Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Adam

Freddie unbuckles his seatbelt like he has every intention of coming inside with me. I gave him a hat and a flannel to put on over his t-shirt before we left the house, hoping it would make him look slightly less like a rockstar, but I'm not sure it's doing any good.

Lawson Cove might be a small town, but it still has the internet, and Freddie has been drawing attention all morning. Still, I couldn't say no when he wanted to run errands with me. He seemed so excited about it, like there was nothing he would enjoy more than picking up a supply order and swinging by Laney's office to meet a dog.

"Wait. Hold up," I say, reaching over to stop him before he gets out. "Laney works with her father, and I have no idea if she's had the chance to tell anyone who I am."

Freddie nods. "Got it. So if they recognize me that's fine, but don't out you?" He pulls on the Appies Hockey hat he borrowed, positioning it low on his forehead. "Can we tell them I'm your cousin?"

I laugh because honestly, I have no idea how else to handle Freddie. "Sure. You're my cousin."

"Excellent." He climbs out and slams his door closed. "Can we go to a grocery store next?"

I look at him over my shoulder as we approach the Lawson Cove Veterinary entrance. "I'm not taking your face into a grocery store."

Freddie has also requested a trip through a drive thru. And he already made me stop at a gas station so he could pump gas. I had three-quarters of a tank, but I stopped anyway, not wanting to squelch his enthusiasm.

I get the impression Freddie hasn't traveled without security in a very long time.

I get it. The year after Mom died, when I was trying to figure out normal life and doing my best to fade into obscurity, I had a few moments like this—when it felt exhilarating to just do completely normal stuff on my own. The kind of stuff I'd had people doing for me for the past three years.

After Midnight Rush broke up, the opposite happened for Freddie. His career only got bigger and bigger. He went from a completely insane life as a teenager, to a probably more insane life as an adult. I wouldn't be surprised if he's never had to buy his own milk.

"A drive thru, then?" he asks for a second time. "I'll buy."

The lobby inside the vet's office is fortunately empty, but Patty greets us with wide eyes, so I'm pretty sure she recognizes Freddie despite the borrowed shirt and hat.

I lean on the counter and offer a friendly smile. "Hi, Patty. How are you? "

She nods. "Good," she manages to squeak out, her eyes darting from me, to Freddie, then back again.

"This is my cousin, Fred," I say. "He's here visiting for a few days."

Beside me, Freddie clears his throat, and I fight a smirk. He used to hate it when we called him Fred, even though that's exactly what's on his birth certificate. Not Frederick. Just Fred.

To Patty's credit, she seems to have reined in her initial shock. "Nice to meet you, Fred. Welcome to Lawson Cove."

"Laney texted me about a dog that needs to be picked up," I say. "Do you know anything about that?"

"Holy freaking fudgesicles."

We turn to see Percy standing in the middle of the lobby, eyes locked on Freddie.

"Fudgesicles?" Freddie asks under his breath.

"We aren't allowed to swear at work," Patty whisper-yells from behind us.

"Hi, Percy," I say. "Good to see you."

He makes a noise that might have been a word, but I can't really tell. He clears his throat and tries again, but only fares slightly better. "I'll, um…let me just…I'll be right back."

I look back at Patty. "Will Percy be okay?"

"I think he knows that your cousin is famous," Patty says. She puts cousin in air quotes, then leans forward, lifting her hand to shield her mouth like she wants to say something without Freddie hearing. "Did you know he was a part of Midnight Rush?"

I nod knowingly at Patty. "I did know that."

"I didn't listen to them," she goes on, her Southern accent soft and rolling and, based on his expression, highly entertaining for Freddie. He's pretending not to listen, since Patty clearly doesn't want him to, but she's whispering loud enough for the entire room to hear so I doubt he's missing a word. "But my granddaughter went crazy over those boys. Is he really your cousin?" She leans even closer. "I read on the internet that he has seventeen tattoos."

"Eighteen," Freddie says, finally turning to face her. "But one's a secret."

"Hey," Laney says, Percy trailing behind her with a chocolate lab on a leash. "You're here."

She's wearing navy blue scrubs today with little white paw prints embroidered on the front pocket, and she has a stethoscope draped around her neck. She looks perfect. Beautiful. Sexy because she looks so professional.

I am captivated by Laney's eyes and her hair and the way her bottom lip is a little fuller than the one on top. But if my reaction to her right now is any indication, I am also super into her brain.

My eyes drop to her lips, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to kiss her hello.

Can we do that yet?

Is there a certain number of dates we're supposed to go on before we can?

I miss my chance because now Laney is introducing Freddie to Percy, and Freddie is saying hello to the dog, and it would be weird to just kiss her in the middle of all this.

I settle for reaching over and squeezing her hand. "How was your morning?"

"Good. Easy appointments." She pauses, her mouth lifting into a playful grin, before she adds, "I'd tell you all about a successful neutering, but I don't have the balls."

"No, you did not make that joke in front of regular people," Percy says. "Laney! Vet humor is only funny to us! "

I laugh. "I thought it was funny."

"You run a dog rescue," Percy argues. "You are one of us."

The words are casual. Said in jest more than anything else. But they still trigger something unexpected right between my ribs.

We moved around a lot when I was a kid. Mom was always looking for a better job. One that paid a little bit more than the last one. We changed schools three different times before I was out of elementary school. Things finally got a little more stable in middle school, and she bought the house she lived in until she died. But not long after we moved in, I was in Midnight Rush, always moving, never settling.

I've never really felt like I belong anywhere.

And this throw-away comment from Percy about me belonging… I want that. I want a community.

I look down at Laney, who is watching me, her expression thoughtful.

I want a community, and I want Laney to be right in the middle of it.

The dog at Percy's feet, who is the entire reason I'm here in the first place, wanders over to sniff my shoe. She sits right in front of me, tail thumping against the floor as she looks up with wide, soulful eyes.

I crouch down in front of her. "Hey, girl. Why wouldn't someone want you, huh?"

"She seems pretty sweet," Laney says. "Makes me sad that someone abandoned her."

I stand back up but keep a hand on the dog's head. "Has she been spayed?"

"No, so we would do that before you take her. We'd just…" She hesitates .

"Need the funding," I finish. "Got it. Go ahead and schedule it. We'll cover it, and I'll come back for her as soon as she's ready."

Laney smiles. "Yay. That means you get to name her."

I look down at the dog one more time. There's something about her eyes that remind me of Goldie, which makes me think of my mom. An idea pops into my head. "Let's call her Dolly."

Laney smiles. She's thinking of Dolly Parton, which is absolutely applicable. My mom, whose name was Dahlia, always asked her closest friends to call her Dolly—a nickname she chose largely because of how much she loved the country music singer. I haven't used the name for any of my rescue dogs yet, and I'm not sure what made me decide to use it now.

But it feels fitting. And when Laney crouches down and calls Dolly by name, she seems to approve, her tail wagging with a little extra enthusiasm.

If it were up to me, I'd spend the rest of my afternoon standing in the lobby of Laney's office talking, but I've got to be back at the rescue at two, and I promised Freddie a trip through the drive thru.

I look over at Freddie. "We should get going."

He nods and shakes Percy's hand. "Hey, nice to meet you, man."

Percy fumbles his way through saying goodbye and asking for a photo while I think, for a second time, about leaning down and kissing Laney, goodbye this time, instead of hello.

"Okay, well," Laney says, shuffling her feet before leaning toward me. At first, I think she's coming in for a kiss, so I bend down to meet her, but then her arms open like what she's looking for is a hug, and we end up just bumping into each other, an awkward tangle of misdirected limbs and overcorrections as we both try to figure out what the other is aiming for.

Finally, Laney backs up a step and holds out her hand. "You know what? Let's just do it this way."

This way. She wants to just…shake my hand?

Embarrassment washes over me, made only worse by Freddie and Percy, who are watching like this is the most entertaining thing they've seen all day.

"Right," I say, taking her hand in mine and giving it three firm shakes. "Probably better. It was good to see you."

As soon as we're outside, Freddie looks over at me like I am the stupidest man who ever lived.

"Seriously?" he says. "That's how you're going to say goodbye to her?"

"It's not like you helped with all the staring."

"Who cares if I was staring? Do you like this woman or not?"

I stop on the sidewalk. He's right. What am I doing?

I turn on my heel and walk back into the office.

"Laney," I say, catching her just before she disappears into the back.

She turns and waits while I walk toward her. As soon as I reach her, I lift my hands to her face, cradling her jaw as I press a long kiss to her lips.

She sucks in a breath of surprise, but she doesn't stop me, instead lifting her hands to my shoulders as she leans into the kiss.

"Sorry I didn't do that earlier," I say, still close enough to feel her breath fanning over my cheek .

She smiles and bites her lip. "I can't believe I shook your hand."

"We'll get better at this," I say. "And we won't always have a captive audience." I glance over her shoulder to Percy, who coughs awkwardly into his fist, then disappears into the back, mumbling something about test results he needs to check.

I lean down and kiss Laney one more time. "I'll text you?"

"Yes, please," she whispers.

Freddie is leaning against the SUV clapping for me when I make it back to the parking lot.

"Much better," he says. "For real, man. I was worried about your game for a second. I mean, the FaceTime serenading probably scored a lot of points, but I'm not always going to be around to be your wingman. Should we practice a few things before I leave town?"

I roll my eyes. "Shut up and get in the car."

"I know you said the engagement wasn't real," Freddie says as I pull out of the parking lot. "But you know that's where you're headed, right?"

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. "We just started dating."

"Who cares? When you know, you know."

"Says the man who's had how many serious relationships?"

"I'm not claiming I'm an expert," he says, lifting his hands. "I'm just saying. It looks like you've found something real."

I think about his words as we drive toward one of only two fast food places in Lawson Cove .

I'm trying not to get too far ahead of myself, but this thing with Laney does feel real. And that feels big.

As we drive down Main Street, Freddie peppers me with question after question. He can't be so sheltered that he's never driven through a small town, but his fascination seems to have less to do with life in Lawson Cove generally, and more to do with life in Lawson Cove… for me.

"So you can just drive around like normal? And no one knows who you are? That's insane."

"It's how most people live, Freddie," I say.

"No, I know. But you aren't most people." He points out the window. "Look. Right there. There's a girl with a Midnight Rush t-shirt on. That's your face, man. And you can just drive right past her like it's no big deal. I envy that."

I roll my eyes. "No, you don't. You love the attention. You always have."

He tilts his head, like he's really considering. "Okay, I do love it. Still. I wouldn't mind a little more obscurity every once in a while. Plus, this is fun. Just doing stuff. Normal stuff."

"You really don't get out much, do you?"

"You have no idea," he says.

I eye him suspiciously. "I'm surprised you don't have any security with you. Isn't that pretty routine these days?"

Freddie turns his face away from me, but I don't miss the way his jaw twitches before he does.

"Freddie," I say slowly. "Do your people know where you are? Are you supposed to have security with you right now?"

"It's fine," Freddie says. "It's not a big deal."

"Dude, I don't want to get in trouble. And I don't want you to get in trouble either. "

Freddie holds out his hands. "No one is getting in trouble. Ivy knows where I am. She's my assistant, and she's amazing, and she'll handle things. I do usually travel with security, but I didn't want to freak you out showing up with a whole entourage. Besides, what could possibly happen in a town this small?"

I ease to a stop at the next light, and Freddie glances over to the car next to us. There's a woman in a minivan studying us with her eyes narrowed. Freddie turns away, lifting his arm to block her view, and I scowl at him.

"What was that you were saying?"

At the drive thru, Freddie is as fascinated with the Southern accent of the teenager working the window as he was with Patty's, and he asks her to repeat herself twice just so he can listen to her say "french fries" over and over again.

"I freaking love this place," he says as we pull around to the window. "The way everyone talks—it sounds like music."

If this were anyone but Freddie, I might think he was making fun of the South. But Freddie is one of the most genuine people I know. He experiences everything with a level of joy and intensity turned a few notches above what most people feel. He's always been like that, and I envy him for it. For being so good at simply seeing good.

When the girl at the window hands us our food, Freddie lifts his sunglasses and smiles at her. "Thanks so much," he says. "Have a great day."

She gasps, eyes going wide, and I gun it, tires practically squealing as I pull out of the parking lot.

I huff out a laugh. "You really can't resist, can you? You hate not being Freddie Ridgefield."

He grins. "I mean, he's a pretty charming guy."

I shake my head as I pull into an empty bank parking lot buffeted by a line of sprawling oak trees and pull to a stop in the shade that covers the back half. "I can't imagine," I say, as I reach for the bag of food sitting in Freddie's lap. "I couldn't get away from all that attention fast enough."

Freddie shrugs, then takes a long drink of his soda. "Sometimes it gets annoying. But it means I get to do what I love. Do you not miss that part of it? The music?"

"I still make music," I say.

"But no one ever hears you," Freddie says. "What's the point if other people can't enjoy the music you're making?"

I take an enormous bite of burger, chewing slowly as I consider how to answer. On the surface, it's pretty simple. Freddie lives for the attention; he's an extrovert in the extreme while I'm the opposite. But I know it's more than that.

For good or bad, my feelings about performing are all tied up with my feelings about Mom. No matter how good it felt to sing with him last night, I'm not sure I know how to untangle them. Singing in my living room is one thing, but going back on stage? Performing for an arena full of people? Hot shame claws at my throat every time I think about it, tightening around my vocal cords like a vise.

"I just don't think I'm built for it," I say. "Not like you are."

Freddie studies me, the hand holding his half-eaten burger resting on his knee. I don't miss the hope hovering in his eyes.

I lift a shoulder in a shrug I hope looks casual, even though my gut is already tensing, anticipating the direction our conversation is headed. "Besides, why do they need to listen to me when they've got you?"

He huffs out a sardonic laugh. "Yeah, well, they aren't listening to me as much these days."

I grab a few fries, accepting the inevitable. I know Freddie didn't come all the way out here to eat fast food burgers and hang out. We might as well get it over with now. "Yeah, Kevin said something about that. What happened?"

"I didn't do anything. That's what so stupid about all of this. Well, I did have a small scuffle with this guy at a bar, but he was way out of line, putting hands all over Ivy?—"

"Your assistant?" I ask, and Freddie nods.

"They'd been talking at the bar, and she seemed into it, but then he started grabbing at her, really violating her space, and he wouldn't let her get away. So I stepped in and shoved him back, and enough people got that part of the altercation on film that entertainment news went wild, throwing around terms like drunk and disorderly conduct, talking about rehab. Which is stupid because I hadn't even been drinking when it happened."

He rubs a hand across his face, then keeps going.

"Just when all that started to die down, I was visiting my parents in Connecticut, and we drove down to New York to have dinner at their favorite restaurant. This woman approached our table with her daughter, wanting selfies and signatures, and they kept asking all these questions, but I really just wanted to focus on my family, so I said no. When they kept asking, Wayne, my security guy, escorted them out, and the owner of the restaurant stepped in and wouldn't let them finish their dinner, which totally pissed her off. Turns out she was some big influencer on Instagram and was hoping to get content for her page. Which…she did. The kind that made me look like an egotistical jerk too famous to care about his fans."

"That really sucks," I say.

"Yeah. The new label isn't happy. The album is supposed to drop next month, but they're pushing it out, worried this is going to impact sales."

"Come on, man," I say. "You're Freddie Ridgefield. Your concerts sell out in minutes. A few grumpy fans aren't going to mess with that."

"They're already messing with it," he says. "The Instagram lady started a petition, asking people to boycott my music to help me learn some manners, and it's gotten something like five-hundred thousand signatures already."

"Isn't that a form of slander? Can you sue?"

"Yeah. 'Cause that will really help my reputation." He crams a handful of fries into his mouth. "My publicist thinks if we can put something else out there to grab people's attention, it will be a lot easier to make this lady and her false claims disappear."

I sigh. There it is.

"Something like a Midnight Rush reunion concert," I say.

He hesitates, like he senses the weight of our conversation as much as I do. "You have to admit, it's a solid plan."

I run a hand through my hair. "Freddie, I can't do it. I meant it when I told Kevin no. I feel for you. You know I do. But when I walked away, I walked away for good. That hasn't changed."

"It's one show, man. One night. They want to have it in Nashville, so it wouldn't even be that big of a trip for you."

"You know stuff like this is never just one night. There will be promo interviews, photoshoots. You've done this a lot more than I have, Freddie. You know I'm right."

He holds my gaze for a beat before he finally caves. "Fine. You're right. It would be more than just one night. But we can't do it without you, and I really need this to happen."

"You can do it without me," I say. "You should. "

"Nah," Freddie quickly says. "We aren't Midnight Rush without you."

He just doesn't understand. He can't know what it felt like. How gutting it was to have everything pulled out from under me in one night.

"This is about your mom, isn't it?" Freddie says. "She's why you don't want to do it."

I slam the truck into gear and back out of the parking lot, turning us around so quickly, Freddie has to grab his drink to keep it from tipping over. I don't know how we got here so quickly when two minutes ago we were talking normally and everything was fine. But suddenly, I can't get away from Freddie fast enough.

This is the worst kind of emotional whiplash, and I just want it to stop.

"You don't know anything about my mom," I say.

"Huh. Wonder why that is," Freddie shoots back. "Not because I wasn't willing to listen."

I grind my teeth together, my hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make my knuckles white.

Freddie might have been willing to listen, but he wouldn't have been objective. None of the guys would have been.

Nobody wanted Midnight Rush to end. Any listening they did, any encouragement they offered, it was all colored by the hope everyone had that the band would stay together.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't keep singing with Mom in the ground. I couldn't keep making all that money, not when it felt like blood money.

I ease my SUV to a stop at the turnoff onto Highway 23 and look over at Freddie. "I didn't see her for thirteen months," I say. "Thirteen months, and then she died. "

He swallows. "I know."

"Do you know how many times she asked me to come home? Do you know how many times I ignored that request?"

He sighs and runs a hand across his face. "Adam, I know. But she wouldn't want?—"

I lift a hand, cutting him off. "No. You don't get to talk to me about what she would or wouldn't want when the only reason you're here is because the concert would save your ass."

"Isn't that a good enough reason?" Freddie says, anger growing in his voice. "Friendship isn't a good enough reason? I didn't want to say this, but…" He shrugs and sighs, lifting his hands into the air as if to emphasize his point. "You know you owe me, man. I took the fall for you. Signed a bad contract so you could walk and still keep your cut. If you won't do it for Midnight Rush, do it for me. One concert. That's all I'm asking."

A wave of guilt roars through me, making my stomach queasy and my skin prickle with uncomfortable heat. Even knowing it was coming, I'm still not prepared for the impact of Freddie's words.

The hardest part is that I don't disagree with him. After walking away like I did, shutting him and the rest of the guys out no matter their attempts to reach me, to help, I do owe them this much.

"I never asked you to do that," I say gruffly, my eyes on the road. "And I think the three of you are doing just fine."

I turn down the drive to Hope Acres, grateful we're almost home. I need to be out of this car, away from Freddie. I need sun and sky and air and a minute to just breathe.

"How would you know?" Freddie says. "Do you know anything about Leo's studio? About how hard he's having to work to keep the doors open? Do you have any clue whether Jace's last album did even half as well as it should have? Unlike you, the rest of us actually want to stay in the music business. And this concert would really help with that."

I park in the driveway and climb out, slamming the car door, but Freddie is right behind me. I skip the porch steps, knowing Sarah is probably inside, and head around the side of the house toward the barn instead.

"Adam, please," Freddie says, stalking after me. "Just tell me why. If you're saying no, at least have the decency to tell me the real reason."

I stop in my tracks and rest my hands on top of my head, a dozen different reasons flitting through my brain. But all of them are excuses except one.

I can't do it because I stood on my mother's grave and swore that I never would. I would never go back to the life that took me away from her.

"I know you love the music, man," Freddie says, the fire in his voice fully tempered. "I heard it last night. Nobody sounds that good if they don't love what they're doing."

My jaw clenches, my hands moving to rest on my hips.

It doesn't matter if those words are true. Loving the music won't bring Mom back. Loving it doesn't justify what I did.

I turn my back on one of the best friends I've ever known and walk toward the ridgeline behind the barn.

This time, Freddie doesn't follow.