The Crystal Ballroom thrums with energy. Two sold-out shows — and fans were even standing outside the venue hoping to hear the boys play through the windows. The tall, muscular figure of Ashes’ bodyguard weaves his way through the throng of people, ignoring the cries from fans for things like Ask Davey to sign my tits! Groupies were wild. Zack flashes his pass, slipping into the old venue, its floorboards creaking. Sure, they could have played the Rose Garden; after all, Ashes of Our Youth had become that big, but Kellin? He still enjoys playing at the classic venues, the ones he dreamed about when he was a kid in Ohio.

And Zack can’t blame him.

There’s nothing like historic old venues. Even if they made loading in a bitch with their stairs and narrow alleys. But hey — he got the job done. He always did. That’s why no matter how big the boys got, they’d never traded him in for the fancy road managers their labels offered. Because Zack? Well, he might not have professional training, but he and the boys have known each other for a long time.

He still remembers the first time he saw them play — how impressed he’d been, even buying a shirt. Which he never did. Then after the show, Kellin chased down a guy who’d tried to steal their guitars. And Zack, well, he ran too. Maybe it was payback for a great show — or maybe he was just itching for a fight, but damn — it’d been fun.

They’d gotten the gear back and something else too — brotherhood.

Nothing like getting into a fight to bond people together, huh?

Zack never thought Kellin had been serious when he joked about making him their bodyguard — at least not until Ben had called him to offer him the job. Who the fuck offers a random twenty-year-old Aussie beefcake they’d met for less than a few hours a job like that? Ashes of Our Youth, apparently.

He’s been on the road with them ever since — working his way up to being Ben’s right-hand man as the road manager — and keeper of the idiots, as they liked to call it. Because, for as talented as they are, the Ashes boys were idiots. It’s a miracle they were even ready to go for tonight’s show, considering Vic and Mikey had snuck out to go to the Zoo and gotten lost. He really needs to air-tag those boys.

He reaches for the walkie-talkie at his hip, a buzz of static heard as he flips to the correct channel. “Ben, the numpties are all accounted for. I’ll head to my post.”

“Roger that, Crocodile Dundee,” Ben’s clipped voice replies before the channel goes dead. Zack rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ arsehole,” he chuckles, securing the device back to his hip before he heads out to the front barricade. Fans cheer, some calling out to Zack. He’ll never get over how anyone even knew his name. He’s not a musician after all — he’s just the road manager. Still — he can’t deny — it feels really cool. He waves back, a charming smile on his face for a moment before he’s back on the defense, scanning for any problems as the boys take the stage.

“HELLO PORTLANDIA!” Kellin smirks into the mic. “You ready to get wild?”

The show is wild — Zack can’t remember the last time he’d pulled this many people out of the pit. Some for trying to crowd surf — others for being in distress, and one for attempting to throw their used underwear onto the stage. Which, come on, that’s fucking unsanitary. He’s sweating — his muscular figure on display in the skin-tight black tank top he wore. Even with the height of the stage — Zack is a force to be reckoned with — a veritable wall of muscle.

The band is just about to close the show — Kellin works the crowd up into a frenzy as he teases playing an unreleased demo. Show off — Zack would give him hell for it later, even if he is secretly proud of just how far they’d come. Who knew they’d all be here six years later, having the best time of their lives? Zack would always be grateful for that. But there was no time to go soft — a figure catches his attention — someone in the crowd seemingly in distress.

Shit

They’re too far away. Zack groans, jumping over the barricade in one fluid motion. Fans grab at him, shrieking in delight. “Back off, will ya?!” He yells, pushing his way towards the person. “Make some room!” He finally reaches them, wrapping a muscular arm about their figure, pulling them back against his chest. His free arm sweeps under their legs, lifting them into a bridal carry. Unconventional, sure, but better than being hauled over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

He looks down, making sure they aren’t unconscious, and offers a handsome smile.

“You alright, Dollface? Don’t worry — I’ll get ya someplace safer.”