Page 61 of Once Upon a Boyband
I squeeze a little water over a skinned spot on Adam’s elbow then brush away a tiny stone lodged in his skin. “You really should clean up with something other than just water,” I say. “Nothing looks deep enough for stitches, but your dirt smudges have dirt smudges. You’ll risk an infection if you don’t.”
“My dirt smudges have dirt smudges,” he repeats.
“Shut up. I’m a vet, not a poet. What did you do, anyway? Fight a bear?”
“I fell into a ravine,” Adam says. “Only about twenty-five feet, but the mountain let me know who’s boss.” He lifts his shirt the slightest bit, revealing another swath of cuts and scrapes moving up his ribcage. “Got me here, too.”
“Adam! What were you trying to do out there?” I return to the sink and rinse the rag, then soak it in warm water one more time. When I’m back in front of Adam, I crouch down in front of him and gesture to his side. “Come on. Let me see.”
He leans back, lifting his t-shirt all the way up.Oh. Oh, this is not fair.I force my gaze away from the expanse of exposed skin on Adam’s chest, the dusting of hair that trails down his chest and disappears into the waistband of his jeans. I have a purpose here, and it has nothing to do with the curve of Adam’s pectoral muscles.
When I press the rag to his side, he flinches away, but not like it’s painful. More like he’s ticklish. He swallows a laugh, pressing his lips together as I squeeze water over the cuts to clean away the worst of the debris. I don’t know why it feels like such a big deal to know that Adam is ticklish. It shouldn’t be. Lots of people are. Maybe just because it feels like such an intimate thing to know about someone. And now I know it about Deke Driscoll. Except, that’s not really it. Sitting with Adam like this, touching him, feeling his gaze on me, I’m not thinking of him as Deke.
He’s just…Adam.
“Okay. I think that’s as good as I can do. I stand up and gesture to his face. “Do you mind?”
He shakes his head and looks up, his blue eyes fixed on mine as I tilt his chin up even further and press the rag to the cut on his cheek.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s nothing.”
He lifts a hand, curving it around mine, the calluses on his palms rough against the skin on the back of my hand. “It’s not nothing.”
His thumb brushes across my knuckles, then he lifts my palm and presses a kiss to the pad at the base of my thumb.
I toss the rag into the sink, then step closer, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as Adam pulls me into a hug. There’s a leaf clinging to his hair, and I reach up and tug it away. When he leans into the touch, I slide my fingers through his hair as he closes his eyes, letting out a low groan of pleasure.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He breathes out a sigh and leans into me, his face only inches away from my stomach. The tickle of his breath sends a wave of goosebumps across the inch of exposed midriff at the hem of my hoodie.
“Do we have to?” he asks.
I let out a little chuckle. “Not at all.” The last thing he needs is another person pressuring him. “I’m just saying, I’m happy to listen if you need it.”
He’s quiet for a beat, his breathing steady until he finally says, “I think I have to say yes to Freddie.”
My hands still as the idea of Adam on stage with Midnight Rush settles into my mind. This moment is not about me, and I would never be excited about something that isn’t good for Adam, but I can’t entirely shut down the super fan inside of me that is screaming at the thought of seeing the band back together again. Even just for one night.
“How are you feeling about it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Scared? I think. Really uncertain.” He takes a long, deep breath, and I can almost see the thoughts cycling through his brain.
I press the pads of my fingers into his scalp, intensifying the massage. “I can hear you thinking,” I say gently.
He chuckles. “Yeah, I bet.”
“Try saying the thoughts out loud,” I say. “Sometimes, they’re not as scary once you hear yourself say them.”
He licks his lips and lifts his unbelievably blue eyes to mine. “It’s just that I wasn’t a very good friend,” he says. “They tried to be there for me after Mom died, but I was so torn up, I couldn’t…” He shakes his head, his jaw tensing. “I felt guilty when I was with them because before she died, I was with them when I should have been withher.”
My heart aches. I can’t begin to imagine the pain of losing a parent.
“The only way I knew how to deal with that guilt was to push them away. Shut all of it out,” Adam says. “So the thought of going back on stage, facing them, I just…” He sighs.
“That’s a lot to unpack,” I say.
