The floor shook with the cheers. Camera flashes came off of a thousand cell phones and someone backstage released the confetti meant for the finale of the show and it burst over the crowd and fluttered around us.

He buried his face in my neck and I could feel the racking of his gasps as he held me to his chest. Hands touched us, people swayed against our bodies with the surge of the crowd and it didn’t even matter because we were alone. It was just us.

Nothing was left but us.

His lips went to my ear. “I think we just figured out how to make them want pictures of us together.”

I didn’t know what he meant, but I didn’t care.

“How did you see me?” I whispered.

He came up to look at me. He had tears in his beautiful, blue eyes. “I told you, Sloan. I’d notice you in a crowd of a million.”

And then, in front of fifteen thousand cheering Jaxon Waters fans, Jason kissed me.

Epilogue

Sloan

? The Huntsman’s Wife | Jaxon Waters

Three years later

Tucker watched with a wagging tail as our long-suffering stagehands lugged my giant recliner backstage and set it up in my usual spot where I could watch my husband play.

When he first bought me this monstrosity, I’d refused to use it. It was beyond ridiculous. It had the massage features and a remote and everything. It weighed like half a ton and needed an extension cord to power it up.

For the first few weeks he’d had to plop me in it before every show and command me to stay, threatening to punish me for moving by dragging me onstage to introduce me to the crowd. Again.

The album he’d dedicated to me, Sloan In-Between, had gone platinum. Actually, all of his last three albums had gone platinum. Not to mention I was a media darling and had been ever since Jason’s dramatic stage plunge at the Forum three years ago. The video of Jason’s confession and him kissing me in the crowd had gone viral and suddenly everyone had wanted to know who I was. I had almost as many Instagram followers as he did. People loved my photos of life on tour, so my onstage cameos were always a crowd pleaser, even though I was completely mortified every single time he did it. I didn’t know how he could stand out there in front of all those people and not be nervous.

I felt different about my chair these days, though. Now that my ankles were starting to swell, I actually appreciated being able to put my feet up while I watched my husband perform.

We’d been on the road for eight months this time. The Hollywood Bowl was our last stop before we went home—for good.

This show was the last one with this label. Jason was signing with a smaller independent one after this. The money wasn’t quite as good, and they didn’t offer as many frills, but the life balance we’d have would make it worth it, and they gave Jason complete control over his work and his schedule.

Jason was doing his sound check, so I sat down, hoisting my pregnant belly. Tucker plopped by my chair. Zane pulled up next to me as I extended the leg rest and handed me a warm Starbucks cup. She turned a metal folding chair backward and straddled it, crossing her arms over the backrest. “Ernie told me to tell you he’s on his way and he has the cupcakes.”

“He got lemon drops, right?” I asked. I was addicted to Nadia Cakes, and my pregnancy cravings were serious.

“Placed the order myself. Couldn’t let Ernie fuck that up. I didn’t want you pissed at me.”

“Like either of us could ever get pissed at you.” I smiled.

She smirked and we sat and watched Jason adjust his microphone stand. He sang a few verses to test his equipment and he tipped his head toward me, his lips to the mic, and winked. I blew him a kiss and his grin got so big I could hear it in his voice.

Lola—Nikki—joined him for the big cities, by our invitation. She’d be here tonight. She was actually pretty cool. She was mostly producing these days and doing really well. She only performed with Jason, and the two of them collaborated on writing most of his songs—except for the ones he wrote about me. Those just poured out of him.

He set his guitar down on its stand and walked over to us, pulling out his in-ear monitor. He put his hands on the arms of my chair and leaned down to kiss me. “Are you comfortable, sweetheart?”

“Yeeeess.” I smiled against his lips.

He put a hand to my belly and I moved it to the left, where the baby was kicking, and his eyes gleamed.

“She likes the music,” I said.

He held his hand to my wiggling stomach and grinned. “Are you hungry?”

“Always.”

“Almost done.” He leaned down and kissed my stomach. “Twenty more minutes,” he said to my baby bump. He reached down and ruffled Tucker’s head, then jogged back out to his sound check.

Zane chuckled after him. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you guys to be slightly less adorable.”

I smiled at her. “Probably not. But why risk it?”

We survived our last show of the tour and had a late dinner with my parents. Then we headed home—well, our version of home. A mini mansion we rented in Woodland Hills. It was close enough to Kristen and Josh for when we were in town between tours. It was gated and safe and we had a place to keep our stuff while we were on the road.

Both of us preferred Ely to LA. Jason’s fame was harder on us in California. We couldn’t really go out without getting approached.