotlight.

“Well, this isn’t over, much to your dismay, but I promise it’s only a few minutes longer. We have one more something else for you. Not as moving and not nearly as good as Samson’s, but one we must do.” Neo turns toward me, and his face softens. “We’re so sorry, Rowan. We miss you. All of us. Please forgive us.”

He sets the microphone down with a loud clang that I know will have all our sound engineers wincing, and then all the Buckinghams, minus Matthias, appear on stage, along with Ansel and Wyatt. In Wyatt’s hand is a laptop, which he carefully puts on a stool, the screen facing the audience. I squint, my lips lifting as I spot the figure on there. “Is that Matthias?”

Samson chuckles. “Yeah. He couldn’t make it. Had to fly out for a client. He said he’d do the dance on screen.”

I let out a choked laugh and lean into Samson. But he’s moving away from me, back to the stage. “Gotta go join them. I’m part of this apology, too.” I watch openmouthed as he jogs forward and hops onto the stage with a grace I’ve always known he has. The audience gasps as the pop music blares through the speakers, and a loud laugh flies out of me as Samson and his family begin to dance.

They’re offbeat and making fools of themselves, but it means so much to me. That they’d do this here, that they are making it clear how sorry they are. Everyone is cheering them on, even Matthias, who is on the small screen, his arms bopping to the beat. Neo is throwing up finger guns, Cade is doing some kind of delayed sprinkler, and Wylder is trying to do the robot and short-circuiting. Harley is slowly peeling off his shirt. It’s…fantastic. Everything I needed to see. A famous and notorious family showing me how they care in the language I speak best.