Page 58 of Once Upon a Boyband
“You don’t know anything about my mom,” I say.
“Huh. Wonder why that is,” Freddie shoots back. “Not because I wasn’t willing to listen.”
I grind my teeth together, my hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make my knuckles white.
Freddie might have been willing to listen, but he wouldn’t have been objective. None of the guys would have been.
Nobody wanted Midnight Rush to end. Any listening they did, any encouragement they offered, it was all colored by the hope everyone had that the band would stay together.
But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep singing with Mom in the ground. I couldn’t keep making all that money, not when it felt like blood money.
I ease my SUV to a stop at the turnoff onto Highway 23 and look over at Freddie. “I didn’t see her for thirteen months,” I say. “Thirteen months, and then she died.”
He swallows. “I know.”
“Do you know how many times she asked me to come home? Do you know how many times I ignored that request?”
He sighs and runs a hand across his face. “Adam, I know. But she wouldn’t want?—”
I lift a hand, cutting him off. “No. You don’t get to talk to me about what she would or wouldn’t want when the only reason you’re here is because the concert would save your ass.”
“Isn’t that a good enough reason?” Freddie says, anger growing in his voice. “Friendship isn’t a good enough reason? I didn’t want to say this, but…” He shrugs and sighs, lifting his hands into the air as if to emphasize his point. “You know you owe me, man. I took the fall for you. Signed a bad contract so you could walk and still keep your cut. If you won’t do it for Midnight Rush, do it for me. One concert. That’s all I’m asking.”
A wave of guilt roars through me, making my stomach queasy and my skin prickle with uncomfortable heat. Even knowing it was coming, I’m still not prepared for the impact of Freddie’s words.
The hardest part is that I don’t disagree with him. After walking away like I did, shutting him and the rest of the guys out no matter their attempts to reach me, tohelp,I do owe them this much.
“I never asked you to do that,” I say gruffly, my eyes on the road. “And I think the three of you are doing just fine.”
I turn down the drive to Hope Acres, grateful we’re almost home. I need to be out of this car, away from Freddie. I need sun and sky and air and a minute to just breathe.
“How would you know?” Freddie says. “Do you knowanything about Leo’s studio? About how hard he’s having to work to keep the doors open? Do you have any clue whether Jace’s last album did even half as well as it should have? Unlike you, the rest of us actuallywantto stay in the music business. And this concert would really help with that.”
I park in the driveway and climb out, slamming the car door, but Freddie is right behind me. I skip the porch steps, knowing Sarah is probably inside, and head around the side of the house toward the barn instead.
“Adam, please,” Freddie says, stalking after me. “Just tell me why. If you’re saying no, at least have the decency to tell me the real reason.”
I stop in my tracks and rest my hands on top of my head, a dozen different reasons flitting through my brain. But all of them are excuses except one.
I can’t do it because I stood on my mother’s grave and swore that I never would. I would never go back to the life that took me away from her.
“I know you love the music, man,” Freddie says, the fire in his voice fully tempered. “I heard it last night. Nobody sounds that good if they don’t love what they’re doing.”
My jaw clenches, my hands moving to rest on my hips.
It doesn’t matter if those words are true. Loving the music won’t bring Mom back. Loving it doesn’t justify what I did.
I turn my back on one of the best friends I’ve ever known and walk toward the ridgeline behind the barn.
This time, Freddie doesn’t follow.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Laney
I’m halfwaythrough an evening yoga class in my neighbor’s outdoor studio, doing my best tonotthink about kissing Adam long enough to actually relax for a minute, when my smartwatch buzzes with an incoming call. I don’t know if the calibration is off or if I somehow screwed up the settings, but the vibration sounds more like a carpenter bee stuck inside a mason jar than the subtle buzz it’s supposed to be.
The woman on the mat next to me looks over and frowns and I immediately silence the call, offering a mouthedsorrybefore resuming my downward dog.
