Adrenaline

41 | all the magic we gave off

The drive home is spent wondering how I'm ever going to come down from this high. With the windows down and a breeze flowing past, I soak in the scent of Hawaii underneath sheets of starlight.

        I take one look at Brendon in the driver's seat and back out of the window, realizing how I have everything I want in the world with me right now.

        I'm such a bouncy mess of excitement that I can't even insert my key into the doorknob and Brendon has to take the key from me so he can do it himself. With his chest up against my back and arm above my shoulder, he pushes the door open and gently nudges me into the apartment.

        "Not to be alarming but I could drop dead right now and be perfectly content." I drop my bag onto the counter and take off my shoes. "That was good. That was so damn good."

        Brendon laughs, kicking his shoes off. "It was."

        "That feeling? That's what everyone is talking about when they say they're chasing that something. Feeling like you're flying and never wanting to come down. Like you're invincible. Like I could beat Superman to a pulp without breaking a sweat."

        "You could do that any day of the week."

        I grab a hair tie and gather my hair into a bun, not caring how messy it is. I just need my hair out of my face.

        When I turn around and see Brendon watching me, I'm reminded of what I told him that first night we met. I'm hit with the realization that in his eyes, I'm the only star there is—maybe I've known it all along and I've been afraid to confront it.

        "What are you thinking?" he asks. He always asks me what I'm thinking. He would probably give anything to see inside my head. I'm glad he can't because he's so ingrained in every thought that he'll likely just be staring back at himself the entire time.

        "I want a milkshake."

        He smiles at me. I'm never going to get used to that being directed at me this much. "Do you have the stuff to make a milkshake or should I order you one?"

        "I have no idea. I don't know what's in that fridge."

        Brendon makes his way to the kitchen and rattles off all of the ingredients I have. Call it a miracle.

        He hands me a Nutella milkshake after a few minutes.

        Since my feet are about to fall off from all of the jumping and prancing around the stage, I slide onto the ground so I can take my shoes off and toss them the six feet to the door.

        Without hesitation, Brendon joins me. He lets me drink the best milkshake I've ever had, occasionally stealing a sip for himself, and listens as I explain every nonsensical thought about tonight's show.

        "Sounds like that was your Monaco," he says after I pause.

        "That would be nice to think so."

        "It is." He wipes the corner of my mouth. "You're glowing, Stevie. Alive. The most you that you've ever been."

        After spending years in an industry full of fake this and make-believe that, I find it easy to believe only a handful of people know the real me anymore—MARS, Maverick, Brendon. If he's telling me this, I have to believe it's the truth. He's seen me at my highest of highs and my lowest of lows, and these days, that's not easy for people to come around.

        "You know what's funny? I didn't realize how big the world was growing up."

        "I don't think most kids do, to be honest."