Page 72 of Hey Girl
No.
I can’t see Chris—his kit is positioned out of my line of sight on the stage. There’s only one way to change that. It’s time to go out there.
Don’t think. I swallow hard, taking one step forward.
That’s good, now another.
I step again. The people in the audience are not actually there. Just a bunch of fireflies in the night. But to stay on the safe side, I don’t chance a look and keep them in my peripheral.
Slowly, the man I love comes into sight, standing behind his kit, looking gorgeously confused. And when his eyes land on me,his mouth parts and I see his stance stiffen slightly, a look of nervous confusion.
Jack’s hands return to his guitar, and he slowly swaggers to stage left where Matt and Josh close in with him, all of them idly jamming on their guitars. It’s a slow and sultry soundtrack, with just enough oomph to keep my gumption at level.
When I look back to Chris, he’s slowly coming around from behind his drums, his eyes still wide and trained on me.
We pace each other, taking slow and steady strides until we meet beside Jack’s mic stand.
“Mouse?” He utters, clear enough for me to hear over the noise but soft enough that the mic next to us doesn’t pick it up.
Ever my larger than life, tall drum-banging wild man, Chris attempts a small smile, trying to show me that light of his. But I can see a thin layer of trepidation humming just below the surface and he looks hesitant to touch me. Hopefully I can change that. Time to show him I won’t break.
Focusing on nothing but his eyes, my safe green haven, I bring the mic in my hand up with a shaking hand, not letting myself worry about how it looks to anyone else.
“Chris Richards…” I wince at the squeak in my voice. Lowering the mic, I clear my throat and take an extra deep breath before bringing it back up to my lips.
You don’t have to go for broke, just the fact that you’re here is enough for this amazing human, I remind myself. Say what you want him to hear and no more.
“I love you.” I continue, and I feel my entire body warm over at the look on his face. Half his mouth is pulled up into his adorably charming grin, while his eyes relax, twinkling through his lashes under the stage lights. All my insides relax with a delightful tingle, like seeing him happy is the antidote to the nerves that try to that try to terrorize my spirit.
Almost there…
Another hard swallow before I smile up at him, and never before has it been so natural than it is with him, and never have I done so as brightly.
“Will you marry me?” I finally exhale the words with the precious breath I had been holding in the chamber.
Chris’s eyes return to their saucer-wide state, his hairline pulling his eyebrows up as the crowd erupts beside us, giving me a shot of adrenaline zinging through my body and dispersing in tiny aftershocks through my arms.
His chest hitches with a lofty breath, making his shoulders slowly rise and fall with the effort. My spirited drummer, who is never afraid of anything, is scared stiff and speechless for the first time since I met him and probably ever.
Super.
This is how I die. Right here in this spot in front of sixty thousand screaming spectators after he tells me no, I’m too high maintenance for him after all.
But it won’t stop there, oh no…
My mortification will go on for centuries, as I will surely make the Guiness Book of Records for most fucked up death: global humiliation.
I chance a quick glance in the direction of the other band members, still picking at their guitars, but now their heads are up, turned in our direction. All three sets of eyes stare unblinkingly at Chris, as if they’re willing him to answer correctly. Well, at least I have that going for me.
When I turn back to Chris, he hasn’t taken his gaze off me, though I only looked away for half a beat, but I find him still seemingly stunned, until his hand comes up, clamping down on the mic and pulling it towards his mouth.
Eyes still on me, he finally speaks. “Yes.” The word comes out deep and throaty but clear as a bell. The already roaring crowd explodes into even louder screams and whistles while my heartfeels like it’s gathering my ovaries up in a hug. Molecules of joy sweep around my system, destroying every last nerve in their path. The euphoric adrenaline is a powerful drug, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters in this moment but feeling my body flood with excitement (at least it better be, and I’m not actually peeing my pants). Chris speaks again. “A million times yes.” He releases the mic and sweeps me up in his arms.
Still holding the mic, I wrap my arms around his neck, hanging on tightly, and closing my eyes against the tears of happiness trying to spring free.
Never in my life have I ever felt so safe, fulfilled, and blissfully happy. Never in my life had I thought it was possible.
And because he’s Chris, he spins us around at a dizzying speed before setting me gingerly on my feet, where I remain on my toes, not ready to detach from him yet. For a brief second I allow the presence of the crowd to register in my mind and am astounded at how I can be in a situation that was once my worst nightmare, and be perfectly content as long as I’m with him.