Page 75 of Once Upon a Boyband
I push up on my elbow so I’m stretched out on my side, facing him. “I’ve actually been pretty proud of myself today. I met Leo and Jace and hung out with all of Midnight Rush at the same time, and I didn’t lose my cool.”
Adam nods, his expression sober. “Flint Hawthorne was the last straw, huh? You just couldn’t handle it anymore.”
“It was. I already function with fewer cool cards than everyone else. This whole situation is entirely unfair.”
His lips lift into an easy grin, the lamplight reflecting off his ocean blue eyes. “Cool cards? Do they hand those out in vet school?”
“Hmm. We actually have to turn them in when wegoto vet school.”
“That’s how it works,” he says. He holds my gaze before asking, “Do I really have a beard tan?”
There’s a new vulnerability in his voice that makes my heart squeeze. He’s always so confident and self-assured. It’s sweet to see him feeling a little insecure.
“You can barely see it,” I say. I study his face, my gaze catching on the curve of his lips. It’s the same mouth I’ve kissed before, but I can’t stop myself from wondering what it will be like to kiss it now, without the beard.
“You’re staring, Laney,” Adam says.
I smile. “I know.”
His expression softens. “What are you thinking?”
“Just that I’m really glad I’m here.”
He holds my gaze. “I’m really glad you’re here too.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, something that seems to happen a lot whenever I’m around Adam. But there’s an added element this time. This time, it isn’t just about fluttery feelings of attraction—or even hotter sparks of desire. There’s a certainrightnessto being here with him. Like I’ve found something I didn’t know I was looking for. I’m in a room I’ve never been in, inside a house I’ve never visited. But I still feel like I’m home, because I’m with him.
He reaches over and runs his fingers down the back of my hand. We’re stretched out on the bed, facing each other, propped up on our elbows with maybe a foot of space between us. It’s comfortable, easy, but I am also keenly aware of how close we are. Not to mention the fact that we’re on a bed—a bed we’re supposed to share in a few hours. I’m not ready to stop talking, though, so I steer my thoughts back to safer waters.
“Do you think the other guys resent Freddie for being so successful?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I think we all knew he wanted it most. Not that the other guysdon’twant it. And they deserve to be as successful. But Freddie’s got that hunger, you know? He had it back then, too.”
“You didn’t though, did you?”
He runs a hand across his face, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch. “I didn’t, really,” he says. “I mean, I thought about it. I wanted to sing. But the idea of being famous was more of a deterrent than an enticement.”
“Then why did you do it? Is it okay for me to ask that?”
“I did it for my mom,” he finally says.
This is the second time he’s told me he made a decision for his mom, and I feel a pang of regret that I’ll never meet someone who had such a profound impact on his life.
He brings his hand back to mine, and I raise my palm to meet his, threading our fingers together. This is more than holding hands. Our fingers keep moving, touching, exploring, brushing over hands and wrists and forearms.
“Your mom wanted you to sing?” I ask.
“Yes and no,” Adam says. “She loved listening to me sing, but she didn’t care if I ever did it in public. She never would have pressured me into that.” His shoulders lift in a small shrug. “But she was sick, and we were poor. And singing felt like an easy way to make money.”
My heart squeezes. Adam was young when Midnight Rush became Midnight Rush. Not even sixteen. “That’s a lot of responsibility to take on as a kid.”
“Yeah, it was,” he says, his voice a little softer than before.
I want to know more, but I’m not sure how to ask. I already know the end of the story—he lost his mom and heleft the band—and I don’t want to ruin whatever is happening right now by dragging up topics that hurt.
When I don’t say anything else, Adam nods toward Goldie. “Mom got her from the shelter while I was out on my first tour.” Goldie, who’s been sleeping on her bed since we came up after dinner, stirs and stretches, then flops back down onto her side. “I was mad at first. She was still young—less than a year—and I thought it would be too much for her to take care of a puppy in between chemo treatments. But Goldie was great. Chill and easy. Sarah used to say Goldie seemed to sense when Mom was feeling particularly bad because she always saved her troublemaking for Mom’s good days.”
I smile. “I’m sure she’s right. Dogs realize a lot more than we give them credit for.”
