Page 9 of Once Upon a Boyband
My gut tightens as Laney’s eyes go wide, and she reaches forward to turn it off, plunging us into silence. “Sorry. I had no idea that would be so loud.”
I cock my head and lift an eyebrow, ignoring the surprise and embarrassment that washed over me at the sound of my own voice ringing through Laney’s speakers. “Pearl Jam, huh?”
She purses her lips. “That was…I must have heard that onebeforethis one.”
“Right,” I say, drawing the word out in a teasing tone. “Should we track back a song just to check?” I reach for her phone, which is sitting on the console between us, like I’m going to do just that, and she swats my hand away.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says through a laugh. “I promise there’s plenty of Pearl Jam on my playlist. And Ididhear ‘Just Breathe’ at some point on my morning drive.”
“You seem like you’re trying awfully hard to convince me. You sure you aren’t hiding a playlist of nothing but Midnight Rush songs?”
Her eyes dart to mine. “Hmm. He knows the group name. Are we sure I’m theonlyfan inside this car right now?”
I pull my hat a little farther down on my face. It’s been long enough since anyone has recognized me astheDeke Driscoll that I’ve stopped worrying about it happening. When I walked off the stage at the O2 Arena in London after singing with Midnight Rush for the last time, I was barely eighteen, three inches shorter, and at least thirty pounds lighter. I look nothing like the kid I was back then, but I still haven’t quite shaken the weird sense of self-awareness whenever I’m somewhere public and a Midnight Rush song happens to play.
Talking about the group with Laney only intensifies that feeling, as well as triggering a potent sense of dread deep in my gut. My anonymity isn’t something I take lightly. I don’twantto be Deke Driscoll anymore, so protecting my privacy is very important. It’s the biggest reason I haven’t really done much dating. I can’t get serious with someone andnottell them about my past.
But that part is also complicated. I never know if people will believe me, and the idea of trying to convince someone just feels entirely too uncomfortable. But more than that, Midnight Rush didn’t exactly end on the greatest terms. If people know I used to be Deke, what will keep them from asking questions? From digging into a past I’d much rather leave…well,in the past?
I look over at Laney. “So you’re saying youarea fan?”
“Soyou’reavoiding the question?” she fires back.
“I’m in my twenties,” I begrudgingly say. “Anyone in their twenties has heard of Midnight Rush.”
“True. But you recognized their song in less than three measures. That’s saying something.”
I recognized the song because I was the one singing it. But I’m not going to split hairs if she isn’t.
“I had a girlfriend who was a big fan,” I say, because technically, I did. So what if I was only sixteen and was actively in the band at the time. My reason isn’t a lie.
Laney huffs out a laugh. “Right. And all those guys singing along at Taylor Swift concerts areonlythere for their girlfriends.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. They had some great music. Is that what you want me to admit?”
She smiles and sits up a little taller. “It is, thank you. Someone who knows as much about music as you do should recognize their greatness. Thanks for being man enough to acknowledge it.”
I allow myself a small moment of pride at her words, but I squelch it before it can really take root. The truth is, I was a very small part of what made Midnight Rush great…but a very large part of what made Midnight Rushend.
Even eight years later, I stillfeel conflicted about that.
Laney eases to a stop at a red light right in the middle of Lawson Cove. “Left here? Aren’t you out on Highway 23?”
“Yep,” I say. “Left here, then right onto the highway. The rescue is six miles out on the right.”
She nods and makes the turn, and we pass the sign at the edge of town that reads, “Thanks for Visiting Lawson Cove.”
I look over at Laney, suddenly curious. “Are you a Lawson Cove Lawson? Or is that just a coincidence?”
“I amthatfamily of Lawsons,” she says. “My grandfather’s grandfather established the town in 1873, and at leastsome combination of extended family members has lived here ever since.”
Most people who are native to Lawson Cove have a distinct Southern accent, lilting but with a twinge of something I’ve only heard in the Appalachian mountains. Laney’s dad has traces of it, though his is softer than most, but I don’t detect much accent from Laney.
“Did you grow up here?”
“Some,” she answers. “I lived over in Hendersonville, mostly. But my parents got a divorce when I was fifteen, and my dad moved home—here—to start a new practice. I spent summers and holidays with him from then on.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Divorce can’t be fun.”
