Deep breaths. It’s just another gig.

Sure, it’s for my brother-in-law’s LGBTQ charity, they need to raise money, and there’s a lot of important people here, but it’s just another gig.

No pressure.

Fuck, I need another deep breath.

I steal Freya’s drumsticks off her and start tapping away on the bench inside our makeshift dressing room. The hotel gave us their employee lounge to change out of our penguin suits and grunge up. I’m way more comfortable in my ripped skinny jeans and plain gray T-shirt than the tailored suit Noah made me wear for the red carpet.

Yep, this benefit is a big enough deal to have a red carpet.

I’m probably going to start hyperventilating with the heavy breathes, but I need another one.

I bang the sticks against the bench harder.

“Heeey,” Freya complains at the assault on her drumsticks. “Don’t hurt my babies.”

I throw one in the air and catch it and give her a wink. The playful goofball is a role I can play well, but I reckon my bandmates can tell it’s all a front tonight.

Benji throws his bass strap over his shoulder. “Put a sock in it, you two. We doing this or what?”

I sigh. It’s a complete travesty that accent and muscular body is attached to someone who’s straight, but even his hot Australianism ain’t enough of a distraction for my nerves tonight.

I throw the sticks back to Freya and shake out my hands. “Ready.”

“You look like you’re gonna chunder,” Benji says.

I flip him off, but not because he doesn’t have a point. The fancy-ass bite-sized appetizers I ate earlier threaten to come back up.

“What’s with the stage jitters? We’ve done this a billion times.”

It’s not my first experience with stage fright, but it’s usually caused by adrenaline pumping through me at a rate my body can’t handle. Tonight’s anxiety is because of a completely different reason.

Once I’m out there in front of the crowd, I’ll be fine. It’s the place where I belong, and I live for this shit. Being on stage is the only thing I’ve ever cared about. Everyone has their dream; music is mine.

“It’s the song, isn’t it?” Benji asks.

My non-answer is everything he needs to know. It’s our new song’s debut tonight, and it’s one of those projects I wrote for myself. I’m not sure if it’s ready to be released into the world. I’m not sure if it ever will be.

My brother Matt and his husband, Noah, saved me eight months ago when I had nowhere to go. After getting kicked out for being gay, I jumped a bus from Tennessee to New York and found Matt, who’d suffered the same fate a few years ago.

The song encompasses everything we went through growing up in a house full of hate and Matt’s fight to keep his career in the NFL, but the main theme is about his relationship with Noah. It’s the most personal piece I’ve ever written, and I dunno how they’ll react to the song.

Worse yet, I’m dreading how our fans will react.

Every artist faces scrutiny, and since joining Fallout, I’ve had my fair share. Fallout has a few thousand followers—not many in the big scheme of things—but are well-known for gigging at Club Soho. Their original lead singer signed with a label, ditching Freya and Benji. Then I came along. Opinions were mixed when I took over. A lot were supportive, but there were some comments online telling me to cut my vocal chords out. My favorite, though, would be the one which said my voice sounded like a group of cats choking on gravel.

Now that’s talent.

I can handle all that, but I don’t know how I’ll handle negative reactions to this song. I’m too close to it. I’m about to go on stage and bare my soul more than I ever have, and that’s fuckin’ scary.

“Maybe we shouldn’t set it free tonight.”

“Jet, it’s the perfect night to do it,” Freya says. “And it’s a great song.”

“It’s the best one you’ve written,” Benji says.

I scoff. “That doesn’t mean a whole lot to me considering you tell me all my other songs are shit.”

Benji laughs. “They all have potential, but this one? It’s gonna be our first single on our multiplatinum album.”

“Someone’s optimistic,” I say.

He claps my shoulder. “We’ve got this. Just do that trick where you pick one person in the crowd and focus on them. Block the rest of the noise out.”

“At least in this crowd I might be able to find someone who bats for my team.”

“There’s the spirit,” Benji says. “Let’s get out there.” He turns to leave but catches his reflection in the mirror. He assesses his dark faux hawk, and I shove him.

“You look badass and hot as usual.”

“Gay approved?”

I roll my eyes. “Gay approved.”

Even though I’ve repeatedly told him I’m not into trends and fashion labels, he still takes my word as gay gospel. I’m tempted to make him dress like an idiot purely for my entertainment. He should tell by my wardrobe I know shit all about style. The only difference between my onstage presence and what I wear every day is the guyliner.

One of the volunteers from the Rainbow Beds event leads us into the ballroom and onto the stage.

The lights aren’t as harsh in this room as they are in the club we usually play, which means I can see nearly every face staring in our direction. I can’t make out expressions, but I know their gazes are glued to us.

Fuck.

With one last deep breath, I stare out into the crowd, and my eyes find him immediately. He’s toward the back of the ballroom, standing right near the exit. He’s a tall, giant of a guy. I can’t make out features or what color hair he has in the darkness, but his silhouette shows wide shoulders and a stocky frame. Like the build of an athlete.

Most likely he’s one of my brother’s teammates, but he’ll do for what I need him for. I just need a focal point to channel my energy and distract from everything else.

Noah talks to the crowd about this project—an idea he came up with after meeting me—and his love for the charity is obvious in the way he speaks. The inflection in his voice is as if he’s talking about his child. I guess the knowledge of being the one responsible for pulling homeless youth off the street will do that to a guy.

When he finally introduces us, my hands tremble with anticipation and nerves. While I’d normally try to warm up the crowd with a joke or at least say hi, this isn’t like our usual gig in a crowded and rowdy bar.

I open with the chords of an acoustic version of Queen’s “I Want to Break Free.” I try to focus but I start to wish we’d decided to open with The Song so I can get it over with. When I start to sing, my voice is shaky at best.

My gaze finds my brother’s teammate at the back, and I focus everything I have on that guy instead of the lyrics falling from my mouth. He folds his arms across his impressively large chest.

As far as types go, I generally don’t find meatheads attractive. In spite of that, I’ve hooked up with my fair share. But that’s not what this stare-off is about. I need to switch my brain off and do what comes naturally to me which is music.

Somehow I make it through the set, and I only have Benji and Matt’s teammate to thank. They’re the only people I concentrate on. But when it comes to doing The Song, my hand shakes.

My eyes dart to Benji’s, and he gives a chin lift out into the audience. We’ve only been playing together for about seven months, but I know him well enough to read him.

Focus on your target.

First, I have to get Matt’s attention. I’m still nervous about how he’s going to take the song, and maybe I should’ve spoken to him sooner instead of showing it off for the world, but I don’t think I’d have the nerve to do this to his face.

“Yo, Matt.” My voice cracks into the microphone. He doesn’t hear me anyway. Matt’s too busy talking to his friend Maddox. “Matt,” I try again. “Brother.” Still nothing. “Matt Curtis Jackson!”

Finally he turns, and his eyes widen as he sees the majority of the audience staring at him.

“Geez, just like when we were kids,” I say and the crowd laughs.

The tension in my shoulders eases with a joke thrown in, but I don’t push my luck by staring at them. The nerves threaten to come back full force, so I turn back to the guy I’m pretending to sing to and force my fingers to strum the right chords and my voice to hit the right notes.

The shake in my voice that disappeared in the middle of “I Want to Break Free” is back, but I push through it.

You don’t see me,

what I am,

Your ignorance is blind

The world ain’t ready,

But I don’t care

You can’t get rid of me now

‘Cause,

He sees the light inside me,

Every part that’s good,

He loves me,

Even apart,

He’s still there,

He waited for a number,

A number that never came,

He wanted me out of his system,

But now I’ll never leave

He’s my soul

And I am his.

I find my groove when I get to the bridge and close my eyes as I belt out the words. The song is edgy and emotional, but when I get towards the end where I sing about Matt and Noah, I don’t have to concentrate so hard. They’re easy to sing about.

When I get the courage to open my eyes again and stare at my focal point, he’s gone. He left in the middle of the song.

My fingers continue to strum the right chords, and my voice manages not to waver, but that doesn’t stop the crippling disappointment that someone walked out. After standing there for my entire set, he walked out during the most important song. It might be a coincidence, but it’s definitely not the response I was hoping for. Serves me right for picking one of Matt’s teammates. Probably don’t even understand what I’m singing about.

Just like Benji’s put me in the gay and fabulous box, I’ve put all of Matt’s jock friends into the meathead box.

It’s better to think that right now instead of focus on the fact my song could be shit.

My gaze goes to the bar to see if he went there to get a drink, but my eyes catch on Matt and Noah. The awe in their expressions and glimmering eyes is enough for me to channel my focus to them instead. I want to see them as I sing about their life and how they’re better together than apart.

I experienced both of their shitty attitudes while they were broken up, and I wanted to slap them both upside the head. They couldn’t see what they had was the real deal, but I could.

They have something that some people search their entire lives for.

I swallow hard and push myself to block everything out as I finish the song. I pull my shit together, because I’m a professional after all, and sing my ass off. After the torturous song is over, it’s easy to get into the act, but the rest of the set feels like days, and by the time we’re done, I’m sweaty, edgy, and in need of a drink. Or a fuck.

The illuminated bar calls to me. Jumping off the stage, I head straight for my awesome brother-in-law who hands me a tumbler with dark liquid in it.

“Good job, brother.”

“Thanks,” I say breathlessly and throw back the glass. The liquor burns, but I welcome it.

“That better have been just Coke,” Matt says behind me.

“Of course, babe,” Noah says and winks at me.

“Hello, I have eyes,” Matt says. “I can see when you wink, dumbass.”

“Calm down. It was one drink,” I say.

Matt nudges his husband. “You’re a bad influence.”

“You’re only just realizing this?” Noah asks.

Matt pinches Noah’s ass, and I groan.

I love my brother. I love Noah. But their whole playful, lovey dovey crap drives me crazy. Not to mention my noise canceling headphones have been getting a work out now the happy couple is back in New York for a while since the football season is over. They go at it every damn night.

If the sounds were coming from roommates, that would be one thing—I could handle that—but one of them is my brother. Eww, eww, and no thank you. I don’t need to know what’s going on in that room.

Watching Matt and Noah makes me hopeful I’ll find what they have one day. Not that I’m in a rush—I’m twenty so fuck that—but what they have is fairytale shit.

Matt turns to me, suddenly serious. His mouth hangs open, and his eyes are soft, but I can tell he’s struggling for words. “Jet …” Then he glances away. He never calls me Jet. It’s always JJ.

Noah smiles. “What he’s trying to say is your song was awesome.”

“Really?” My voice is quiet, and I hate that I crave approval from Matt. Everything I’ve ever done in my life has been for me. Our parents certainly never earned our respect, and I’ve always known they’d never approve of me. Matt’s different. He’s always been the dependable big brother. He raised me more than our parents did, and I want him to be proud of me.

Instead of answering, Matt takes me in a crushing hug. Considering he’s a tight end, I’m pretty sure I have cracked ribs now. Holy shit, it’s hard to breathe.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, and fuck, I might be on the verge of crying.

As far as brothers go, we have similar hair and features, but our physique? His muscles are insane. I’m not skinny, but I’m not ripped by any means. A pitiful little six pack where you need a magnifying glass to make out the shallow divots in my stomach and my unimpressive biceps are the extent of my muscles. Noah calls me a twunk. Whatever that is. Matt argues I’m a pup. Whenever it’s brought up, I flip them both off and walk out and then remind myself to read up on gay terms. There really should be a manual for this shit.

Coming from a small town in Tennessee where the shared local closet is filled with a hell of a lot more people than one would think, I learned everything from the closeted guys I hooked up with.

Needless to say, my experience has been limited to quick blowjobs, awkward sex, and not a whole lot of anything else. Since moving to New York eight months ago, I’ve certainly learned some stuff, but I still feel like a noob.

Matt finally pulls back and lets me breathe again. He does the uncomfortable guy nod—a single nod while avoiding eye contact—and as easy as that, the moment is gone, but the sentiment means everything to me.

Certain meatheads may not get my song and walk out halfway through, but my meathead brother understands, and that’s all that matters.

I know one day I’ll find my own Noah to dedicate songs to, but on my list of priorities, it’s right below get a record deal, become a famous rock star, and fuck my way through six continents.

Why dream small?

I stare at my coffee on the cheap table in the seedy diner-slash-café and try to make sense of what I was just told. The lawyer brought me here to fill me in on how and why my brother was arrested tonight.

“Can you please repeat that?” I ask, because I can’t be hearing it right.

Law—the most put together person I know—assaulted one of his student’s father.

Blue eyes meet mine, and I try to ignore how good-looking this Brody guy is. He has the type of hair that looks messy while being meticulous. His suit does nothing to hide the muscular body underneath. I know without a doubt if we weren’t in public, I’d be freaking out more than I already am.

Public is good. It’s safe.

A foot accidentally brushes against mine under the table, and I flinch. My nerves are on edge, and there’s a reason I avoid these types of situations. In a crowded bar, at a busy restaurant, I can lose myself in the safe feeling of knowing no one would try shit with that many spectators.

Here, though, there’s a girl at the counter, a chef out back, and a douche on a laptop in the corner booth. That’s not enough for my liking.

If Brody notices my anxiety, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“He physically assaulted a parent, but he’s a hero if you ask me. The parent beat his gay kid.” His eyes widen. “Don’t tell your brother I approve of what he did. I’m still pissed at him for lying to Reed.”

Reed. The guy my supposedly straight brother fell head over heels for while pretending to be me. Law’s had a lot of secrets lately, and that’s never happened between us before.

“Who are you to Reed?” I ask.

“We grew up together.” Something tells me there’s more to it than that, judging by the lightness in his voice and something like longing in his eyes, but I’m too busy focusing on the important part.

Law has kept shit from me because he knows I wouldn’t handle it. A domestic abuse situation this close to home? My hand trembles as I try to sip my coffee.

“Is it true Law breaks up with guys for you?” Brody’s tone is more curious than judging, but that doesn’t stop my hand from losing the fight. The cup clatters on the table, and hot coffee goes everywhere.

“Shit,” I hiss.

I scramble to find something to mop up the mess and settle for my shirt.

Mr. Cool Calm and Collected reaches for napkins instead.

Right. That would be smarter.

“How much do you know?” I ask and avoid eye contact. I have to make sure I get all the spilled coffee. Yup, totally legit excuse not to look the man in the eye, even if I’m just wiping over dry spots.

“Only that you sent your brother to break off a date with Reed, but Law fell for him instead. What we could never work out was why you sent Law to begin with.”

Reed knows about Kyle and what happened to me—and the truth about why Law showed up the night they met instead of me—so he earns some points for not telling his friend something he has no right repeating.

“I had another date,” I lie.

Again, where I expect some type of judgement, I swear the guy’s lips turn up into a tiny, but very real, smile. I go to defend myself when he cuts me off.

“We should go out sometime.”

My hand freezes on the table, and my mouth dries. I feel myself blink rapidly at him, but the iciness of fear turns my blood cold.

Old me would already be on our way to his apartment. Or mine. Whichever’s closer.

This me? The broken version of the guy I used to be? I can’t be the guy to hook up with randoms unless they meet a certain criteria. And Mr. Lawyer does not meet any of that criteria. He’s everything I run away from.

But fuck, if I don’t wish I could just put all that shit in my head aside for a night and enjoy myself for once. I’m not delusional enough to think it’s a possibility, but sitting across from my ultimate wet dream definitely has me thinking about it. The problem is, thinking and doing are completely different things.

In my fantasy, I’d walk out of here right now, get in his car, maybe tease the hell out of that insane body the whole way to his apartment, and then have him fuck me senseless. In reality? As soon as we left the restaurant, I’d probably be in the foetal position covering my head and asking him to leave me the fuck alone.

Fun times.

His laugh is warm and friendly, and the casual way he leans back in the booth has my desire growing and heart rate spiking. “Didn’t think going out with me was that hard a decision.” Fuck, his raspy voice sends a shock right to my groin.

And as if right on cue, the nausea starts. The fear sets in. I’m on the cusp of a possible panic attack, and I’ve already had one this past month. Two in one month wasn’t unheard of a few years ago—hell, two in one day wasn’t unheard of back then—but I can’t put myself through this again.

I’ve been doing well. Better. I won’t let this guy set me back.

“I have to go.” I stand and practically tumble out of the booth.

My feet aren’t quick enough to take me to the door, and he catches up way too easily for my liking.

His overwhelming presence looms over me, and that’s impressive considering I’m six-foot-tall and ten percent body fat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brow scrunched in concern.

Standing in the doorway to the café, I ignore his question and run my eyes over his chest and down to his narrow hips. There’s no doubt in my mind his suit was tailor-made to fit his body. It shows off every angle.

A couple enter the diner, forcing me closer to the Adonis in front of me.

My breath catches as we stand chest to chest. This is the closest I’ve been to someone who makes me want to vomit in a long time, but I can’t bring myself to step away, even if the couple has passed us now.

I want to close the small gap between us.

I don’t think I’ve wanted anything more.

Oh, wait, yeah I have. I’ve wanted to be normal enough to be able to push myself through this.

I want to be the type of person who has the courage to say yes to going out with this guy.

But I’m not that guy.

And I can’t imagine ever being that guy again.

No matter how much I want to be.

“S-sorry, I have to go.” I rush out of there as fast as I can, but the damage has been done.

I manage to hold it together for my drive home, but by the time I hit the third flight of stairs leading to my apartment, I’m practically crawling to my front door.

This can’t be happening again.

I can’t break down because I met a hot guy. It’s the reason I ran away and made Law take my place on my date with Reed to begin with.

I’ve been telling myself that I’m doing better, but the truth is the only reason I’ve been able to hold it together is because I’ve been avoiding everything that makes me uneasy.

As much as I wish I wasn’t having this revelation because it means I need to do something about it, the fact of the matter is if I ever want to be in a position to say yes to someone like Brody, I have to go back to intense therapy.

Cue entire meltdown.

My eardrums want to burst as the crowd screams when the band Radioactive take to the stage. I lean in close to Reed’s ear. “Is it just me or am I getting too old for this type of thing?”

Reed, my newly-wedded husband, turns to me and pats my cheek. “Aww, honey. You are old, but no. This is … intense.” We glance around the packed stadium. “Who knew Radioactive was this big here?”

“Their bass player and manager are Australian. I read that somewhere when their team contacted me.” I mean, I’ve definitely heard of them. Their music gets a lot of radio time, and one of their songs, “Hat Trick Heartbreak,” is on my playlist for when Anders and I go running, but it’s not like they’re a household name.

At least, so I thought. This packed stadium proves otherwise.

On my other side, Anders yells over the noise of the overexcited audience. “Why did their people give you these tickets again?”

“Because I’m a very important person in the LGBTQ charity realm … fuckface.”

Anders laughs, like that’s the biggest joke ever, which, okay, it might be. It was a long chain of someone knowing someone else type thing thanks to Anders’s boyfriend, Brody. He went to uni with a friend of Marty, who’s the boyfriend of the band manager, Luce. I can see why Anders is confused.

After the show, I’m meeting with the lead singer’s husband to talk about having him come to the dojo to give one of his motivational sports-people speeches to the kids. He was saying how he goes on tour with the band and does something like this in every city they play.

“Why you and not me?” Anders asks. “I’m the other half of the Steele Brothers Dojo. I want to meet the famous people.”

I try to cover my grin but fail. “Did I forget to mention we got you guys backstage passes as well?”

Anders smiles, and fuck, I still can’t get over how easily happiness radiates from him now. For years, his smiles and laughs were all forced. He’d find things funny, and he’d be somewhat happy, but he always had that dark cloud hanging over his head.

Since finding meds that work for him and letting himself be vulnerable and open to a real relationship, he’s gone from strength to strength. Not to say it’s always smooth sailing or anything, and sometimes I can see the concern for Anders in Brody’s eyes, but I’m so happy my brother found someone who is the support he needs.

On stage, Jay Jackson shouts into the microphone, “Hello, Brisbane!”

There are more screams, and Jesus fuck, I should’ve brought earplugs. To a concert. If that’s not the epitome of getting old, I don’t know what is.

The band kicks off their first song, which is one of their hits that I know, and I wrap my arm around Reed as we stand and watch the performance.

It’s the first time in a really long time we haven’t had to worry about babysitters or making sure the kids are okay, which is supposed to be a good thing, but it’s really not.

Reed and I started fostering kids as soon as we could because we want to give all those children a fighting chance at a future, but in Australia, the foster care system still favours birth parents over foster parents. The adoption rate is low, and all foster arrangements are temporary and kept short.

I’m happy we’re providing for needy kids, but in these lulls between fosters, the house is too empty.

Not that I don’t appreciate all the naked time Reed and I can freely have when there are no kids in the house, but I’m starting to think I want children of my own.

But … Reed might not want kids of our own. With the way he lost his parents at a young age, he has always been an advocate for kids in need, and I’m still okay with that. We can keep fostering, but I also want more.

I need to bring it up, but I don’t know how.

Maybe if there was some kind of sign that it’s something we should do—an easy segue into the conversation, it would be easier.

As if answering my silent prayers, when the band finish playing, a child-like scream pierces the air and a cry of "Dadda" makes me start questioning my faith. Or lack thereof. It's a faint sound that I wonder if I've manifested as an excuse to have the conversation, but as the crowd quietens between songs, the crying only gets louder.

We're close enough to the stage that I can see the culprit. Off to the side is a toddler, maybe eighteen-ish months old. He has a dummy in his mouth, earphones covering his ears, red eyes, and he's reaching out for someone on stage while being held by a giant hand around his wrist. Damn, that kid has some lungs on him.

Is this a sign I should ask Reed for a child of our own or a warning against it? I can't be sure.

The lead singer, Jay, laughs into his microphone. "I'm not sure if y'all can hear that, but someone hates his dad's music."

He turns and bends to his knee, waving his kid over.

The way he toddles out to his dad, dragging who I can assume is Jay's husband with him, it makes my heart melt.

I'm definitely taking it as a sign to ask Reed to father my babies. Or... baby. I turn to open my mouth to say something—anything—that would hint at what I'm thinking about, when he beats me to it.

"I think we should have kids."

My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline.

"I know we said we were happy fostering, but all I could think about during that song was the kids at home, only to remember, there aren’t any. If you're not cool with it, then—”

I cut him off with my lips on his, and when I pull back, he blinks up at me. "I was literally just thinking the exact same thing."

"Really?"

I nod. "I thought I must've said my thoughts out loud. Or are you a mind reader now?"

"Eww, we've become one of those couples."

"What couples?" my brother cuts in.

"The kind of couple who finishes each other’s—”

"Sandwiches!" Reed shouts, and we both laugh. Ah, Frozen jokes. See, we’re practically parents already.

Anders just screws up his face. "You were always one of those gross couples."

Brody wraps his arm around my brother. "Always. It's sickening. We're a much more evolved couple than you are."

Hey, the fact Anders is in any 'couple' at all is a miracle, so I give them the win. "That's probably true."

"Probably?" My brother scoffs. "Of course we are. Not only that, we're more evolved humans too."

Okay, now he's pushing it. "Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that."

Back on stage, Jay's holding his son. "It's been a long road to getting back on tour because of the new man in my life taking up all my time. Say hi, Freddie."

Freddie holds up his hand and waves in that cute way kids do where they open and close their fist. "This is our first tour since Freddie was born, so there are some teething problems. Literally and metaphorically. This kid is a drooling machine right now."

There some chuckles and awws from the audience.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" I ask Reed.

"Everyone, say goodnight to Freddie. He's going to bed now."

The crowd screams and cheers while Jay's husband takes the baby, gives Jay a kiss on the cheek, and walks off stage.

"I hate to see that man go, but I love to watch him leave. Did you know my husband used to play hockey? Hockey butts, am I right?"

His bass player cuts in. "Do you forget we're in Australia? You're in my world now. We barely know what ice hockey is, let alone what hockey butts are."

"That is a damn shame," Jay says. "But speaking of hockey ..."

They break into one of their most famous songs, “Hat Trick Heartbreak,” and for the entire concert, I'm on a high. Either Radioactive is an amazing band, or the excitement in my veins is because Reed and I just made a life-altering decision.

We're ready.

***

After the show, we flash our backstage passes to the mammoth of a security guard, and he lets us past. There's a bustle of crew everywhere in the bowels of the arena, and I have no idea where we're supposed to go for our meeting.

Eventually, a short woman who's dressed in black jeans, black shirt, and is wearing a headset approaches us. She looks important. "Steele Brothers?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes, that's us."

"Follow me."

She takes off, and for someone with tiny little legs, she moves fast. We follow her to a door where she knocks softly.

Jay's husband answers, thanks the woman, and steps aside to let us in. He holds out his hand as we pass. "Caleb Sorensen, but you can call me Soren. Nice to meet you in person."

"Law Steele. This is my husband, Reed, his friend, Brody, and the dude who looks like me is just my shadow."

My brother shoves me. "I'm Anders. The better-looking twin."

"We're identical, dumbass."

Soren laughs. "Come on in. Freddie is sleeping, but he's used to noise, so don't worry about talking too loud."

We enter the dressing room to find Jay in an armchair with Freddie using his shoulder as a pillow.

"I'd get up to meet y'all, but I'm trapped under a baby right now."

I smile. "You know, when we scored backstage passes, I pictured a very different kind of party back here."

Jay tilts his head sideways. "The bass player and drummer will be partying next door. You can go there after your meeting if you like."

I shake my head. "I wasn't complaining."

"Oh, thank fuck," Reed whispers. "I love you," he says to me and then turns to Jay, "And I loved the show, but I'm so tired."

Soren cracks up. "They sound just like me!"

"Old, you mean?" Jay asks.

I pretend to be offended. "If that wasn't true, I'd be so mad right now."

Jay chuckles and stands. "I'm going to head back to the hotel and leave you guys to your meeting."

"Do you guys mind if we go to the party?" Brody asks.

"Go for it," Soren says. "As soon as we've got organized, I'll be going to the hotel to sleep off some jetlag. The first city of eight, and I'm already exhausted. Australia is far."

Jay grabs the baby bag, kisses Soren on the lips quickly, and takes a still sleeping Freddie out of the room with Brody and Anders trailing to go party with the rest of the band.

"Take a seat," Soren says.

Reed and I take the couch while Soren sits in the armchair Jay vacated.

"Freddie is precious," I say.

"A precious pain in the ass, but we love him." The smile on Soren’s face lets me know the love outweighs the pain by a lot.

"Being a parent worth it then?" Reed asks, and we share a look. One that's part hopeful with maybe a little bit of dread too.

"Definitely. Do you two—”

"Not yet," I say. "Well, we foster a lot of kids, but I think we just decided tonight that ..." I look at Reed.

He nods. "We want kids of our own too."

I'm so glad he added the too on the end of that, because I don't want to stop fostering.

Soren leans forward. "In that case, I might joke about Freddie being a pain in the ass, but it's only because I'm sleep deprived. Teething is a bitch. But Freddie is the best thing I've ever done." He huffs. "I just heard my husband's rebuttal in my head, so I'll rephrase. Being with Jet and having Freddie are the best things I've ever done. And if I'd ever won a Stanley Cup, that would be on the list too, but I didn't."

"Stanley what?" I joke. Hey, even I know what that thing is.

Soren holds his heart. "Ouch. Okay, let's get down to business."

We go through possible dates he could come to the dojo, what type of talk would suit the kids best, and iron out all the details.

It's a productive meeting for sure, but I won't walk away with that being the most important thing that happened tonight.

I'm leaving knowing that my life with Reed is about to change.

And I can't wait.