Deacon shouldered his way through the crush of people backstage. The show hadn’t even started yet, and there were hundreds of people crawling around. The buzz of last night jitters seemed to hum through the room.

The fucking Palladium. He couldn’t believe they were ending the tour there, of all places. He snuck out a side door that lead to the balcony area. People were already filling the bottom section that was general admission, but only a few were sitting in the seats along the top.

He climbed the stairs to the very back. Some nights there were dining tables and candles, but this was a sold out night. Instead, there were seats lining the banister three deep. People would be packed into every crevice.

Deacon dragged his hand along the chrome banister that added to the glamour of the space. Chandeliers gave the room an old world charm that was in direct opposition to the high tech stage. Huge screens were alive with testing screens for the various cameras around the room. The risers he was used to maneuvering around were gone tonight. The stage was stripped down showing off the scuffed floor that thousands of artists and actors stood on.

And he’d be on that stage in a few short hours.

He leaned on the railing for a moment more before he slid back into the shadows and through the discreet doors cut out of the silk-papered walls. Deacon ducked through the small doorway to the backstage where the hum of people was even louder. People had multiplied like Gremlins at midnight. He pushed his way through to the closet-sized dressing room they were sharing tonight.

“Son of a—sorry!” Deacon slapped his hand over his eyes, but unfortunately Nick’s blissed out face, with full-on head-back action couldn’t be unseen. “Towel on the door, man.”

“I got a little distracted. Too many fucking people are around.”

Deacon heard the jingle of a belt and buttons and dropped his hand.

A girl stood with a self-satisfied smile on her face and gave Nick a wink. “Have a good show.”

“I will now, Tori-with-an-i.” Nick dragged her forward and buried his face in her neck for a moment, breathing her in. When he stepped back, the frown lines that lived in his forehead before a show were gone, and a rare smile tipped up the corners of his lips. “Got any requests?”

“‘Ripcord’. I love when you do the guitar duels with Gray. So fucking hot.”

Nick nodded. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

The woman turned and sashayed through the door without a look back. Deacon couldn’t stop his own smile. “Well, then.”

“Man, Tori-with-an-i was a very nice start to the night.”

“I bet.”

Deacon rolled his eyes. He dug out his leather cuffs and strapped them on. His fingers shook a little before he fisted them and opened them again. “Everyone on board with the setlist?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. I wish we’d gotten a better soundcheck, but we’ll make it work.”

The door opened again, and Jazz waved a drumstick with a tissue on the end. “Is it safe?”

“Depends. I’m bare-assed in here,” Nick called out.

Jazz slipped in, all glitter and bounce. “Been there, seen that.” She looked around the room. She twirled her stick in one hand, nerves jumping around her. “Have you seen Gray?”

Deacon shook his head. “Just got here myself.”

“There was a reason I was using this room. It was empty and quiet,” Nick said and sat on the other end of the futon. He shifted to the edge, his knee bouncing.

Jazz curled her lip. “Are you going to go into withdrawal when we have no more shows to do?”

Nick dug out one of his picks and flicked it along his fingers. “Doubt it.”

Jazz climbed onto the back of the couch and perched. “Pig.”

He grinned back at her. “You’re the one that asked.”

The door opened again and Simon’s inky mop of hair and bright blue eyes peeked in. “Did I miss the festivities?”

Nick sprawled his legs out into the center of the room. “Yep.”

“Damn.” Simon slid in and closed the door, leaning on it heavily. “Do we even know any of those people out there?”

“I imagine some of the Trident people, but fuck if I know any of their names. Suit, Three Piece Suit, and Polo Shirt?”

Jazz twirled one of her blingy purple sticks before tapping Nick’s shoulder. “Nice. How about Boring, Old, and Out of Touch?”

Simon climbed onto the small vanity table jammed against the opposite wall. “I definitely saw all of them out there.”

“Five minutes!”

Jazz popped up, her flip flops snapping as she headed into the miniature bathroom. “Where the hell is Gray?” she asked through the door as she took care of her pea-sized bladder.

“I saw him out in the crush of people. Two guys were talking to him.”

Jazz washed her hands quickly and came out wiping her hands on her shirt. “Two guys? Who?”

Simon shrugged. “I’m not his mother. That’s Deacon’s job.”

“Fuck off,” Deacon said mildly. He stood and rolled his neck. They were fucking playing at the Palladium. In a few minutes. Fuck.

Simon pushed through the lotions on the vanity. “Got any glittery lotion or something, Pix?”

Jazz plucked out a bottle and held it against her chest. “Why?”

“I want to feel pretty.” Simon flipped his shirt off and stood in front of her. “Want to rub me down?”

“Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

Simon held out a cupped hand. Jazz huffed and poured a dollop of lotion in his hand. He smeared it across his chest and slid his leather jacket over his naked chest, then turned to the mirror. “A little sparkle to attract the ladies.”

“Fucking peacock,” Nick muttered.

But there was end to the smiles tonight. Even Nick was happy. Unheard of before a show. Deacon pulled out his lucky Journey shirt and flipped off the Def Leppard one he’d been wearing. As he tugged it on, Jazz gave a wolf whistle. “Shadup.”

Nick shrugged on the jacket Roman made him and cracked his neck. He hopped up and down, shaking out his hands. “We ready to do this thing?”

Deacon clamped a hand over Nick’s shoulder. “Ready.”

Jazz bounded to the door and opened it. “There you are.”

“I’m here,” Gray said, filling the doorway. A thin white Henley and his black vest and jeans accentuated his tall, lean form. His eyes had that hyper calm that Deacon associated with pre-show Gray. Like he could see and feel everything in the room. It was a little eerie.

Deacon let everyone walk out, holding up the rear. Gordo was outside making a fuss to get them to the stage. Deacon rolled his shoulders again. The fucking Palladium was their last show. How did that even happen? Megadeth filmed a fucking DVD here and they were just going to stroll out like it was nothing?

No, he knew the guys in his band. Simon craned his neck to see. Jazz bounced between all of them like a pinball unable to keep still. Nick kept shaking out his hands like they were full of pins and needles. And Gray was stone, as always. The only thing that seemed alive were his ever-watchful eyes. Always scanning, always searching. What the hell was he looking for, and what the hell went on in his brain? Because none of it came out of his damn mouth.

And then there was the stage. Lights strobed and the overhead screens flashed the Oblivion logo. His blood hummed, and the roots of his hair tingled in response to the cheers.

People calling their name.

Los Angeles. The place they’d called home for so long was taking notice.

And at the edge of the stage, a sunny crown of braids caught his eye. His skin flamed, and his heart went from a simple artery that pumped blood through his veins to a pounding rhythm inside him.

Harper.

She wore her chef whites and a ridiculous pair of purple Crocs. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

They all piled up at the mouth of the stage.

The rest fell away as she stepped forward. He dragged her in and covered her mouth. She smelled of lemons and clean air tonight. She tasted like sugar and all-spice. And she felt like his. Would always be his. The catcalls and whistles around him ceased to matter.

She rarely came to him before a show, and he didn’t realize just how much he needed her on his tongue before he sang his words, how much he needed her touch before he played a note.

She’d become his air when he wasn’t looking.

“C’mon, Romeo.”

Deacon broke the kiss with a smile into her lips. “For luck.”

Harper smiled back at him before opening those summer sky blue eyes. “I love you, big guy.”

“Get moving.” Simon shoved him onto the stage.

“Wait, what?” Deacon’s breath stalled in his chest. “What did you say?”

Harper stood on the sidelines grinning like an idiot.

Deacon laughed, and they all piled out into the shining light of the Palladium, and then nothing else mattered. Riding the high of being there, and Harper finally saying the words he never thought he’d hear, he smiled and screamed a “Wooohoo!” into the mic.

Five thousand screaming fans packed the floor and the rafters. Flashbulbs popped, glittering off the art deco chandeliers that hovered over the ballroom. And with Jazz’s steady beat they launched into their first song of the night.

And it was perfection.