Page 130 of Becoming Us
I looked up—and found his gaze again.
Atty was locked on me. Wide-eyed, smiling like he was trying not to. That look made something explode in my chest.
“Hello, everybody,” Paxton said into the mic. His guitar hung low as he leaned forward. The crowd roared back.
“We’re Echo Run, and we’ve got something special for you tonight.”
He paused and looked over his shoulder—at me. My heart kicked, but I nodded.
“Tonight, we’re welcoming our newest member—Noah Rossi, on drums.”
I raised my sticks, and a fresh round of cheers broke out. This time, it hit different. This time, it sparked something deep in my core.
“And to break him in right,” Paxton said, “we let him choose the opener.” His voice curled with a rough chuckle, and the girls in the front row went wild.
I shook out my wrists, then planted my feet, adjusting the kick pedal with a slight shift of my heel. A breath in. A nod at Paxton.
He counted us in—one, two, three—and struck his chord.
Now or never.
I closed my eyes tight and started to sing. “Josie’s on a vacation far away…”
For a heartbeat, the crowd went still. Then they roared.
I opened my eyes and locked onto him again. Atty’s lips were parted, and that expression—that fucking look—was gasoline to the spark. Every cell in my body lit up.
I grinned wide and sang, “You know I like my guys a little bit younger,” then winked at him.
His smile was blinding. He laughed, head tipping back, eyes glinting.
Then I came in hard with the drums—snare, hi-hat, kick. The crowd erupted as the full sound crashed in behind me.
The song took off like a shot.
The rhythm flowed through me instinctively. Every limb locked into place, striking at just the right moment. Keeping the beat sharp and driving, my arms fluid, my timing clean. I stayed close to the mic between fills, letting my voice ride above the crash of sound we were building.
Paxton was right. Itwasmuscle memory.
My body moved on its own—locked into my rhythm, into ours, into the pulse of the crowd. I didn’t have to think; I justfelt. Reacted. Drove forward with arms that burned and legs that powered through every kick.
And every time I caught a glimpse of him—eyes locked on me, mouth open like he couldn’t look away—the fire inside flared hotter, wilder.
I’d never felt anything like this. Not this kind ofrightness. Like every downbeat, every note, every movement belonged to me. Like I was made for this.
All those nights drumming in my room until my knuckles ached. All the yelling into the void, all the rawness left behind in my throat.
It all led here.
And I could do this.
I could do this so fucking easily.
Our voices wove together, mine slicing just above the rest, unpolished but powerful. I let it climb—let itroar—even as my arms kept time, as my feet worked the pedals in a steady, relentless drive. Crash. Kick. Snare. Fill. Repeat.
This was pure electricity surging through me. Fire. Life. This waseverything.
I closed my eyes, letting my body take over as I belted the last lines of the chorus—drawing out the notes, sinking into them. I’d heard this song a thousand times, played it just as many, butneverlike this. This was different. This was perfect.
