Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TAM

110 bobas left until they both die …

I’m slumped in my usual spot inside the SUV, yawning and scrolling social media. I’m still shocked that there’s no trending #TamBoba or #TamPrivateTexts. I’m surprised that my phone number isn’t blasted all over the internet. I’m surprised by basically anything having to do with Lakelynn Frost.

I’ve done a little sleuthing over the past few days, and I’ve learned a lot about her family. Her dad really is a volunteer firefighter, and her mom really is a paralegal. Her brother is a dick (his TikTok account is a mess). She has a lot of aunts and uncles and cousins.

The Frost family also has a lot of unexplained deaths.

That’s the part that freaks me out. They seem like such a normal family, but I can’t stop myself from wondering if they’re … executing their family members? I don’t know. There have been plenty of investigations and zero evidence. I’m not even sure what to think.

Also … why the fuck is Kaycee wearing a Frost Family Construction hoodie? When I asked where she got it, she smiled mysteriously and said that it was a gift from a fan. Huh. I’ll bet you anything that it’s the brother. I slap my phone against my thigh, fantasizing about what it would be like to slap the smirk off that guy’s face. What the hell does he think he’s doing? Seducing your girlfriend right out from under you, that’s what. So that you’ll date his sister.

To save his sister’s life, my mind corrects, but I shake my head. Curses aren’t real, and it’s insane that I’m sitting here and thinking about it like it is. Joules Frost would probably be the one to finish his little sister off if she didn’t comply with the cult’s rules.

“Hey!” Jacob yells, and I jump. He’s turned around in his seat to peer at me. “We’re here. I’ve called your name four times. Where do you go in that head of yours?”

I glance over to see that Daniel has the door open and is waiting for me.

Shit.

I slip out of the car, relieved to see that we’re in a protected parking garage today. No fans, no pictures, no media.

My mom is waiting for me in a brilliant red skirt and sharp white blouse with a huge bow at the neck. She holds out her arms for a hug, but I scoop her up instead. She told me once that she knew I was a man the day I hugged her instead of the other way around.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmurs, and I smile against her hair.

“I missed you, too.” I lean back, holding her at arm’s length. “Please tell me you spent some time with Christian, and that it wasn’t all business.”

My mom deserves a boyfriend, I like this guy, and I am not letting it go. She wants to mess around in my love life? I can absolutely return the favor. I cross my arms and give her a sharp, assessing look.

“It wasn’t all business,” she blurts, cheeks flushing. She bats my hands away and reaches up to fiddle with her perfect hair, all slicked back into a bun and looking smart as hell. My mom takes care of all the details, all the legal stuff, all the PR. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She turns and takes my arm, leading me into the venue with Daniel behind us and Jacob in front. “So, what have you been up?”

“I’ve tried flavors of milk tea and bubble tea and toppings that I didn’t even know existed. Did you know that you can get shiny little jellies with faces on them?” I laugh at that, but my mom is peering at me like she’s never seen me before.

“You went out?” she asks, sounding baffled, and I shrug.

“I’m an adult. I can go out sometimes, can’t I?” If I sound defensive, it’s because I am. I don’t mean to be, and I’m immediately sorry for it, but sometimes I feel infantilized. I just … I want to have a life on the side. If I don’t experience things, how can I write songs about them? “I made a friend; she’s been introducing me to new things.”

“A friend?” Mom echoes, sounding wary. “A girl?”

I shrug.

“A girl. We hung out a few times. Text a little bit.” Now Mom is starting to look more than wary; she’s panicking. “It’s not like last time. She hasn’t posted anything, hasn’t shared my number.”

“Not yet, but she will,” Elena tells me with pursed red lips. “Tam, I know it’s hard to doubt people. You’ve always been the trusting type. Always. But you … you just can’t in your position, honey.”

I exhale.

I expected this conversation to go … exactly as it’s going.

My assistant, Maggie, appears out of nowhere, cheeks flushed and panting, like she ran all the way here. She lifts up a drink carrier stuffed with bubble teas. I grin as I snatch one out and put it in my mother’s hands. I gift two others to Daniel and Jacob, and then I nod at Maggie. Behind her, she has her own team, each of them holding drink carriers of their own.

“Pass those out to the crew; I have something to do.” I kiss my mom on the cheek, ignoring her flustered look and the way she eyes the drink in her hand like it’s poison. “I know it’s not on my diet; I’m not drinking any tonight.”

I tug the watermelon fruit tea with crystal jelly out of the carrier, yank my face mask up, and then exit the way we came. Daniel follows me, and Jacob yells, but I ignore him.

I head down five flights of stairs and then use the lanyard I was given to scan myself into an employee entrance. The doors haven’t opened for the show, so it’s staff only right now. I still have to be careful, but there isn’t a heaving crowd to worry about just yet.

I navigate my way to one set of bathrooms and then another. It’s when I get to the third set that I find her. I crack open the door and there she is, sea green hair swept into two messy braids, tendrils hanging around her face. Freckled nose. Lake is using a plunger as a microphone and singing so terribly off-key that I have to put a hand over my face mask to keep from laughing.

She’s … singing “Sweet Honey”. I’m really choking back the laughter now as I resist the urge to ask, “I thought you didn’t like that song?” And yet here she is, all the words coming easily enough.

I yank the Sharpie from my pocket—I don’t travel anywhere without one on hand—and I sign the cup with my name. I draw a toilet, too, leaving it carefully on the ground outside the door.

Then I wait, hiding behind a column, back leaned against it, arms crossed, ball cap pulled low.

“She’s coming out,” Daniel tells me a few minutes later, and I turn around to watch.

Lake stops and frowns as she squats down next to the drink. She strips her gloves off and tucks them in her belt, reaching out to pick it up. I catch the moment she realizes who left this drink, and that it’s for her.

She sits down to laugh, tears pouring down her face. I watch as she pushes the drink to the side and returns to the bathroom. When she comes back, she’s drying her hands on a paper towel, spinning around and then trying to toss it backwards and into a can. She misses and curses as she jogs over to retrieve it, throwing it away before picking up her boba.

I should go back upstairs and hit hair and makeup, but I push my schedule to the breaking point by following her around from one set of bathrooms to the next. By the time she gets there, she’s peeling the lid off her drink and pouring the remaining jellies into her mouth.

Lake turns, and then she tosses the cup backward into a trash can, fist pumping when she gets it right.

I yank my face mask down and turn to Daniel.

“I signed that cup.” He just stares back at me, unmoved by the sight. “It’s worth money online.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” he tells me, and then he’s grabbing me by the arm and dragging me back to the spotlight where I belong.

107 bobas left until we both die …

She didn’t keep the cup. Wow. I’m hurt, but happily surprised. Again. Or maybe I’m just narcissistic and arrogant, and I’m overestimating my own worth in the eyes of the fandom. I Google authentic Tam Eyre signature just to see what they’re going for these days.

“Two hundred bucks?” I whisper, and then shake my head. “Damn.” My fingers itch to text, and I press my tongue against my cheek to hold it back.

Doesn’t work.

I’m not sure that I’ve ever had a friend like this, someone that I can share the most random, most mundane things in the world with and actually enjoy doing it.

What are you doing today?It’s the most common question that I ask Lake. It seems like the safest one, and it always sparks some good conversation between us. I’m in my hotel room alone—again. What else is there to do? I could read, but I’m always reading. I average three-hundred books a year, easy. Sitting in the SUV. Sitting in the hotel. Sitting in hair and makeup. Sitting between sets at dance practice. Resting on a bench at the gym.

That book that Lake tore a page out of, the werewolf one? Already read it. My phone buzzes, and I sit up a little straighter.

Working the food truck that your … gulp … fan club sent over for the staff. Ughghugughghg. Wish me luck!

I grin at that, shutting my phone off to think for a minute. My fan club pays for food and drink trucks to travel around and treat the staff. It’s a habit they picked up from K-pop culture in Korea, and it’s honestly one of my favorite parts of having a fan club at all. It’s cute.

Hmm. Will have to send luck in the form of … backstage passes.

I shoot that text over without thinking too hard about it. And then I wait. For thirty minutes, I just sit in a chair by the window, sipping on a water bottle and staring at my phone. While I’m here, I should text Kaycee, but I know she won’t respond since she’s filming several interviews today.

They could be for the next show, in case you have to work tonight,I add when it appears that Lake isn’t going to text me back. I force myself to scroll over to Kaycee’s name, hesitating as I try to figure out what to say. Having a friend is easy; I’m eager for a friend.

Having a girlfriend is … hard.

Question for you. Did you get that construction hoodie from a guy named Joules Frost? That’s what I send to Kaycee. I should be sending her smiling flower gifs or heart emojis or … fucking anything but what I just sent. Lake responds to my previous text, but I don’t click over to it.

I shut my phone off and slip it into my pocket.

It’s early enough that if she does want the passes, I can have my assistant text over the QR codes that Lake will need to scan in at security.

I change into my workout clothes and head to the gym early, just to get it out of the way. All of that extra boba comes with extra gym time. I’m cursing by the time I get there, hitting the treadmill hard enough that I’m blinded by sweat, my hair sticking to my forehead, my thoughts clearing up a little.

Am I being too casual about this whole friend thing? I wonder, the sound of my pounding feet the only noise besides the whirring of the machine and Daniel’s heavy breathing as he lifts weights. There’s nobody else in the gym with us; it’s been cleared for my personal use.

I’ve positioned myself on a treadmill in front of a window, so that I can look out at the city. I can’t even remember where we are today. Are we … is this Texas? Shit, I don’t even know what state. I hit the stop button and hop off, stumbling until Daniel catches my arm.

“Thanks, man,” I tell him, annoyed that he isn’t nearly as sweaty as I am. He stares back at me with stony gray eyes, and I shiver. Daniel Kang is not a man I would want to meet in a fight. I’m not such a hotheaded idiot that I think I’d win against him. All the time I devote to dancing, he devotes to working out and martial arts. No wonder his pay is in the mid six-figure range. He’s worth every penny.

I grab myself some water, use one of the wet towels to wipe my machine down, and then take a minute on a padded bench to recover.

There’s no proof that any of the texts I’m sending to Lake are from me. At this point, I could deny knowing her and it’d be feasible. But the more time we spend together, the more ammo she’ll have to use against me.

I hate thinking that way. I wasn’t born like this; I was programmed by life. I refuse to let my depression get the better of me. What happened with the production crew guy was crushing, to say the least. But this is going to be different.

Could be worse than the production crew guy, Tam. This friend is a woman, and she’s already told you that she wants you to fall in love with her. Romance never makes things any easier.

I tug my phone out of my pocket and turn it back on.

I should probably work tonight, but can we have backstage passes for Seattle? Me and my brother, Joules, I mean. Or just me is fine, too.

My mouth twitches.

Oh, Joules is getting a backstage pass alright. I want to get a good look at the asshole who threatens to kill his sister, who keeps her trapped in a cult, who’s trying to steal my fucking girlfriend. I smile and then laugh, and it’s not a nice sound. Daniel gives me an odd look.

Consider it done. I shoot back, and then I see that Kaycee’s responded to my message, too.

How did you know that? she asks me, but I’ll explain later, in person. I don’t want to talk about my cult theories over text, just in case the contents of my phone get leaked to the public. I tell her so, and then I stand up, stretching sore arms over my head and sighing.

Here’s what I’ll do.

I’ll show Lakelynn how serious I am about Kaycee. I’ll invite her to hang out with me and my friends so that she can prove she’s not interested in me, that she isn’t going to make things weird. Then we can truly work on a friendship with one another. She’ll probably fail—everyone I’ve ever extended a hand to has failed—but then she can tell her family that I gave her a chance. That should do it, right?

Perfect.

I’ve got a plan that makes sense to me, and I feel so much better about it. My mind is at ease.

Seattle … day after the show, do you want to hit an escape room with me? I can text more details later.

I assume I’ll get a quick, enthusiastic response.

Lake doesn’t respond for an entire day, and I curse myself when her reply finally comes in. Without even meaning to, I was waiting. Again. I’m going to stop doing that.

Escape room sounds great. Can Joules come with us then, too?

I snort.

Bring him. I think your brother and I are going to have a lot in common.

Namely, Kaycee Quinn.

105 bobas left until they both die …

The Seattle concert is weeks away, but I’ve worked everything out in my mind. I’m not worried anymore, and I’m just enjoying having someone around to text with. Kaycee is as busy as I am, so it’s hard for us to connect. Same with my mom. Jacob is always around, but he acts more like a manager than a cousin. Daniel is my friend … I think … but he barely talks, so there’s that. My driver, Pat, is cool, but I only see him in the car, and he’s in his sixties, so we don’t have a ton in common.

Lakelynn is … great.

What are you doing tonight? I tap out, waiting to hear what her job of the day is going to be. Whatever it is, I’ll seek her out at the stadium and give her a signed T-shirt or something. The other day, I brought her a light stick with a plastic tambourine on the end, and she looked at it like it was a lit stick of dynamite.

Nothing. I’m sick. That’s what she sends me, and I find myself stopping in the middle of the hotel hallway. Daniel grunts in annoyance from behind me, and Jacob sighs from up ahead, but I pay them little attention. I bought them pizza and beer last night, so they owe me at least one day of being nice. Not going to happen, but a guy can fantasize, can’t he?

Speaking of fantasies … something happened in the shower last night that has me feeling pretty damn perky. For the first time in months, I had enough energy to get a proper erection and an orgasm, too. I don’t want to think about why that is. Lake is a pretty girl, but I’m not interested in her. Nowhere but inside my brain will I ever admit to thinking about her like that.

But now? She’s sick? I feel like an asshole for doing that last night.

A selfie of Lakelynn comes in next, a picture of her reclined on white pillows with an ugly hotel duvet pulled up to her chin. Her nose is red, and her lips look flaky. I can see that there’s sweat on her forehead, and that’s got me worried about a fever. #deadinbed follows along after the picture.

I purse my lips and text her back.

Do you need anything? I could send some medicine over?

Joules has it covered, but thank you, she sends back quickly, and then, going to take a nap now. TTYL

“Can we please get going? We’re late,” Jacob bitches, and I sigh. He’s my cousin, and I love him, but hot damn, sometimes I just want to live my life on my own terms for five whole seconds.

“We’re not going anywhere until I finish what I’m doing,” I snap, and he turns to stare at me like I’ve been body snatched. Why though? He knows I’m a grumpy ass. “My friend is sick, and I want to send her some chicken soup. I’m not doing anything else until I do that.”

Jacob turns all the way around to look at me, slipping his headset off. He puts it in his pocket, hands his iPad off to my assistant, Maggie, and plants his hands on his hips.

“You have a shoot for the record label. These photos have to be posted to Instagram tonight. And you’re concerned about sending some crazy fan soup?”

I look back down at my phone and then send Lake another message.

Can I have Joules’ number? That way I can check in on you without interrupting your sleep.

Lake responds quickly, and I chew on my lower lip until Jacob makes a sharp tsking sound with his tongue.

“Photoshoot,” he repeats loudly, and I close my eyes.

It’s my mouth. If I want to bite it and chew it and leave teeth marks in it, then I will. I’ll do whatever I want.

“Right.” I stop doing it, and then I text Joules.

Hey man, this is Thomas. Can I get your hotel name and room number? I want to send your sister something.

It takes everything in me not to be snarky, not to call him out about Kaycee. Now that I’ve had a chance to talk with her, I know all about his heroic story of rescuing her from a bar. I’m a little unclear as to how they met in the first place—she was vague about that—but what’s perfectly crystal is this: I don’t like the guy.

Fuck off is what Joules sends back, and I gape at my phone screen. When Jacob opens the doors to my hotel suite at the end of the hall, I walk in like a zombie, still staring at my phone. Did he just … yeah, he did. For the first time in my life, I want to say something clichéd and manly like let’s take this outside. What is wrong with me?

Oops, sorry. Meant to send that to my cousin. Here. Joules texts me back with the information I asked for, and I curl my lip. No way that was on accident.

Fuck you, too, and thanks. That’s my message. Huge mistake on my part. If it ever got out that I was speaking to someone like that, I could seriously derail the career I’ve worked my entire life to have.

Joules: Haha. Guess you do have balls. Good to know.

I laugh at that, throwing my beanie onto a side table and kicking off my shoes. Jacob is saying something about a shower, but I wave him off, heading into the bathroom once Daniel’s checked it for stalkers. Definitely don’t want to get naked to find one of the hotel maids hiding in my closet like that one time in Miami.

Me: why are you so concerned with balls? I’m straight, sorry.

I send that with one hand while I start the shower with the other. What is this moron doing, texting me a bunch of bullshit when he has a sick little sister in bed who needs him? Fucking gross. I take a minute to scroll through restaurants on a food delivery service app. Nothing looks good to me.

Then I remember that my mom and Christian, her boyfriend, have rented an Airbnb nearby with a kitchen.

A grin spreads over my face as I send her a text asking her to cook up some chicken noodle soup. She makes the best chicken noodle soup in the world. It’s basically the only thing she can cook, but it’s like all of the cooking skills she might’ve had went into that one dish.

Oh, that and cherry pie.

I ask her to make both things and send them via my assistant to Lake’s hotel room.

I’ll do her one better, and send some thermoses full of hot tea, too, Mom tells me, and I smile. She might be uncomfortable with the idea of me hanging out with a random fan, but she’s a softie at heart. She can’t look at someone who isn’t feeling well and not take care of them.

My phone pings with a notification.

Joules: funny.

That’s it. That’s all he sends back. Nothing else. I’m in the mood for a fight, and the guy isn’t giving me one. With a scoff, I set my phone on the counter and strip down.

I soap my body once, twice, three times. Nobody ever thinks about the reality of being a performer. We wear deodorant, of course, but we sweat a lot. I sweat on stage. I sweat when I dance. I sweat when I work out. And I’m a man. I fucking smell if I don’t shower twice a day.

Putting my palm on the wall, I lather myself up and then find my hand wandering down my stomach toward my stiffening cock.

But then I think about the selfie that Lake sent me, and … No. Fuck. Don’t be a creeper, Tam.

I turn the water to cold, finish showering, and get out.

There’s a text from Joules waiting for me. Sorry, guy. You seem sooooo amazing. And wow, you have a-hundred-and-seventy-million followers on the clock app? You must be a super stud.

I just blink at the text and try to decipher whether Lake sent it from his phone as a joke or if … is Joules messing around with me?

I don’t have time for this.

I dry off, get dressed, and leave the hotel for the photoshoot. From there, it’s off to the venue, and I swear, even with sixty-thousand fans in attendance, it feels somehow empty knowing that Lakelynn Frost won’t be there at all.

Later that night, Lake texts me again.

The food was amazing, thank you. Where did you order it from? I’ll leave a good review.

My lips split into a smile as I brush hair off my sweaty forehead, the roaring of the crowd echoing in my ears. I’ll head back onstage in a minute for a not-so-surprise encore.

Thanks. I’ll tell my mom that you liked it—she made it herself.

I hit send, toss my phone to my assistant, and head back out for one more song.