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venus-haze · 2 years

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Come Out Tonight (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Coming from a family of singers, your world is turned upside down when Elvis Presley joins your father’s carnival circuit. While Hank is less than impressed with the new addition’s performance, your brother Jimmie thinks Elvis is the coolest guy around and you find yourself falling for Elvis. He feels the same way about you, but with your father as a roadblock in an official relationship, you wonder if things will ever work out.

Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a woman but no other descriptors are used, though this will require some suspension of disbelief because the reader is Jimmie’s twin (fraternal rather than identical). I enjoyed writing this a lot, and it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that I got inspiration from a Bruce Springsteen song, Rosalita (Come Out Tonight) which is incredibly fun and worked well for the lighter tone of this fic. Elvis isn’t dating Dixie in this. Please do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: None.

Your father, Hank Snow, wasn’t exactly fond of the latest addition to his traveling show, Elvis Presley. He certainly wasn’t fond of how quickly you and your twin brother Jimmie took to the new act, Jimmie verging on hero worship and you absolutely smitten. Hank was glad when you and Jimmie expressed interest in performing from a young age, putting on impromptu performances for family members and running around in your dad’s stage outfits that you seemed to drown in. Now, you and Jimmie were older and had perfected acts of your own, but while you loved performing, there was restlessness in you, like there was another level of showmanship you hadn’t reached yet. Elvis, however, definitely had.

When you and your family first watched Elvis perform at the Louisiana Hayride, you were too shell-shocked to be able to pull your thoughts together. You’d never heard anyone sing, let alone move like that before. You and Jimmie started watching Elvis’ performances from the wings almost religiously after that, discussing how to get the same type of energy into your own acts. You’d performed a new song you wrote in your own set earlier that evening, and got a great reaction from the crowd, though your dad seemed less than pleased with the creative direction you’d taken.

Elvis’ performance that night was business as usual until some girl in the front row threw her panties on stage. You and Jimmie bursted out in laughter, which quickly dissolved into giggles upon your father’s harsh glare as he turned away from the scene just as Elvis picked up the panties in amusement.

“Jimmie, get Y/N out of here,” you dad ordered. “I don’t want her seein’ this—this—“

“It’s not like I don’t got my own,” you argued, not helping your case at all.

Your dad’s eyes widened. “Jimmie—“

“Nice going,” Jimmie huffed as he led you outside.

While Jimmie was your best friend, he was also your brother, and you’d bicker as siblings did, as much as you knew he’d help you hide a dead body, no questions asked. You wanted to argue that it wasn’t your fault your dad got mad that the girls in the crowd started throwing their intimates at Elvis, hell, if you were at the show alone, you’d consider it. Although ideally, you’d just be alone with Elvis.

Just as quickly as he seemed annoyed with you, he started talking about what the two of you did see of Elvis’ performance. You already promised to work on a song for Jimmie, one that had the sound he was looking for but was authentic to his personality. While you were the wordsmith, you had trouble coming up with melodies, which was where your brother shined, and he’d given you a lot of help with the song you had just debuted.

“I’m gonna get a soda. You want anything?” Jimmie asked.

You shook your head, and your brother headed off for one of the concession booths. A group of mostly girls crowded around the stage’s exit door, signaling that Elvis’ set was over. Without fail, they’d wait for him to come out with pen and paper in hand and freshly applied lipstick. Elvis was always sweet, thanking them for attending the show and signing everything shoved his way.

A chorus of shrieks announced his presence, and you looked in his direction with amusement at the reaction, but also felt a bit of self-pity. You wanted people to react to your music the way they did Elvis’—maybe not throwing intimates at you, but it seemed like he tapped into a part of people that they didn’t even know was there. Seeing him perform for the first time definitely gave you the kick in the pants to reevaluate how you approached your music, not as Hank Snow’s daughter, but on your own as an artist.

“Y/N!” Elvis exclaimed when he saw you, leaving the crowd of fans to the Blue Moon Boys as he made a beeline toward you.

He’d shed his blue suit jacket at one point, standing before you in his lace shirt, looking as if he was going to sweat himself out of the thin fabric. His eyeliner was smudged, and you caught yourself staring as he approached. It wasn’t fair that he could be that pretty and talented.

“Hey Elvis,” you said.

He smiled. “You were great! I loved that new song you did.”

You were shocked, having written the song while on a wild hair just a few nights before, barely having time to rehearse before Jimmie told you to add it to your set. The fact that Elvis was complimenting you gave you a bit of an ego boost.

“Thank you, but your performance was just wild.”

“Crowd was wide open tonight, huh?”

“Yeah, dad wanted me outta there as soon as the panties went flyin’,” you said, amused when Elvis’ face reddened, and he cast his gaze down at his shoes. He couldn’t be embarrassed, no way.

“You get in trouble ‘cause of me?” Elvis asked hesitantly.

“No, he’s just set in his ways. He doesn’t think you’re a bad person. He just doesn’t get it.”

“Lotta people are afraid of what they don’t understand.”

“He’ll come around,” you assured him.

“Elvis, man!” Jimmie exclaimed, rushing over to the two of you. “That show was somethin’ else! Never seen a crowd go that crazy before.”

You’d be annoyed with your brother for ruining the moment you were having with Elvis, but he wasn’t doing so maliciously. You hadn’t exactly told Jimmie about your crush on Elvis, figuring he could probably tell anyway, but you knew he wouldn’t pull some obnoxious overprotective brother act.

Besides, it wasn’t uncommon for members of the carnival to date. Steady relationships with people back home could be strained with life on the road, and spending so much time with some people led to one thing or another. Of course, Jimmie was dating Molly, one of your friends from your hometown, their long-distance relationship of about a year and a half strong as ever. While your dad was naturally more protective over you than Jimmie, he didn’t forbid you from going on dates, but you’d just never found someone you really clicked with, not until Elvis. With your dad not a big fan of Elvis at all, and Elvis being, well, Elvis, you figured you didn’t have much of a chance anyway.

Just as soon as he’d walked over, Elvis was called away by Bill and Scotty, who were still over by the stage door with some lingering fans. He looked back before giving you and Jimmie an apologetic glance.

“Hey, a few of us are goin’ out after the show tomorrow night. You and your band should come with us,” Jimmie said.

Elvis nodded, looking at you as he answered, “Yeah, we’ll be there.”

You watched as he returned to where Bill and Scotty were standing, and they all walked off with a few girls, heading for some of the carnival rides. Chewing on your lip, you wished you could have gone with them. Your father would never allow it, though.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Jimmie said.

“How long have you known?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Few weeks at least. He likes you a lot too. The only time he blows off his fans is when you’re around.”

“Why would he date me when basically every girl is falling over for him?” you said, glancing back in the direction Elvis had walked off to.

“Y/N, if this was Looney Tunes, he’d be followin’ you with hearts around his head.”

“This isn’t Looney Tunes, dummy,” you said, playfully shoving him.

He grinned. “Orchestra playin’, Bugs Bunny cuttin’ it up in the background—“

“Shut up!” you laughed. “Okay, maybe he does like me too, but dad doesn’t like him, so unless pigs fly, I don’t think it’ll happen.”

“Look, when we’re all out tomorrow, I’ll make up somethin’ so you and Elvis can spend some time alone together.”

“Thanks, Jimmie.”

“I’m the best older brother, I know.”

You rolled your eyes. “By twelve minutes.”

It was quick thinking on Jimmie’s part to make up the ‘hanging out’ thing. Knowing your brother, he probably could get enough people together in a few hours to make it a large enough gathering to not raise suspicion from your dad. Jimmie was the more outgoing twin, and on the basis of his simply being a boy, your dad asked far less, if any questions about social gatherings when Jimmie told him about them.

You were proven right when the following night, your dad’s response was nonchalant to your and your brother’s post-show plans.

“Hey pop, after the show tonight, me and Y/N are gonna go into town with some of the others. That alright?” Jimmie asked.

“‘Course,” your dad said. “Just keep your wits about you, and don’t get back too late.”

“Always,” you promised.

Your performance for the evening followed Jimmie’s, and was right before Elvis’. The audience was engaged enough, but you could tell the girls in the front few rows were understandably antsy for Elvis to get on stage. Would it kill them to at least act like they cared about your music?

You knew it wasn’t Elvis’ fault, and you hated that you had a bit of professional resentment toward him because he was so damn nice. Regardless, you didn’t want to be essentially an opening act that crowds politely sat through for the real headliner when you worked so hard on your set. You wondered if it’d be better if you performed earlier in the show, though the crowds were smaller, they wouldn’t be pent up with anticipation for the following act.

When your set was over, you didn’t stay to watch Elvis play like you normally did. As soon as Jimmie saw the slightest bit of frustration in your expression, he knew better than to ask why you weren’t sticking around. Your dad was more than pleased that you wouldn’t witness Elvis’ act that night, probably hopeful your crush on the rocker was fading. Instead, it was as strong as ever.

You walked around the carnival on your own for a while. Part of you doubted Elvis would even notice your absence. Leaning against the side of the funhouse, you decided that would be a good spot to have your pity party. You undid the top few buttons of your blouse, still feeling hot from all of the movement you did during your performance that night.

A guy in a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up walked over to you, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, though he already had a lit one hanging from his lips. You noticed a tattoo on his right bicep. He was incredibly handsome, with a James Dean coolness about him.

“Hey, you’re Y/N Snow, right?” he asked.

You nodded. “I am.”

“You put on one hell of a show,” he said, pausing for a moment to look you over. “I mean you’re really somethin’.”

“I could say the same about you,” you said, shocking yourself at flirting with a stranger, one whose name you didn’t even know, nonetheless.

He leaned against the wall next to you, his arms folded over his chest. The two of you looked at the auditorium across the way, squeals and shrieks coming through the walls loud and clear.

“It sounds like you’re missin’ the real show,” you said.

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel like stickin’ around for the clambake.”

You threw your hands over your mouth at his joke, earning a cheeky grin from him. The two of you flirted back and forth for the next few minutes, but you still never got his name. It didn’t matter, you were having so much fun that you didn’t notice Elvis’ set had not only ended, but the crowd of fans waiting for him had thinned out.

“How about an autograph?” the guy asked.

You were taken aback, no one asked you for autographs. “Okay, let me find a marker.”

Luckily, one of the vendors in a nearby concession booth let you borrow one, only for you to realize you also didn’t have anything to sign.

“What should I—“

“Right here,” he said, tapping just below his tattoo.

You giggled. “Alright, who should I make it out to?” you asked.

“The man of your dreams,” he answered.

Smiling, you signed, ‘To the man of my dreams, all my love. Y/N Snow.’

“Hell, I think I’m gonna get this tattooed,” he said when you finished signing.

“Are you ever gonna tell me your name?” you asked.

“I thought girls like a little mystery.”

“Well, I know I—“

You cringed when you heard Jimmie shout, “Hey, Y/N! C’mon, we’re about to leave!”

“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” you said.

The guy smiled. “Have a good night, sweetheart.”

You kissed his cheek. “You too.”

Running over to where Jimmie, Elvis, and a few other performers were waiting, you felt kinda bad for leaving the guy hanging. You wished you’d at least gotten his name. Still, knowing just one person liked your music, or at least just you so much reminded you of why you performed in the first place.

“Y/N, what was the hold up?” Jimmie asked.

“I was talkin’ to a—a fan. He asked me to sign his bicep,” you said, unable to contain your smile. “Can you believe that? He even said he might get it tattooed.”

“I’m glad you’re gettin’ the recognition you deserve,” Elvis said, though something about his compliment seemed off, and the part of you that was madly crushing on him hoped it meant he was jealous. “Missed seein’ you back there, though.”

Bingo. “Sorry, I just needed some air.”

“That’s alright,” he said.

Everyone began piling into cars, and you got in with Elvis, sitting right next to him in the front seat. The drive to downtown Mobile wasn’t far, but since it was a weeknight, it didn’t seem like there was too much going on. Still, just about everyone got out of the cars to walk around and find something to do. There was at least a diner that was open late, but you didn’t feel very hungry. You weren’t surprised to see Jimmie book it to a payphone.

“Honestly, I have no idea what there is to do here,” you said after a few minutes of walking up the street.

The group you’d come in with had slowly but surely dispersed, leaving you alone with Elvis anyway.

“Me either,” Elvis admitted. “I like spendin’ time with you, though.”

You smiled. “Thanks, I wish we got to do this more.”

“You wanna head back to my car? I can find a nice place to park—not like that, I mean, just to talk,” he said.

“Just talking sounds good to me,” you said.

It really did. With your dad around all the time, you rarely got a chance to have real conversations with Elvis, let alone by yourself. There were so many things you wanted to ask him, especially about music. When you got to his car, he put the radio on to a local blues station, impressing you when he mentioned that he knew B.B. King from back in Memphis.

“Wait, you’re friends with B.B. King?”

He nodded, smiling. “Sure am.”

“I’m so jealous. He’s one of the best musicians ever.”

“I’ll bring you to meet him sometime.”

“Really?”

“Promise.”

Maybe it was just lip service, his promising to bring you to meet B.B. King of all people, and for all you knew, he could have been talking out of his ass and not even know the guy. You trusted Elvis, though. He didn’t need to bring up big names to impress you, his music alone had done that. The fact that he was friends with one of the biggest names in blues was just icing on the cake.

After fifteen minutes or so more of driving aimlessly around Mobile, Elvis found a nice enough spot to park, overlooking a field that had a great view of the night sky. Despite the darkness, the full moon made it bright enough for you to see the details of Elvis’ features, and you wondered how it was possible for a man to look so gorgeous in the moonlight. You and Elvis sat in his parked car, a bit of an awkward silence between you until he finally spoke up.

“What’s your brother up to anyway? Thought he planned this big night out.” Elvis asked.

You laughed. “He’s usin’ all his spare change to call Molly from some payphone.”

“Who’s Molly?”

“His girlfriend back home. They’ve been together for one year, five months, two weeks, and however many days ago he last told me. I don’t know how they even keep track,” you said. “He’s gonna propose to her the next time we’re home.”

“When’d he tell you that?”

“Oh, he hasn’t said anything, but I just know. Everyone makes jokes about twin telepathy, but I swear sometimes it really is like we know what each other’s thinkin’.”

“I had a twin. His name was Jesse, but he died right after he was born. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if he were around,” he said, his voice soft. “Mama says he’s watchin’ over us. When the moon shines bright, that’s him.”

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t imagine life without Jimmie, and you didn’t want to. When no one else seemed to get you, he did. You were each other’s biggest supporter and best friend. Now that you were working on your own music, he was your collaborator, the springboard for all of your ideas.

Elvis noticed your shift in mood, and quickly changed the subject, asking about your music instead. He admired that you had started writing your own songs. It was something he’d wanted to do in the past, but never seemed to come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, admitted that sometimes you’d write a song or two overnight, polishing them with Jimmie until they were good enough to perform.

“Maybe, I could write something for you,” you offered.

His eyes lit up as he smiled, and you decided you wanted to do whatever you could to make him that happy from then on. You and Elvis ended up talking for hours. The conversation flowed so naturally that you didn’t even notice how late it’d gotten. He, however, happened to glance at the clock on the dashboard, panic in his eyes.

“Y/N, you can’t be out this late. Your daddy’s gonna be sittin’ by the window waitin’ up for us,” he said. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Winners use the door,” you said, a teasing grin on your face.

He huffed out a laugh, running his hand down his face. “He already doesn’t like me, and this definitely ain’t gonna help.”

“Look, just drop me off by the trailer, and I’ll think of somethin’.”

“Before we go back, can I kiss you?” he asked, taking you by surprise.

“I’d like that,” you answered softly.

He leaned in hesitantly despite your permission, so you closed the small distance between you. The kiss was sweet and tender, but he’d been driving you crazy for so long that you wanted more. He didn’t object when you practically climbed into his lap, in fact he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you closer.

Your tongue swiped across his lips, and he opened them, giving you the access to his mouth you craved. He seemed fine with letting you lead as you cradled his face in your hands, deepening the kiss. He moaned when you tugged on his hair, and you swore it was the prettiest sound you’d ever heard. To your disappointment, he pulled away from you, eyes blown out and breathing heavy.

“I gotta get you home,” he whispered. “I want you, baby. I do, but—“

“I know,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before shifting back to the passenger seat of the car.

The two of you spoke quietly on the way back to the fairgrounds. He asked you what you were going to tell your dad, and you said that you had something in mind. He pulled up to the carnival entrance, kissing you again before you got out and he drove off to his motel for the night.

Elvis and his band usually stayed in motels while traveling, but your family had been on the road for so long that it made more sense to have a trailer as you traversed the country, a home away from home. You buttoned up your blouse as you walked, even though you’d undone them before even going out with Elvis, you knew it wasn’t the best idea to walk inside like that. Your hand hovered over the door handle as you went over the story you’d come up with in your head. It wasn’t perfect, but it was convincing enough.

When you walked inside, your dad was sitting at the small kitchen table, working on a crossword puzzle from the morning paper. He looked up at you, and you were surprised he didn’t appear to be angry or concerned.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said.

“Oh, Jimmie let me know,” your dad said. “It’s good you ran into an old friend. How’s Maureen’s family?”

“They’re all hangin’ in there,” you answered quickly. “Her brother’s in high school now, you believe it?”

“Time flies. I remember when all you kids would run around in her granny’s garden. Ruined the poor woman’s tomato plants,” he laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling slight guilt at lying to your dad. The way he felt about Elvis, though, you didn’t have much of a choice. “I’m gonna head to bed. Love you.”

“Love you too,” he said.

You headed to your small room in the trailer. You preferred your room at home much more, but it came with life on the road. Checking behind you, you gently knocked on Jimmie’s door, which he opened.

“You’re welcome,” he said, “again.”

“How did you remember Maureen’s family moved to Mobile?”

“‘Cause you cried like a baby when she wasn’t gonna be our neighbor anymore. How’d things go with Elvis?”

“Great, actually. We click so well, it’s just—“

“Dad hates him,” the two of you said in unison.

“I can’t sneak around with Elvis forever, though. You’ll run out of covers for me eventually.”

“When that happens, you and Elvis can just elope to Vegas or somethin’.”

“Please, dad would put me on the missing persons list. Send the FBI after him.”

“True,” Jimmie agreed. “Look, as long as you and Elvis need a wingman, or whatever, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” you said, giving him a hug. “How’s Molly by the way?”

“She’s great. She’s gonna be at the shows next week, got the time off of work and everything!” he shared excitedly.

“You gonna propose then?”

“No, I got it all planned out.”

“Let me guess, where y’all had your first date?”

“Exactly.”

“She’s gonna love it,” you said. “I better be in the bridal party. You tell her that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Night.”

You headed to bed, wondering what the hell you were going to do about Elvis going forward. At least you had Jimmie on your side, but your dad basically had eyes and ears everywhere around the carnival.

The next few months on the road, your relationship with Elvis blossomed, though it killed you to have to keep it secret. You started sneaking out late and staying out even later just to spend time with Elvis. Jimmie was helpful covering for you two when it came to your dad, but you didn’t want to have to keep lying to him. He hadn’t come around to Elvis as you’d hoped, in fact, it seemed like as time went on, he only disliked him more.

“Y/N, you know I’m crazy about you, but we can’t keep sneakin’ around like this. People already think I’m ruinin’ the innocence of every girl in the country, but I don’t want anyone thinkin’ bad about you,” Elvis said.

“What do you suppose we do, then?” you asked.

“Look, I—I’m leavin’ the show. The Colonel says your daddy wants me out, and I’m big enough to make it on my own now. He’s gettin’ me a contract with RCA.”

You weren’t surprised that your dad didn’t want Elvis to be part of the show anymore, disappointed and annoyed, yes, but anyone could’ve seen it coming. If Elvis’ performance itself wasn’t enough, your obvious romantic interest in a man your dad considered a no-good hooligan must have sent him into a frenzy.

Not to mention, more and more people were coming to the shows just to see Elvis. Staying with the carnival would only hold him back. It all made sense, you knew that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I wanna make things work, though. If your brother and his girl can do it, why can’t we?”

“Elvis, my father—“

“I’ll talk to him, shoulda done that in the first place, though I was honestly scared of him knockin’ a few of my teeth out.”

“He would never do anything like that,” you said. “He’s just old-fashioned is all. It’ll work out.”

Later, you approached your dad after what was presumably Elvis’ last show as part of the carnival. It was a great performance, as always, but he seemed to be a little more amped up that night. Your father wasn’t at all impressed, and seemed visibly relieved it was the last time he’d have to deal with Elvis’ antics.

You weren’t sure how to bring up the topic to your dad. He had to have suspected something was going on between you and Elvis, but if he had evidence, you were sure he would have sent you straight home, or maybe that was his big motivation for wanting Elvis out. Regardless, you thought he at least owed Elvis a chance to give his side of the story.

“So,” you began, “Elvis wants to—“

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was gonna say.”

“I don’t have to. Why can’t you be interested in someone, I don’t know, normal?” your dad said.

“Dad, we’re not even normal,” you argued, as most families certainly didn’t spend the most of the year traversing the country as part of a carnival act the way yours did.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “I don’t want you gettin’ hurt. I always knew one day you’d grow up and start likin’ boys, but I can’t abide by the vulgarity that Elvis displays so flagrantly.”

“He’s a church boy. He prays and knows his Bible, just like you. He’s not tryin’ to hurt anyone.”

“Y/N, I have no objections to you datin’ whoever you like, but unless that boy gets his act together—“

“Please, he just wants to talk to you. That’s all,” you said.

“What could he possibly have to talk to me about?”

“Just hear him out, for me?”

He hesitated before letting out a sigh and nodding. “I spoil you and your brother too much.”

“Thank you!” you beamed, giving him a hug.

“Don’t get too excited. I’ll hear what he has to say, but only for you.”

When you told Elvis that your dad agreed to talk to him the following day, you knew he was glad, but he gave his nerves away. The next morning, it was obvious he hadn’t slept well, probably stressing about what he was going to say to convince your dad to let him date you. You hardly got to see him all day, helping pack up to move the show to the next town. It’d be the first one without Elvis there, which left a pit in your stomach.

The full moon was bright when you met Elvis outside of the trailer, giving his hand a comforting squeeze before heading inside. Your dad’s expression was cold while he stared Elvis down as he took a seat across from him. You sat next to Elvis for support, knowing he’d been stressing all day about what to say to your father.

“Y/N said you got somethin’ to tell me, so say it,” your dad said, hostility evident in his tone.

Elvis cleared his throat, nervous as he spoke. “Mr. Snow, I respect you a lot, and I care about Y/N. I’d like to date her, but only with your permission.”

Your dad raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “What about all those times you had her sneakin’ out late? Didn’t need my permission then?”

“Dad, that was all me. Elvis didn’t make me do none of it. He even told me to go home, but I wouldn’t,” you interjected.

“I was worried sick, and gettin’ your brother to lie for you on top of that?”

“He offered! You can even ask him,” you said. “If anyone's the bad influence between Elvis and me, it’s me.”

Your dad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he were a drinker, he’d definitely bring the whiskey out right about now. “Let’s say I agree to this. How do I know you’re serious about my daughter? I don’t want her heart broken in two weeks while you’re gyratin’ your way across the country.”

You would’ve laughed at his phrasing if the situation wasn’t so serious. Elvis seemed to keep his composure, taking a moment to answer.

“Well, sir, I’m going to be honest. I’ll do everything I can to keep her a priority in my life. Y/N means a lot to me, and I know how important she is to you too. The last thing I’d wanna do is hurt her. I can’t promise you anything but my best, which may not be enough for you, and I understand.”

Your dad nodded at Elvis’ words, content, but not satisfied, as he added, “Long term, then, how can you provide for her?”

“Well, RCA just gave me a big advance,” he said. “I’m gonna start recordin’ my first album soon.”

After a few agonizing seconds, your dad finally conceded. “Alright. I’m not happy about this. I don’t think I’ll ever be, but it’s not worth destroyin’ my family over. Just know, Elvis, if my daughter comes home cryin’ even once because of you—“

“She won’t. Except, uh, happy tears, maybe,” Elvis said.

You snickered at his response, which made your dad relax a little.

“Thanks dad, you’re the best,” you said, giving him a hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, smiling as he hugged you back. “Now go on, just be back before midnight—and no funny business. I’ll make your brother chaperone if I have to.”

As soon as you and Elvis left the trailer, you embraced, before he pulled you aside to kiss you.

“I told you it’d all work out,” you whispered.

“You were right, baby,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “You were so right.”

“Remember when I promised that I’d write a song for you? I think I got the perfect idea for it,” you said.

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