The second the lights go down, this entire arena full of fans erupts into a earsplitting cheer, so loud that the sound begins to transform and distort, becoming more akin to the roar of a single massive beast than the shrieks of several thousand distinct people.

Four vague shadows make their way out onto the stage, shrouded in darkness but just visible enough to make the audience strain their voices even louder.

Moment’s later, a low rumbling bass tone fills the massive room, vibrating through my body from the ground up.

I’m standing on the side of the stage, just a few feet off of the wings with various crewmembers and super fans by my side. It’s the best seat in the house, and I still haven’t grown tired of it after two weeks on the road with the man of my dreams.

Suddenly, a powerful guitar chord surges through the arena, light simultaneously blasting outward with a brilliant yellow glow. I can see nothing but excited faces across the first few rows, wide smiles and joyful eyes of anticipation now illuminated. This moment means so much to them, and they are fully here for it, completely appreciating every passing second.

I’d like to think I’m on this level too these days. At least, I’m trying my best.

The song kicks in as suddenly everything explodes with colorful radiance, the band prowling the stage like wild animals in a cage. Grant is out front, the leader of the pack who immediately seizes control of the situation. Before him, an audience of several thousand fans are completely under his spell, caught up in the moment before they can even grasp what’s happening.

Now, everyone is singing along, belting out the words as if their life depended on it.

I recognize this song. It’s the track that played out from my phone that fateful day on the water.

This song saved my life.

There’s a quick break in the vocals and Grant glances over at me, making eye contact and smiling wide as he sees me rocking out to the music. I give him a playful wink and he nods in return, then turns back to the roaring crowd before kicking into the next verse.

Grant reaches down and grabs his shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it out into the frantic screaming masses. His chest and abs look absolutely majestic tonight under the brilliant stage lights.

God, he’s so arrogant, and I love it.

“He normally saves the shirt thing until song three or four, doesn’t he?” Taylor asks, stepping up next to me.

“Yep,” I reply with a nod. “Guess it’s just one of those nights.”

My agent laughs and puts her arm around my shoulder in a brief hug. “I’ve gotta say, this is by far the most entertaining book tour I’ve ever been allowed to tag along on.”

“Not everyone gets to do one signing at a book store in the afternoon and then another at a rock show in the evening,” I tell her.

“No they certainly don’t,” Taylor replies, shaking her head in amazement.

“Sales good?” I question, turning to my friend.

“You’re literally on track to be our company’s all time biggest seller for the second time,” Taylor reminds me. “So yeah, sales are good. You should almost get murdered by a stalker more often.”

My eyes go wide at this shockingly edgy joke from my otherwise straight-laced agent. “Taylor! That’s not funny!”

Taylor shrugs. “Fuck it. Rock and roll, right?”

I can’t help myself, I actually laugh.

“Looks like it’s good for album sales, too,” Taylor continues, nodding out towards the crowd.

The song finishes and Grant steps forward a bit, walking out to the edge of the stage as a soft spotlight envelopes him. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” the beautiful, tattooed man calls out.

The crowd roars in response.

“Good,” Grant replies with a smile. “Me too. Listen, we normally save this song until the end, but I’m just too excited about it, so I think we’re gonna play it now. Is that okay with you guys?”

Once more, the crowd erupts in a raucous cheer.

I’m utterly confused by all this, not exactly sure what’s happening. Bad Blue Medicine put on an incredible show every night, but it’s also a show that never changes, strictly planned out down to the last second. I could tell you the song order in my sleep, and this is the first time since the start of the tour that they’ve deviated.

Grant turns around and strolls over to the side of the stage where I’m standing. He’s grinning wide, clearly amused by my state of bewilderment.

“Come on,” the handsome rockstar offers, extending his hand.

“What are you doing?” I question.

“Singing your song,” he informs me.

I roll my eyes and then finally give in, allowing Grant to take my hand in his as I follow him out under the warm lights of the stage. The second the crowd sees us together they completely lose their minds, reaching a previously unattained level of utter cacophony.

With my book, and Grant’s album, on the top of our respective charts, this reaction only makes sense. We’re quickly turning into something of a celebrity it couple, for better or worse, and just the sight of us holding hands is enough to send people into a rabid frenzy. It’s a kind of fame that I’ve never experienced, and although I’m still having trouble getting used to it, it’s certainly not bad.

There are much worse positions to be in.

I see now that the stagehands have brought a stool out onto the stage. Typically, this is where a performer might sit, but Grant offers it to me with the gesture of his hand.

“Really?” I question.

Grant nods and I take a seat, then he turns to address the audience once more. “There was a time when Riley didn’t like me very much, and with good reason,” he states, his amplified voice booming out across the packed arena. “As you know if you’ve read any tabloids over the last decade or so, I can be a bit of a cock.”

The crowd cheers and I can’t help chuckling to myself, slightly turning away out of embarrassment.

“I know, I know,” Grant says. “I’m working on it. Anyway, Riley was a little upset with me, and I had this song that I knew she liked. I’d been working on it for years, actually, but never quite knew how to finish it. Kinda like my shitty attitude, working on it for years, but something was never quite right. Riley actually helped me figure out both of these problems, so this song is for her.”

Of course, I know exactly what Grant’s going to play before he even starts. While pervious versions of this little tune had been very sparse, the band is performing the fully realized arrangement now, complete with drums and bass. I prefer it stripped down, intimate style myself, but who am I to complain?

Grant sings the song directly to me, walking around the stool that I sit on in playful circles as I watch with rapt attention. It’s a meaningful moment, but also incredibly fun.

When the chorus finally hits, I can hear the crowd joining in behind Grant with a massive wave of sound, singing along my name at the top of their lungs. It’s weirdly overwhelming, the sheer force of the sonic waves alone enough to make me tear up slightly.

Grant sees this and comes in closer, kneeling down before the stool to comfort me, which just makes me cry even harder.

The song continues like this and I try my best to collect myself, but once the waterworks start flowing there’s just no turning back. I’m not the hard ass I once was, and there’s no hiding that now.

As the last chorus rolls around, I see something strange from the corner of my blurry, tear-filled eyes. I can barely make out several figures standing on the side of the stage, but a few of them gradually start to look familiar. In my emotional delirium, I think I can see my parents, and my sister, and my closest friends, all of them watching me from just off in the wings. It looks like they’re crying too.

It’s not until the last chord finally rings out that I realize my visions are real. Everyone I care about is here, for reasons that I can’t quite wrap my head around just yet. Tonight’s gig is in Chicago, far from home.

When I turn my attention back to Grant, I notice he’s down on one knee before me, a wide smile plastered across his handsome face.

The crowd audibly gasps, their individual reactions heaping together in one powerful gust of sound.

“Riley, will you marry me?” Grant asks, his voice carrying out for miles.

I don’t even hesitate. “Yes!” I tell him. “Of course!”

The crowd goes wild as Grant erupts to his feet, wrapping me in his massive arms. He holds me close, the two of us surrounded by thousands but, for a brief moment, in our own private world.

In Grant’s arms, I feel like I’m free to love, free to relax, free to create.

I feel safe.