Backstage, it was pure afterglow.
Fog machines hissed their final puffs. The crew moved in practiced rhythm, breaking down gear while the band trickled into the greenroom. Everyone was sweaty, exhausted, and smiling like fools. Even Mark had a rare, soft-eyed look as he popped the cap off a cold bottle of water and leaned back into the nearest chair like he might never move again.
Gabriel walked in first, followed by Darla — who was still in shock, her All Access pass swinging loosely from her neck, hand glued to the borrowed guitar pick in her pocket.
The moment the rest of the band spotted her, the room shifted.
Cassie rushed over and hugged her tight, full-body and wordless.
Maya wasn’t far behind. “Girl, that harmony? I felt that in my bone marrow.” She clutched Darla’s shoulders with a proud grin before pulling her into another embrace.
Jonah… Jonah was already crying.
“I’m not crying, you’re crying,” he said, absolutely crying.
Rico gave her a one-arm bro hug and whispered something about how she had more stage presence than most headliners he’d seen.
Even Mark rose from his chair — slowly — and gave Darla a gruff little nod.
“Nice fingers. Steady rhythm. You’d make a fine tech.”
And then, awkwardly… he hugged her too.
Thane lingered just behind, arms crossed. He caught Darla’s eye, and after a beat, stepped forward. She looked up at him with shimmering eyes.
He didn’t say a word. Just opened his arms.
Darla leaned in and hugged him tight.
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking. “For believing in me.”
The standard meet-and-greet rolled into motion just a few feet away.
Fans filed in through the barricade, wide-eyed and starstruck, but every single one paused to give Darla a smile or a high five or a teary thanks. She’d gone viral, after all — the silver-haired guitarist who stunned an arena with heart and harmony.
Some asked for her autograph.
One teenage girl, hands trembling, looked from Darla to Gabriel to Thane and just whispered:
“This band saved my life.”
Thane gently passed her a setlist from the show — signed by the full band — and Gabriel slipped a fresh pick into her palm.
“Then you better keep living,” Gabriel said with a wink.
As the crowd thinned, Darla leaned against the greenroom wall, watching it all unfold — her arms now full of flowers, fan letters, and merch gifted by strangers.
She caught Gabriel’s eye from across the room.
He made his way over, offered a bottle of water, and said softly:
“Still alive?”
She laughed, hoarse and giddy. “I think I’ll be riding this high ‘til next year.”
“You were amazing up there.”
“I just wanted to do your music justice.”
“You did more than that. You reminded us why we play it.”
She touched his arm. “Thank you, Gabriel.”
He smiled wide. “Any time, Darla.”
As the night wound down and the last fan trickled out, someone cranked down the house lights. The band started drifting toward the bus.
And Darla, turned back for one last look at the stage.
She whispered to no one in particular:
“Still alive. Still playing. Still dreaming.”