Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Adam

Freaking Freddie Ridgefield.

This is not how I thought Laney would find out about my past.

Now, it looks like I kept it from her, like I didn't want her to know. And the fiancée thing...I did not expect that to come back to bite me. But I should have known. I should have expected Kevin would tell Freddie, at least, if not Leo and Jace.

That doesn't explain how Freddie figured out where I live. Property records? A private investigator? He has the resources, so I wouldn't put it past him.

However he found me, I think I underestimated how important this concert is to him. For him to show up on my doorstep all this time just to ask me in person? That says something.

The truth is, I wouldn't want anything to do with a friend who ghosted me as badly as I did Freddie—and the others, too.

When I saw him, when he pulled me in for an embrace, I forgot about all of it. I forgot that I shut him out. Ignored his calls, his texts. I forgot that I walked away from the life he was a part of and promised myself I would never go back.

I still have no clue how I'm going to navigate a conversation with him. How I'm going to say no to his face when he came all this way.

But I do know that, despite everything, I'm actually glad he's here. Even if he did make things complicated with Laney.

She's still waiting for me, sitting on the bench with her back straight, eyes focused somewhere in the darkness beyond the house.

I lower myself down beside her, and she offers me a hesitant smile.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Adam Deacon Driscoll," she says slowly, enunciating each part of my name with careful specificity. "I can't believe I didn't figure it out."

I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees. "If it matters, it's been a very long time since anyone has recognized me. I would have been surprised if you had figured it out."

She glances over at me, but her gaze doesn't hold. Like she's afraid to make eye contact. "Did you…what happened? Where did…" She waves her hand up and down my body, scrunching her face up in a way that makes her nose wrinkle. "All of this come from?"

I chuckle. "I grew three inches the year I turned nineteen. And gained about thirty pounds over the next three. "

"Guys can do that? I stopped growing when I was fourteen."

"Some guys do," I say. "I did. But you have to admit, when I was eighteen, I could have told people I was fifteen and they would have believed it."

"That's true," she says. "You always looked younger than the other guys." She falls back into silence, her eyes shifting this way and that, like she can't quite keep up with all the thoughts running through her brain.

I wait, giving her the chance to process, to take this conversation at her own pace.

"I was in your house," she says, but it feels more like she's talking to herself than to me. "I was looking at your record collection, which makes so much more sense now. That Elvis album alone is worth…and this house! And the farm. Of course you can fund Hope Acres. I wondered if you'd won the lottery. Or had family money." She looks over at me one more time, and this time her gaze locks in. "You said you had some investments do well."

"Technically, that's still true. It just so happens that the money for those investments came from Midnight Rush."

She furrows her brow like she's considering a new piece of evidence and isn't sure how or where to sort it in her brain. I can't blame her for the struggle. I'm basically asking her to rewrite everything she thinks she knows about me, to insert a whole new past into her mind view.

"So I was looking at your records," she finally says, restarting her story, "and then Freddie was on the front porch, and he greeted me by name." She lets out a disbelieving laugh. "And then he said that I must be Deke's fiancée. I didn't just open the door and come face to face with Freddie Ridgefield, I listened to him tell me I was engaged to Deke Driscoll. That you were Deke Driscoll. I couldn't make up a more improbable scenario if I tried."

"I'm sure it felt like a lot," I say.

"It felt like an ambush," she says. "At least an emotional one."

I resist the urge to reach over and put an arm around her, to offer her physical comfort in some way. I want to, but I don't want to spook her.

"Should I explain about the engagement part first?"

It takes her a moment, but she eventually nods, so I walk her through my phone call with Kevin. Her eyes widen to saucers when I mention the reunion concert, then she frowns when I tell her why I felt compelled to lie about having a fiancée in the first place. Her expressions tell a thousand stories, her emotions playing over her face like she's an open book, words written in twenty-four point font.

"But why me?" she asks when I finally finish. "Why did you choose me to be your fake fiancée?"

It's not a question I expect her to ask, because in my mind, it's more like of course, you. "Because I like you," I say simply. "And you'd just come out to the farm for the first time the night Kevin called, so you were on my mind. But also, I thought that would be the end of it. That Kevin would tell everyone I said no, and that would be that."

"But then Kevin told Freddie," she says as she pieces the story together. "And Freddie decided to come see you in person because…"

I sigh. "Because he knows if he asks me to do the concert, I'm more likely to cave and say yes."

"Why Freddie?" she asks.

I lean back, letting my head drop against the house, a familiar tightness forming low in my gut. I don't usually talk about this. I am much better at leaving the past in the past, at letting those very messy years stay buried in the back of my mind where they belong. But for the first time in I don't know how long—maybe ever—I want to talk about it. I want Laney to understand.

"At the end of Midnight Rush's last tour," I begin, "the band still had one more album on contract with our record label. But then I quit. The group had the option of replacing me or doing an album without me, but they all refused. I think they hoped I might eventually change my mind, but…I'd just lost my mom, and I wasn't in a great place mentally, so they stalled as long as they could. Eventually, the label got tired of waiting, so the rest of the guys decided that what they collectively wanted was to move on, focus on their solo careers. In order to appease New Groove, Freddie negotiated a new deal, putting himself on the line if they would release Midnight Rush from the last album on the contract."

She frowns. "I don't understand why that was doing you a favor. Clearly, it worked out well for Freddie."

"On the surface, yeah. But the label required that the terms of the contract stay the same—identical to what we signed when the group was formed. By that point, Freddie had enough star power he should have been able to get a much better deal. Signing another three-sixty was not in his best interest."

"A three-sixty?"

I give her a thirty-second explanation of what a three-sixty deal entails, and she nods along.

"So the label just gets a much larger piece of the pie."

"Right. Exactly."

"What would have happened if Freddie hadn't signed?" she asks. "If Midnight Rush had just not made the album? "

"The label would have defaulted on our royalties, possibly sued us for breach of contract. Leo and Jace were trying to get their solo careers started too, and that kind of legal battle would have been bad for everyone."

"But if the other guy wanted to go solo too, why was Freddie the one who renegotiated with the label?"

"Because he was the only one who could. In the months while all of this was happening behind the scenes, he was already making music online, growing his following, writing songs and playing them on TikTok to millions of fans. When he finally dropped an album, everyone in the industry knew it would be a guaranteed success. That made him a safer bet for the label than Leo or Jace. Freddie had the star power. And he used it to benefit the rest of us. Me, most of all. I had Sarah to take care of, no parents, and no safety net. I couldn't afford to lose royalties. Freddie is the only one who has any kind of leverage when it comes to convincing me. And I know better than to think he won't use it."

"So Freddie signed the crappy deal so no one else would have to."

"Right. And the other guys signed better deals with different labels."

She's quiet for a beat, like she's letting it all sink in. Then she asks, "Adam, why did you quit?" She moves her hands up and down her bare arms like she's rubbing out the chill. It's still September, so it's plenty hot during the day, but this high in the mountains, it drops down into the sixties, even the upper fifties at night. "Is that too personal a question?"

I shrug off the flannel I'm wearing on top of my t-shirt and drape it over her shoulders. The act of doing something distracts me from the growing discomfort in my chest—the tiny pinpricks of pain that still shoot through me whenever I think about the last few months before I quit. Whenever I think of all those phone calls from my mom, from Sarah, begging me to just come home.

But our European tour was almost over—only a few shows left—and Kevin kept insisting that if I just hung on a little bit longer, I could take a break after the tour and really focus on my family.

But then Mom died, and it was too late.

Laney tugs the shirt around her shoulders and smiles. "Thanks," she says. "And for real, you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"It was just complicated," I say. "With my mom and wanting to be there for Sarah—" My words cut off, and I lift a hand to my chest, rubbing against the tightness spreading across my ribs.

"It was around the same time?" she says. "That your mom died?"

I nod and clear my throat, then blow out a breath like I can somehow dislodge the building discomfort inside me by sheer force of will.

Laney shifts on the bench beside me, turning sideways, one knee pulled under her so she can face me. She reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine, squeezing it gently. "I'm really sorry about your mom, Adam. With everything you were dealing with, the travel, the fame and attention, the pressure—to have to deal with that kind of loss when you're so young is really unfair."

Most of the time, people assume that because of the money that comes with it, fame makes things easier. But I was just a kid, trying to juggle the expectations of so many people, and the adults I had giving me advice, talking to me about my career, my choices, were all adults who were financially invested in our success. It wasn't fair. I didn't see it then as much as I see it now, and it feels good to have Laney acknowledge it.

"I was planning on telling you tomorrow night," I say.

"About Midnight Rush?"

I nod. "I had it all planned out. I was going to bring—oh, actually—" I reach over and pull out a photo from the front pocket of my shirt and hand it to her. "I was going to bring you this. I had Sarah dig it out of her stuff this morning and bring it to me. I worried you might need convincing since I look so different."

The picture is of me and Sarah and the rest of Midnight Rush, the one time she left Mom and came to Nashville to see us in concert.

Laney shakes her head as her eyes linger on the photo. "This is still really hard for me to believe."

"I'm sure."

"And I still have so many questions."

"Like what?"

She tucks the photo back into the pocket of my shirt. "Like…how long has it been since you've seen Freddie? Are you still friends? Does Freddie being here mean there really will be a reunion concert, and if it does, will you get me tickets?"

This one makes me chuckle, and she gives me a playful grin, then keeps going with her list. "I also want to know if you being Deke had anything to do with you not kissing me the other night."

I rub my thumb over the back of her hand, tracing small circles over her knuckles.

"Those are good questions."

"Thank you. I just came up with them myself. "

I smile. All things considered, she seems to have recovered from the initial shock pretty well. The fact that we're holding hands, that she's asking about kissing me—those have to be good signs.

"I haven't seen Freddie since the funeral," I say, answering her first question. "Or any of the guys. I'd like to think they still consider me a friend, but I have not been good at staying in touch, so it won't surprise me if they aren't interested in anything but what the concert requires. I have some personal reasons for not wanting to sing with the band again, but I really do owe Freddie. If this will help him…I don't know. Maybe with the right boundaries in place? But it would take a lot to convince me." I lift her hand and flip it over so our palms are flush, our fingers entwined. "As for the kiss…that's exactly why I didn't kiss you. I wanted to tell you first. I didn't want to start with secrets between us."

Her eyes fall closed, and she tugs her hand out of mine, lifting her palms to her face where she presses them against her cheeks.

"You okay?" I ask.

She gives her head a little shake. "No? Yes? Adam, I had your poster on my wall. I kissed your poster before I went to bed every night." She winces and slides a hand up to cover her eyes. "I swore I wasn't going to tell you that, but it feels like just the thing to demonstrate how surreal this is for me. You're… you. And I'm the girl who went to your concert with a mouth full of metal and bad hair and thought her life was changed forever when you crouched down during the show and squeezed my hand."

"I really did that?"

"You did," she says, finally letting her hands fall from her face. "We made eye contact and everything. "

"Hard to believe I made eye contact with those eyes and didn't follow you home."

She grins and shakes her head, letting out a little laugh. "I would have died," she says. "I was so awkward and uncomfortable in high school. But you—Midnight Rush in general—you guys made life bearable for me. So to be here with you, joking about kissing?—"

"Wait. Stop right there," I say.

She cocks her head. "Why?"

I hold her gaze, then lean toward her and lift a hand to her cheek, brushing my thumb over the curve of her jaw. "Because I'm not joking about wanting to kiss you."

Her eyes flutter closed as I brush my nose against hers, then press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

She sucks in a stuttering breath. "Ohhh, this does not feel like kissing your poster."

I let out a low chuckle. "I should hope not."

When our lips finally touch, it takes Laney a moment to respond, but then she wakes up, kissing me back, her mouth soft and yielding against mine. I lift a hand to the back of her neck, sliding my fingers into her hair while her hands move to my chest.

I sensed that things would change once I kissed her, that it would feel bigger, more monumental than anything I've experienced before, but even with that expectation, I'm still unprepared for how this feels. How consuming it is to have her this close.

Laney breaks the kiss, hovering in front of me long enough to take one, two, three shallow breaths. Then she smiles as she leans forward and drops her head against my chest .

"This isn't happening," she whispers into my shirt. I can't tell if she means for me to hear her, so I ignore it, but I can't stop myself from pressing one more lingering kiss to her forehead.

"I'm coming back from the barn," Sarah says loudly from somewhere behind us. "I'll be coming up onto the porch any minute. I sure hope I don't interrupt anything."

Laney starts to chuckle. "I like Sarah."

"I'd like her a lot more if she'd stayed in the barn a few more minutes."

"Nah. It's time for me to go. You need to go talk to Freddie anyway."

I pull off my hat and set it on my knee, then run my fingers through my hair with a sigh. "True."

Laney stands and tugs me to my feet, then steps closer, wrapping her arms around my waist and stepping into my embrace. I hook my hands together at the small of her back. She leans up on her toes and presses a quick kiss to my lips. "Sometimes the hardest conversations are the ones most worth having," she says. "You're going to do great."

Sarah is on the porch a few seconds later, eyeing us with unconcealed glee, like she can't quite believe we have our arms around each other. "I know you guys aren't actually engaged," she says, motioning between us, "but can I just say how happy this makes me?"

I roll my eyes at my sister's enthusiasm and have to stifle a groan at the reminder of the lie I still need to fix.

It'll be easy to clear up the engagement thing with Freddie. He's here. I can just tell him, explain why I felt like I needed to lie in the first place. But if Kevin told Freddie, there's no telling who else might already know. Or how he might use the information if he thinks it will serve a purpose. Especially if that purpose begins with a dollar sign and ends in a whole lot of zeros.

"That's right," Laney says. "Freddie thinks we're engaged."

"I'll talk to him," I say to Laney. "Explain what's really going on."

She nods. "Will I still see you tomorrow night?"

"I want to see you, but I have no idea how long Freddie will be here. Can I text you after I talk to him? Maybe you can come here instead? We could all hang out together?"

She reaches up and pats my chest. "Baby steps, Adam. I don't know if I can handle hanging out with fifty percent of Midnight Rush at once."

I'll take baby steps. Because she didn't run away. She didn't get mad. She still kissed me after learning that I'm one fourth of Midnight Rush. She knows, and we're still okay.

I walk Laney to her car, kissing her one more time before saying goodbye and watching her drive away.

I should feel overwhelmed by the looming conversation with Freddie. With the idea of disappointing him. After eight years of relative anonymity, I'm just not sure I can go on stage again. Sing again after I swore I never would.

But with Laney's scent still lingering on my skin, lips tingling and warm from the pressure of her kiss, I just can't bring myself to care about anything else.

And I smile all the way to my front door.