Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Adam

Sarah leaves to go home just after Laney, so by the time I make it inside to find Freddie sitting at the piano, it's just the two of us and Goldie. He's playing something I've never heard before, but I immediately like it. It's catchy, a little wistful, with a nice melody. He looks up and smiles when he sees me, but he doesn't stop, so I walk toward him, lowering myself into the nearest chair.

Beside the piano, a guitar rack holds three guitars—a classical Yamaha that I've had since I was a kid and two acoustic: a Martin D-28 Sarah found at an estate sale in Knoxville priced for half what it was worth, and my favorite, a 1962 vintage Gibson I splurged on when my latest royalty check from the record label was larger than I expected.

Freddie motions toward the guitars, his fingers still rolling across the keys. "Are you playing?"

"Some. I mostly just mess around." I nod toward the piano. "What is that? "

"Just me messing around. I like the melody, but I can't write a lyric worth anything." His hands fall away, and he turns on the piano bench to face me. "It's good to see you, Deke."

"Adam," I say quickly. "I know you knew me as Deke, but I haven't gone by that name in a really long time."

"No problem." Freddie leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "You look good, Adam. Different. Had I just seen you on the street, I'm not sure I'd have recognized you."

It's still hard to believe Freddie's here, after so many years apart. The record label loved to talk up our friendship to the press, but it wasn't just talk. We were always as close as they claimed we were.

Until we weren't anymore.

And that's on me.

"Yeah. I've changed a lot, I guess."

Goldie wanders over to Freddie and drops her head onto his knee. Freddie starts to pet her, and her tail wags before she looks over at me, like she's giving me her approval.

"You're huge, man," Freddie says. "You have to be hitting the gym."

"Yeah. Some."

Freddie, on the other hand, looks almost entirely the same. He's as tall as I am, but he's just as lean and lanky as he was when Midnight Rush was still Midnight Rush. His dark hair is long and a little shaggy, and I can see tattoos visible on one forearm and at the open collar of his shirt. He looks every bit the rockstar he's become, but he still looks like Freddie, too. Like the kid from Seattle who stood next to me in line at the final Midnight Rush audition, smiled with uncanny confidence, and told me it wasn't a question of if he was going to be a star. Only a question of when.

A beat of silence passes between us, and a tightness forms in my chest. I'm not sure what to say to Freddie. How to say anything at all. It's been eight years since things fell apart, but right now, it feels like we're right back on the lawn outside the funeral home the day after I buried my mother, my three best friends looking at me as I tell them I'm walking away from Midnight Rush for good.

"Jace and Leo say hello," Freddie says. "I just saw Leo in Nashville last week. And Jace has another kid on the way. This will be his second."

"Wow. That's—good for him."

Jace was always the one who seemed the most excited about getting married and having a family, so this doesn't surprise me. He was never big into dating around. Every girl he met, even when he was sixteen, he talked about her like he'd just found his soulmate. There were at least a dozen soulmates in the three years the band was together, but the last one actually stuck. A model from Australia named Jasmine, whom he married on his twenty-second birthday.

At least, according to Sarah, who fills in the gaps between my cursory quarterly searches.

"And now you're getting married," Freddie says. "Laney seems nice."

I clear my throat. "Yeah, about that. Laney and I aren't actually engaged."

Freddie frowns. "No?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "We've been texting. And we had dinner last weekend. But I made up the engagement because Kevin wouldn't stop hounding me about the reunion. That man will not take no for an answer. "

Freddie chuckles. "What I love and hate about him the most."

I don't understand how Freddie is still working with Kevin after all these years, but he must see some value in keeping him around. Especially now, when he could have his pick of agents.

"I told him I needed to focus on my fiancée, but I clearly wasn't thinking because I didn't even consider that he'd tell you. But of course he would."

Freddie's quiet for a beat before he says, "I gotta admit. It stung hearing news like that from Kevin instead of you. Even after all the time that's passed, I'd like to think you'd call me if you were getting married for real."

I lean forward, elbows propped on my knees, eyes on the floor. I'm not actually sure I would call him, and that realization sends shame washing over me. Cutting ties with all three of them was a matter of survival, the only way I knew how to deal with the guilt and grief surrounding my mother's death. It's been easy to convince myself it was the best way, the only way for me to keep living my life as Adam and leave that part of me behind for good.

But now, with Freddie sitting in front of me, looking at me, talking to me just like he did when we were kids, I'm not so sure.

I've missed him. I've missed having friends who know me.

"She's a vet," I say. "Laney. That's how we met. She takes care of the dogs for the rescue."

I don't know why I'm telling him this. As if opening up now will somehow negate the many years I didn't reach out. That isn't usually how friendship works. But I also have to remember that Freddie is here for a purpose. He didn't just come as my friend. He came as an artist who wants my help .

"So that's what this place is?" he says. "A dog rescue?"

"Sarah and I run it together."

His expression shifts. "Sarah. Man. She's all grown up."

"And dating someone," I say. "So don't get any ideas."

He smirks. "Noted. Appreciate the heads up."

The silence stretches between us, broken only by Freddie's continued tinkering on the piano. I brace myself for what I know is coming. This is when Freddie is going to ask. Put the pressure on. Remind me he's the reason I was able to walk without losing a ton of money.

But he doesn't say anything like that. He hardly says anything at all. He just stands and moves to the guitar rack on the wall, where he carefully removes the Gibson. He slides a hand over the neck and lets out a low whistle. "It's a sweet instrument." He holds it out to me. "Come on. Let's play something."

I look up, eyebrows furrowed. "Right now?"

"Why not?" Freddie says.

I take the guitar, and he moves back to the piano bench, positioning himself in front of the keys.

"I don't remember much," I lie.

Freddie rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you do. You wouldn't have all this in your living room if you didn't still play." He plays out the first few chords of "Falling Slowly," then looks up at me. "Isn't this the one you used to play all the time? The one from the movie?"

I don't answer him, but I'm already tuning the guitar, my hands thankfully on autopilot because my brain is completely freaking out. I haven't done this in front of anyone aside from Sarah and Goldie in years, but weirdly, I find I actually want to.

Freddie waits until I'm tuned and ready. When I look up and meet his eye, he nods, his hands hovering over the keys as he waits for me to strum the first chords. He joins in as soon as I do, and then…I sing.

Badly, at first. I'm not even a little warmed up. But the longer I sing, the easier it gets.

Eventually, Freddie comes in with a harmony, and our voices blend as well as they did when we were Midnight Rush. Before long, I'm not thinking about my trembling hands or how weird it is to sing in front of someone who has found as much success as Freddie.

I just let the music roll over me until it's all I can feel.

When the final notes ring out, neither of us moves, the silence settling between us for a beat, then two, before Freddie finally lifts his hands from the keys and laughs. "That was incredible."

I lean the guitar against the couch and stand up, heading for the kitchen without a word, mostly because I don't want Freddie to notice how weirdly emotional I suddenly am. I've played a lot of music over the past eight years. But only for myself. Usually when Sarah is gone, and Goldie is the only one around to listen.

I wouldn't have guessed that playing with someone else would hit me so hard.

I take a deep breath and pull a couple of beers out of the fridge, a double IPA from a microbrewery that just opened up across the ridge. I stand there, staying in the small triangle of light spilling out of the open door until I feel a little more in control, then open the bottles and return to the music room, where I hand one to Freddie.

He holds it up and studies the label.

"It's local. You'll like it."

He takes a long drink before setting it on the floor beside the piano. "Yeah, that's good." He lifts his hands back to the keys and grins. "What else you got?"

We play for over an hour. My favorite songs. His favorite songs. Even a few Midnight Rush songs—including our debut single, "Curves Like That," the one with lyrics a group of teenage boys never should have been singing.

By the time we get to the end, we're both laughing so hard we're practically crying.

At one point, Freddie grabs the Martin off the wall, and we play a few with both of us on guitar, then he switches over to the Gibson and I move to the piano. I'm not as good as he is, and he claims he's better on bass than guitar, but I don't think he's giving himself enough credit.

He's grown a lot as an artist, settled into a sound that's more mature, more grounded than the Freddie I knew as a teenager. More than once, I find myself listening more than I'm singing, almost in awe of what he can do.

"For real, man. I don't know why you aren't still doing this," Freddie says after we finish playing through a Lewis Capaldi song we both love. "You're singing with a lot more of your chest voice than you used to, and your tone is legit."

"Nah," I say. "I don't know about that."

"I'm serious," he says. "Let's do ‘Never Say Never.' You can do Leo's vocals. Actually, hang on. Where's your phone?"

I lift an eyebrow. "Why do you need my phone?"

"Because I want someone else to hear how good you sound."

"Freddie, come on. I don't…" I hesitate, lifting my hands to my head. "No one else has heard me sing in a really long time."

He frowns. "Really? Not even Sarah? Or Laney? "

I huff out a laugh. "Laney didn't even know I was Deke until you showed up on my front porch and told her."

His eyes widen, then understanding dawns. "So that's why she was so freaked out. I thought it was just me, but her reaction did seem a little extreme."

"I was going to tell her, I just hadn't gotten around to it yet."

"Perfect," he says, standing up and holding out his hand. "Even better. Phone, man. Come on."

I have no idea why I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it over. Probably because he's Freddie Ridgefield. And nobody gets what he wants like Freddie gets what he wants. Call it charm. Or just really good intuition that tells him exactly how and when to push. Either way, the man is unstoppable. When he gets an idea in his head, you either jump on board or get out of the way.

He scrolls through my contacts and pulls up Laney's number. Then he hits Call.

Just like that. No warning. No asking for permission.

It's almost eleven PM, and he just called her.

My heart starts pounding as Freddie puts the call on speaker, one ring, then two sounding through the phone. Just before the third ring, Laney answers.

"Hello?"

I breathe out a sigh of relief. At least she sounds fully awake and not like we just pulled her from a dead sleep.

"Hi, Laney? It's Freddie. How are you?"

"Oh my gosh," Laney says, then she laughs. "I'm fine, Freddie. How are you?"

"Actually, I'm just sitting here with your man, Adam, and we've been playing some music. "

"Yeah? How's it going?" Laney asks.

"Brilliantly. So brilliantly, in fact, that I was thinking you might like to listen in. Can we FaceTime you?"

"Hmm. Can you put Adam on the phone before I answer? And take me off speaker?"

Freddie rolls his eyes dramatically, but then he smiles. "Sure I can. Hang on."

He hands over my phone, and I take it off speaker before lifting the phone to my ear. "Hey."

"Hi," she says. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't being held against your will."

I chuckle. "Nah, I'm good."

"Do you mind if I listen while you sing? Because I would love to, but I would also be happy to fake a headache if you'd rather I not."

Something catches in my chest. It feels profoundly significant that even as much as Laney was—still is?—a Midnight Rush fan, she's still asking me this. Thinking about how I feel rather than how much she might enjoy hearing Freddie Ridgefield sing to her over FaceTime.

Weirdly, the fact that she's prioritizing me over the music makes me want to sing for her more.

"I'm good if you'd like to listen. Freddie has a way of getting what he wants anyway."

In front of me, Freddie lifts his arms in triumph. "FaceTime, man. Let's do this."

I initiate the call, and Laney immediately accepts, then it buffers for a second before her face fills the screen.

She looks like she's in bed, wearing a hoodie, with the hood up, glasses on, and her hair in a loose braid hanging in front of her shoulder .

I am very much a fan of this version of Laney.

"Hi," she says, offering me a shy smile. "This was unexpected."

"I hope Freddie didn't wake you up."

"Nope. Just reading."

Freddie gets entirely too close as he leans into the frame. "Hi, Laney. Nice to see you again." He takes the phone out of my hand and walks over to the piano. "Adam tells me I gave you quite the shock when I showed up. I'm sorry I prematurely outed your boyfriend. Though I was sad to learn all that hyperventilating wasn't for me."

I brace myself for Laney's rebuttal, her insistence that I'm not, actually, her boyfriend, but she only laughs. "I was not hyperventilating."

"Come on," Freddie says. "We both know you were close. What do you think? Was it forty percent me, sixty percent Adam? Can I claim forty percent?"

"I'll give you ten," Laney says.

"Just ten? How about twenty?"

"Fifteen and that's my final offer. Were you going to actually sing something? Or did you really just call me to negotiate the measure of your impact on my emotional well-being?"

Freddie looks over his shoulder at me and grins. "I like her." When he looks back at the phone, he says, "We're singing ‘Never Say Never.' Were you a Midnight Rush fan, Laney?"

"I was."

"Yeah? Who was your favorite?"

"Adam, by a large margin," she says.

"For real? And now you're dating him? Someone should write a book about this. "

Laney yawns, lifting a hand to her face, something I can see from here, even though Freddie has taken the phone all the way across the room.

"Come on, man," I say. "If we're going to sing, let's sing. She's gotta work tomorrow."

"All right, all right," Freddie says. "Let's do it." He gets up and positions the phone on the bookshelf so we're both in the frame, and then we start to sing.

When Midnight Rush toured, we had a five-piece band that accompanied us on guitars, drums, bass, and keys. The four of us were only ever on vocal. We were told we were too young to be trusted with instruments, which, for all of us but Leo, who was a killer pianist from the start, was probably a smart move. It's hard to do both—to sing and play at the same time—and since we were all just fifteen and sixteen when we started, we were infants compared to the seasoned musicians who toured with us.

Tackling the guitar solo in "Never Say Never" was one of the many projects I used to occupy my time in the years right after Mom died, when I spent a lot more time hiding than I did leaving my house. I never thought knowing how to play it would ever come in handy, but as we approach the solo, Freddie glances over, and I nod to let him know I've got this.

It's not quite the same on an acoustic guitar—it was always electric on tour—but it fits the vibe of what we're doing here better anyway.

When I reach the end, Freddie smiles and laughs and says a quiet, "For real, man?" before we start the chorus for the final time.

Laney claps when we finish. "You guys. That was unbelievable. I liked it better than the original."

Freddie's closer to the phone than I am, so he jumps up and grabs it first. "Right? I swear, it's Adam. The man's a freaking genius on the guitar. And his voice…"

"Okay, my turn," I say, reaching over Freddie's shoulder and taking the phone.

Freddie grins. "Goodnight, Laney. It was nice to see you again."

"I hope we didn't keep you up too late," I say, looking at Laney.

She shakes her head. "Totally worth it."

"Will you be up a little longer?"

She shakes her head. "I wish I could be, but I've got early appointments in the morning. I need my sleep."

"Can I call you tomorrow?"

She smiles. "Please do. And Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"You really did sound amazing. Thanks for singing for me."

We say goodbye, and I pocket my phone, then reach for my Gibson so I can hang it back on the wall. My fingers are raw, and my throat is dry from all the singing, but there's still a warm buzz coursing under my skin that I haven't felt in years.

"Well, I think it's safe to say if she wasn't in love with you before, she's definitely in love with you after that performance," Freddie says.

"Stop. No one is in love with anyone." I gather up our empty beer bottles and carry them into the kitchen. The brewery owes me a thank you, because Freddie liked the beer enough that halfway through the evening, he posted a photo of himself holding up a bottle on his Instagram page. Hope they enjoy the free publicity.

"I'm serious." Freddie follows me into the kitchen and leans against the doorframe. " I'm practically in love with you after that song."

There are a lot of words Freddie isn't saying. He isn't asking about the concert. He isn't pressuring me into saying yes. But he is telling me all the reasons why I should say yes. We're having a conversation without having the actual conversation.

And I'm not even sure Freddie realizes he's doing it.

"So, what do you say? You got a place for me to sleep around here?" Freddie asks.

"What would you do if I said no?"

"No clue, honestly. I've never been so far in the middle of nowhere. I have no idea where I'd go."

It takes a few more minutes for Freddie to retrieve a giant duffle from the trunk of his car. It's so huge that I think, one, he has no idea how to pack an overnight bag, or two, he's planning on staying for the next three months.

"Wasn't sure what I might need," he says as he lugs it up the stairs to the guest room. "So I grabbed a little of everything."

So we're going with option one, then.

"Hey," he says before I can head back down the stairs.

I turn and hold his gaze.

"Thanks for having me, man. It really is good to see you."

I nod. "Yeah. You too."

I know better than to think Freddie only showed up so we could have a jam session and tomorrow he'll be on his way. I'm even willing to acknowledge this was probably all a part of his plan—a way to remind me of how much I like making music in the first place so I'm more willing to say yes when he finally mentions the concert.

But I still can't be mad about it .

It felt good to sing. It felt particularly good to sing for Laney.

If nothing else, that alone will make tonight worth it.