On Sunday, the third day of our road trip, it's quiet in the car, in a good way for once.

No words, no music, though the comfy silence somehow seems right. I roll down the windows and lean my head against the door frame, listening to the wind rushing by, smelling the pine trees, watching the clouds chase each other across the sky. We've covered so many miles today, barely stopping to get some snacks at the gas stations.

As we approach the city of Denver, the relentless sun of the day begins its descent, painting the vast Colorado sky in a breathtaking display of color. The once endless plains have morphed into rolling foothills, and the vibrant blue softens to a pastel canvas, streaked with hues of peach, apricot, and lavender.

I watch the stars materialize, like someone is dimming the switch on the night sky, so each shining dot grows brighter and brighter.

The next big stop will be tomorrow: Las Vegas. And then, finally. L.A. My heart flutters in my chest like a bird attempting to flee its cage.

I first push my hand out the window, and then I put my head out. I feel my hair blow behind me and the air rush into me, and for a moment, I forget to worry about how I'm supposed to be. Where I'm supposed to be.

Because I am perfect right now. Everything is.

And David is a perfect driver. Not scary. Just steady. And fast.

When we enter the city, posters plastered on the walls, showcasing upcoming concerts, catch my eye —a vibrant kaleidoscope of neon and airbrushed rockstars.

My gaze snags on a familiar logo, a red and black diamond with a lightning bolt splitting it.

"Van Halen," the bold lettering screams, "Live in Denver!"

Van Halen! Seeing them live was a teenage dream, a concert I begged my parents to take me to in NY, but never got.

Now, here it is, a chance encounter on a dusty road trip.

Dave is fiddling with the radio, a frustrated frown creasing his forehead. "Static city," he grumbles, tossing the knob back in defeat.

"Not anymore," I announce, pointing at the posters as we drive slowly past. The red and black diamond logo catches the fading sunlight.

"Van Halen. Live. Tonight."

Dave's eyes widen in surprise. "Seriously? Denver's got a Van Halen concert tonight?"

"Yep." My voice bubbles with a newfound energy. "We have to go, we simply have to, Dave."

He stares at me, dumbstruck.

"Dave!" I yell, grabbing his arm and pointing at the poster again with unrestrained excitement. "We absolutely must see this concert!"

Dave looks at the poster, then back at me, his eyebrows shooting up. "So... Van Halen? I didn't know you were into them."

I grin, bouncing up and down on the leather seat. "Are you kidding? I love Van Halen! It's totally my dad's influence. He introduced me to all the greats. Van Halen, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, and of course, Queen."

Dave's surprise melts into a grin. "Well, I'll be damned. I didn't expect you to be into rock. Those are some pretty solid bands."

I nod enthusiastically. "Yeah! And there's more. Pink Floyd, AC/DC, Black Sabbath... I could go on and on."

Dave chuckles, shaking his head. "Man, you never cease to surprise me, Lewis. I thought you'd be more into pop or something."

I cross my arms, pretending to be offended. "What, you thought I'd be all about bubblegum pop and cheesy love songs?"

He raises his hands in mock defense. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that. Just didn't expect such a classic rock aficionado, that's all."

I laugh, the sound blending into the hum of the city around us. "Well, now you know. What about you? What kind of music are you into?"

"Oh, I'm more into the harder stuff. You know, Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, and some of the heavier rock like Deep Purple. And Led Zeppelin, of course. Just like yourself."

I stare at him in amazement. "No way! You're a fan of all those bands too?"

He nods, looking almost as surprised as I feel. "Yeah, I guess we have more in common than we thought."

I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. "Who would've guessed? So, we should totally go to the Van Halen concert. It'd be awesome to see them live."

Dave's grin widens. "I'm down. It'll be epic. Hopefully the tickets aren't too expensive, you know."

My heart feels like it's about to burst with excitement. "Great! I can't wait to see them perform. Absolute geniuses."

As we walk towards the concert venue, we continue chattering about our favorite bands. I tell David Rivera about the first time I heard "Stairway to Heaven" and how it felt like a revelation.

How I played it and replayed it dozens of times on my old cassette recorder, and then on my new Red Sony Walkman after Dad sent it to me from L.A.

He in turn recounts the time he saw Metallica live and how it was a life-changing experience.

The more we talk, the more I realize how much music has shaped both our lives, and how it's yet another thing that binds us together. There's something so cool about finding this common ground, this shared passion that neither of us expected to uncover.

As we reach the end of the block, I turn to Dave, a thought suddenly occurring to me. "You know, it's pretty awesome that we're into the same music. It makes this road trip even more special."

He smiles, his expression warm and genuine. "Yeah, it does. Who knew we'd find this connection? I guess it's just one more thing to be grateful for."

I nod, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie. "Absolutely. And I can't wait to rock out with you at the concert."

"Alright." Dave grins at me. "Spontaneous April Lewis. I like it. Looks like we're trading parking lot parties for a rock and roll show."

Yes!

"I'm a bad influence on you," he adds with a shake of his head and a smile.

🗽🚘✉️❤️🏖️

As we enter the packed concert hall, the roar of the crowd hits us like a physical wave. The air vibrates with the pulsating bass line, a tangible energy that sends shivers down my spine.

Multi-colored spotlights dance across the stage, illuminating the iconic figures of Eddie Van Halen with his signature striped guitar and David Lee Roth, his flamboyant persona captivating the audience.

We find ourselves swept up in the energy of the crowd. We belt out the lyrics to "Jump" and "Panama," our voices hoarse but happy. Dave, whom I've only known as stoic so far, pleasantly surprises me with his air guitar skills, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

In this electric atmosphere, surrounded by pulsing music and shared enthusiasm, a connection sparks between all of us attendees. We are strangers to this town but still united by the power of rock and roll. The sheer mass of bodies makes it difficult to glimpse anything beyond the first few rows.

"Ugh, I can barely see anything!" I shout over the music.

"Here, climb aboard," Dave offers, crouching slightly.

I raise a brow, confused. "Climb aboard what?"

"Me, silly." He chuckles, gesturing to his broad frame. "So you're too short to see over the crowd. How about a little boost?"

The thought of climbing onto boy's shoulders, even one I feel a growing connection with... is a little nerve-wracking. Yet, the prospect of seeing Van Halen in all their glory is incredibly tempting.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. Come on, trust me."

Hesitantly, I place my hands on Dave's shoulders, surprised by the warmth radiating from his solid frame. With a boost from his hand on my back, I hoist myself up, his strong muscles providing a steady base.

Suddenly, the world transforms. From my new vantage point, I have this super clear view of the entire stage. David Lee Roth struts like a peacock, his microphone standing a prop for his flamboyant moves. Eddie Van Halen's fingers dance across his guitar strings, weaving magic with every note.

"You know, this is the first time in years I've ridden piggyback," I tease.

"This isn't a piggyback."

"Of course it is. I distinctly remember my Dad taking me for a piggyback ride."

"And he carried you like this?"

"Yes. And he was a great piggybacker."

"Tough to beat, but I'll do my best."

As he holds me firmly by my thighs, propping me upwards, the sounds thrum through my body, amplified by the energy of the crowd and the thrill of my precarious perch.

"Thanks, Dave!" I shout over the music, a wide grin plastered on my face. "This is amazing!"

Dave, from below, looks up at me, his own grin mirroring mine. "No problem," he yells back. "Just hold on tight and enjoy the show!"

After the final power chords of "Hot for the Teacher" rip through the arena, the crowd erupts in cheers. Dave carefully lowers me from his shoulders, his hand lingering on my lower back for a beat longer than necessary. A warmth spreads through my chest, a mix of exhilaration from the concert and... something else entirely.

Suddenly, an unknown voice slurs in my ear, the smell of cheap beer clinging to the words. "Hey there, short stuff. Quite the view from up there, huh?"

I whip around, coming face-to-face with a guy sporting a greasy mullet and a too-tight concert t-shirt. His breath reeks of alcohol, and his eyes scan me with a predatory leer.

"Uh, thanks?" I stammer, a knot of unease twisting in my stomach.

This isn't the carefree camaraderie I've grown to enjoy with Dave. This guy oozes a different kind of energy, one that makes my skin crawl.

Before I can muster a proper response, he's already leaning in, his voice dropping to a low growl. "You look lost, sweetheart. Need someone to show you around Denver?"

I force a smile, my voice tight. "No thanks, I'm actually with—"

"Hey!" Dave, his face a mask of suppressed anger, stands between me and the unwelcome suitor.

"Just trying to be friendly," the guy mumbles defensively.

"She said she's not interested. Now get lost." Dave's chest heaves up and down, fists clenched at his sides.

Before things get ugly, I stand beside him and grab onto his hand.

The drunken guy tries to appear tough, but I see the flicker of fear in his eyes. He mumbles something incoherent before finally turning away, disappearing into the throng of concertgoers.

I find a smile tugging at my lips. An actual smile, after so many months of grief.

"He was staring at your ass. And what he said to you... just plain rude," Dave growls.

My cheeks grow hot and I almost wonder if David Rivera looked, too, at some point.

He turns to me, his features softening. "You okay?" His concern is evident, warm and genuine.

Relief washes over me, chasing away the lingering dread and discomfort. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Dave. You really didn't have to do that."

"He was bothering you. Besides, you looked like you could use a knight in shining armor."

A laugh escapes my lips. "Oh, I don't know if you're all that. Maybe a knight in slightly ripped jeans and a concert t-shirt," I tease. "But a knight nonetheless." I stick my tongue at him and continue swaying in the rhythm of the music.

It's not a choreographed dance, no practiced steps or memorized routines. My body simply surrenders to the beat, limbs swaying and hips swiveling in a way that feels utterly foreign, yet strangely familiar.

For a fleeting moment, I'm transported back to my childhood bedroom, blasting Van Halen on my trusty cassette player, hairbrush microphone clutched in my hand. The world outside, the weight of responsibility, the nagging voice of self-doubt – all of it melts away.

Here, under the pulsating lights and the deafening music, I'm just —April.

April, the carefree kid who dances like nobody's watching, who loses herself in the pure joy of movement.

I twirl, my skirt a blur of color, the air whipping through my hair. It feels like flying, like weightlessness, like a delicious escape from the confines of reality.

David watches me giving my ungraceful best, laughing at myself while twirling and kicking. And I love that he can't take his eyes off me.

He mirrors my movements a beat later. We stumble and step on each other's toes, our laughter echoing through the throng of bodies.

As the final notes fade, leaving a lingering echo in the air, I feel a surge of exhilaration unlike any I've experienced in a long time. My hair is a tangled mess, and a wide, goofy grin is plastered on my face. But most importantly, I feel young, so young and alive.

Truly, undeniably alive.

Embracing my inner child, like my dad advised me to do, is by far the best thing, like, ever.

I trip up, but Dave catches me in time and picks me up in his arms before I hit the floor. When I meet his gaze, we smile at each other warmly. Being in his embrace is more comforting than my heart thought it would be. I nuzzle my head into his sweatshirt, inhaling the scent of fresh mint. It's only been three days, but I'm so used to it by now that it feels good.

It's a constant. David Rivera is becoming someone I'd love never to leave my side.

"You okay?" Dave grabs my hand and it's like all the nerves seem to flood out of my system. I feel safe. I feel protected.

I don't know how he does it, but Dave always seems to find ways to calm me down. He brushes his fingers against my face, tucking the tiny fly away strands behind my ear before gently caressing my cheek.

The only thing I can think of is to pull him into my embrace. I hug him tightly, and his arms come around to hold me, his head hanging down to bury between my neck and shoulder.

This boy is someone that has become so close to me in such a short amount of time.

I could lie to myself and say he's just a designated driver who's taking me to L.A. That he's not important. That I don't care.

But when it comes down to it, if David Rivera left my life right now, the void would be almost unbearable. I'd break into pieces.

His hands run down my waist, twisting the fabric of my sweatshirt up into one hand to tug me closer as his three-day stubble scratches my cheek.

I look up and instantly get lost in those whisky-brown eyes.

"Lewis, I..." He leans closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Are you sure? I don't want this to be..."

"Hey. It's my pick, remember? You promised."

The moment our lips meet is like a dam breaking open. All the unspoken words, the pent-up emotions, the energy of the concert, it all pours into that kiss.

I feel his tongue, and god nothing feels better.

The more the kiss continues, the more excitement rushes through me. My body squirms beneath him, and he presses onto my stomach to calm me down.

I can feel my breathing getting heavier, my hand pushing up underneath his t-shirt. Dave's palm cups my cheek, his touch grounding me, anchoring me in reality, slowing down my frantic rhythm with tenderness and care.

Dave's husky murmur sends shivers down my spine. "Pretty," he smiles. His lips brush my cheek, the touch lingering for a beat too long, sending a delicious warmth blooming in my chest.

Before I can respond, he surprises me again. His touch dips lower, his lips trailing down my neck in a slow, deliberate caress. A gasp escapes my lips, and Dave chuckles softly, the sound sending a thrill through me.

"So. Damn. Pretty," he repeats, each word a kiss against my sensitive skin.

The music has faded completely now, replaced by the murmur of the dispersing crowd. But for us, the world seems to shrink to the space we occupy —this bubble of warmth and newfound connection.

We just keep standing here, bathed in the soft glow of the exit lights, the shared kiss still tingling on my lips.