Page 78 of Once Upon a Boyband
He lifts his hand, slowly grazing his fingers across my back and over my shoulder blades. “Poetry’s cool. You never thought about writing seriously? Pursuing it?”
“Nah,” I say easily. “It takes a special kind of bravery to build a career on something creative. And I definitely don’t have it. I wanted safe. Reliable. People will never stop havingpets, and pets will always need doctors. Job security was a very compelling motivator.”
“I get that,” Adam says. “And you’re good at being a vet. But if writing makes you happy, you should do that too.”
“Yeah? What about you? If that’s your logic, you should still be making music, right?”
He’s quiet for a long moment before he says, “Idomake music. I play at home all the time.”
I lift my head, propping my chin on his chest so I can look at him. “Just not where anyone can hear you?”
He runs his hand over my hair, eyes staring at the ceiling for so long, I wonder if he’s going to answer. I can’t fault him if he doesn’t. But I want him to. I want him to let me in just a little bit more.
“I didn’t like the person fame turned me into,” he finally says. “I didn’t think I wanted to be famous, but then we were traveling and every time we turned around, people were giving us things—anything we could possibly want. Shoes, cars, expensive clothes. A watch that cost more than the house my mom was living in back in Tennessee. The excess was…” He tenses, his words trailing off, and I slide my hand up his chest, rubbing my thumb over a spot just beside his sternum. “It was addicting,” he finishes. “And I lost sight of so much. Of everything that was really important.”
“Adam, you were just a kid,” I say gently, but he quickly shakes his head.
“That’s no excuse.” His body tenses the slightest bit as he lifts his arms, running both hands through his hair.
I feel the loss of his warmth almost immediately, and a sliver of fear creeps over me. I don’t want him to get up. I don’t want our conversation to end. I slide my arms aroundhim and hold on, squeezing his waist, hoping he senses that whatever he’s feeling, it’s okay.
It’s okay, and I’m not letting go.
He relaxes under me, his arm coming down over my shoulders. “I like making music,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Writing music. I’m just not sure it’s worth it.”
“I get that,” I say. “You’re older now though. More grounded. Maybe you could make music in a way that works for younow.Have more control over what you want your career to look like.”
He leans forward and presses a quick kiss to my lips. The gesture feels familiar—like we’re an actual, for real couple—and it sends an irrational pulse of happiness pushing through me. “Maybe. Or I could just keep doing what I love in Lawson Cove.”
I love the sound of Adam staying in Lawson Cove, but there’s a note to something in his words that makes me wonder if he’s telling me the whole truth. When he and Freddie sang over FaceTime the other night, I had the very distinct impression that Adam was doing what he was meant to be doing. His guitar in his hands, his words filled with so much meaning.
Now that I know what he’s capable of, it’s hard to think of him giving it up.
But then, I spent a good part of today stressing over how I will handle Adam’s participation in a concert that will thrust him back into the spotlight. If he went back to music full time, it would be a lot more than just one concert. It would be his entire life. A loss of privacy. Screaming fans. Paparazzi. I feel wholly unequipped to handle that kind of life. My first instinct is to run as far away from it as possible.
Life would be so much easier if Lawson Cove could be enough.
But if he wants to sing…how could I ever want anything else?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Adam
With Laney beside me,the week at Stonebrook flies by.
We are busy. Between vocal rehearsals and meetings with the creative directors and wardrobe fittings and photo shoots, there is always something else to do. But the snatches of time I get with her in between make everything seem worth it.
And our nights—those have been my favorite. I could talk to Laney for hours—Ihavetalked to Laney for hours, and it’s not enough. Nothing ever seems like enough. When she isn’t beside me, I want her there. If I’m not kissing her, I’m imagining the next time I will be. If we aren’t talking, I’m actively thinking of what I might say to her next.
I am hopelessly,shamelesslyaddicted, and I do not want to be cured.
I watch from my seat by the firepit as Laney emerges from the house wearing my flannel, the same one I gave her the night she learned that I was Deke. She must have had itthis whole time, because I haven’t seen it, a realization that makes me weirdly happy. It’s possibly a little caveman-ish of me, but I like the thought of her having it, of her wearing it when we aren’t together. As far as I’m concerned, that shirt is permanently hers.
Laney’s expression is strained, and I sit up a little taller as she approaches. We aren’t alone. Freddie is a few seats over, and Leo and Jace just went in search of beer, and they’ll be back any minute. I’ll walk away in a second if Laney would rather be somewhere else.
Ivy is right behind Laney, and she shoots me a look I can’t quite read before dropping onto a bench next to Freddie. He looks at her and smiles, but when she starts talking, his face shifts, and he immediately looks up at me.
By this point, Laney has reached me, and I hold out my hand. She slips her fingers into mine as she sits down beside me. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
