Page 20 of Once Upon a Boyband
“Will do. And please behave this weekend, all right?”
Sarah chuckles. “If I don’t, I definitely won’t tell you about it.”
CHAPTER SIX
Adam
I’m halfwaythrough dinner when my phone lights up with a call from a contact that makes my gut tighten and my fist clench around my fork.
I’m not surprised to see it. Up until last week, I hadn’t heard from my former agent in years. But he’s called at least a dozen times in the past few days. Texted, too. I know Kevin Spellman well enough to guess he won’t give up.
But that doesn’t mean I have to pick up.
There would be no point because I can’t give him the answer he wants.
Apparently, our former record label is trying to get the members of Midnight Rush together for a one-time reunion concert.
The first time Kevin mentioned it via text, I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and was distracted enough that I almost forgot to feed the dogs. It was only Goldie walking to theback door and looking at me like I was an idiot that spurred me into action.
The routine of feeding and caring for the dogs helped clear my head so I could decide, unequivocally, that I’m not even a little bit interested in the idea.
The call from Kevin rings out and goes to voicemail.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve beenDeke—the stage name assigned to me by a label executive who thoughtAdamwas too white-bread for a boyband. Deacon is my middle name, so it’s not like he just made something up, but it was only ever a stage name for me. A gimmick. And it always felt that way. Like I was stepping into a role whenever it was time to perform or handle the press.
I didn’t truly mind it. I loved making music, and I loved the other guys. It pushed me out of my comfort zone a lot, but logically, I understood that the fans, the attention, were all part of it.
I wouldn’t say I thrived under the spotlight, but in retrospect, I wonder if that had more to do with the way our band was managed and less to do with the industry as a whole.
The record label said a lot to make our families feel like we were in good hands. All of us were under eighteen when we signed, so our parents were signing too. And on the surface, everything looked great.
No one was local to Nashville, but we needed to be together, so the label moved us into a house fifteen minutes from their office location with host parents who were supposed to look after us, feed us family-style dinners, and make sure we were doing our homework. We were all enrolled in a distance learning program through a private high school based in Nashville, and tutors dropped by the house a few times a week, but we never attended an actualclass. We didn’t go to prom or homecoming or football games. We just worked. Sang. Practiced choreography until our feet were bleeding.
Then our first album dropped, and we started our first national tour, and the rest is history. We basically lived on the road for the next three years, expanding the tour to Europe, then Asia, then doing a second leg back in the US before going back to Europe again.
It was a lot of pressure. A lot of work. And a lot of adults who didn’t really seem to remember we were just kids. Jace’s mom was sometimes on tour with us, and she was the closest thing we had to an actual advocate. But our agent, our tour managers, they all had one goal. And it wasn’t to preserve our mental health or give us the breaks we needed.
A notification pops up that Kevin has left a voicemail, then a text immediately follows.
Kevin
Come on, man. Just answer the call. If you want me to leave you alone, pick up and give me a firm no.
Seconds later, the phone rings again.
I sigh and swallow my last bite of rigatoni, then answer the call. “Hi, Kevin.”
“Deke freaking Driscoll,” he says into the phone. “You are one difficult man to catch.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You sound different, man,” Kevin says, his words lifting and rolling just like they always did. In person, Kevin looked the part of a professional agent, but his voice always sounded more like he just walked out of the Pacific carryinga surfboard than a boardroom. Apparently, that hasn’t changed.
“You sound exactly the same,” I say. There’s an edge to my words that I wish I could take back, but my response to Kevin almost feels involuntary. The last few months before I walked out on Midnight Rush were hell, and he was the one who was pushing me the most. He was the one coaxing me to stay just a little bit longer.
“Thanks for finally answering my call,” he says. “Where are you these days?”
“Living in North Carolina.”
