Havoc

“WE LOVE YOU, HAILEY!” they shout in unison, and I laugh as Dee puts her fingers in her mouth, her loud whistle filling the whole room.

Mike hugs me tight and plants a kiss against my cheek, and the smile that splits my face makes me think of how far we’ve come since I first watched him play in this exact spot six months ago.

For Christmas, he surprised me with plane tickets home to Indiana, and it was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. We flew out the day before Luke’s school went on winter break—along with Rowan, Dee, and the rest of Mike’s band—and they played a killer show in Luke’s junior high gym that the kids are still talking about. The day after the show, I brought them all home and introduced them to Teacup, who promptly tried to devour Dee’s sparkly purple pumps.

The band flew home a couple days later, but Mike stayed with me over the holiday. He played gin rummy with my dad, braided pie crust with my mom, and built a snowman with Luke. We opened presents together Christmas morning, and that night, Mike and I sat up in the hayloft together, cocooned inside a mountain of blankets, watching the sun set over the snowy fields.

“I can’t believe you bought Luke a drum kit,” I said for the hundredth time, and Mike hugged me tighter. I was sitting between his legs with my head resting against his chest, admiring the orange ribbons weaving patterns above the snow.

“The kid wants to be a drummer,” Mike stated proudly, and I smiled out the open hatch.

“He wants to be like you,” I corrected while he played with the tips of my fingers beneath the heavy flannel blankets.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, for one,” I said as he flirted with the butterflies in my stomach, “you’re annoyingly handsome.”

Mike’s chest shook against my back as he laughed. “Is that right?”

“Yes. And you’re maddeningly talented.”

“Oh no.”

“And irritatingly romantic. I mean, really, Mike. Making me watch the sunset in your arms? You’re the worst.”

He laughed and nuzzled his chin into the crook of my shoulder. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I’m not sure I can,” I teased, and Mike’s fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, caressing my stomach as they snuck higher.

“Are you sure?”

I turned my head into him just as his fingers found the delicate lace cups of my bra, and when he captured my mouth with his, I forgot what I needed to forgive him for. He made love to me under those blankets, up in that hayloft, and it was so much different than when I’d lost my virginity in that same barn. It was beautiful and romantic and full of fireworks, and when I fell asleep in his arms that night, I was sure that there was nowhere I’d rather be than on that farm, in that hayloft, with the man who was showing me one day at a time that happily-ever-afters really do exist, even for hand-me-down farm girls like me.

We flew home after the holiday, and Mike took me to meet his mom. My stomach was in knots for nothing, because she immediately gave me a bone-crushing hug and told me how much she already adored me. She had Mike’s warm brown eyes, and I took to her instantly, knowing she had raised the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. She told me all sorts of stories about Mike as a kid, and the more his cheeks flushed as she told them, the more I fell in love with him, which I couldn’t have imagined was even possible. His mom made me promise to come back to try her secret fudge cookie recipe soon—with or without her son—and I promised I’d return the very next weekend, and I did.

I’m still sitting on Mike’s lap at his drums, with Dee and Rowan clapping wildly at the bar, when a voice across the room loudly asks, “What are we cheering for?”

A guy probably only a few years older than me grins widely as he strolls confidently toward the stage, and his presence alone tells me that he must be the lead singer of the opening band tonight: the infamous Van Erickson of Cutting the Line. He has jet-black hair, dyed a sparkling silver at the tips, and the cocky smile on his face screams “rock star.”

“Hey!” Adam shouts back, launching off the stage to pin Van in a hug. Shawn climbs down a little more sensibly, followed by Joel and Kit—and Mike, who wraps his hands around my waist to help lower me to the floor

Van’s bandmates and a pretty pair of girls enter behind him, and after everyone is finished getting reacquainted, Mike introduces me. “This is my girlfriend, Hailey.”

“Oh,” Van says smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk, “the girl in the red dress needs no introduction. We’ve seen the video. We’re all big fans.”

My cheeks burn as red as my dress in the music video was, and Mike’s arm grows snugger around my shoulder. Van shoots a smile at him and reaches out to shake my hand.

“I’m Van.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, and when I shake Van’s hand, he chuckles.

“No wet willies—I like her already!”

Kit snorts and punches him in the arm, and Van laughs as everyone starts gravitating toward the bar.

“Mike’s waited a long time for you, Hailey,” Van says in parting as he leads the way, and Mike smiles down at me as we fall behind.

“Can I show you something?” he asks in a hushed voice, and when I nod, he steals me away.

Outside, in the March chill, I sit on the metal railing lining the steps leading down from Mayhem’s side door, and Mike’s hands wrap around the metal beside my thighs. He frames me with his strong arms, sculpted from beating the drums since he was old enough to hold a pair of drumsticks.