Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Adam

I'm halfway through dinner when my phone lights up with a call from a contact that makes my gut tighten and my fist clench around my fork.

I'm not surprised to see it. Up until last week, I hadn't heard from my former agent in years. But he's called at least a dozen times in the past few days. Texted, too. I know Kevin Spellman well enough to guess he won't give up.

But that doesn't mean I have to pick up.

There would be no point because I can't give him the answer he wants.

Apparently, our former record label is trying to get the members of Midnight Rush together for a one-time reunion concert.

The first time Kevin mentioned it via text, I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and was distracted enough that I almost forgot to feed the dogs. It was only Goldie walking to the back door and looking at me like I was an idiot that spurred me into action.

The routine of feeding and caring for the dogs helped clear my head so I could decide, unequivocally, that I'm not even a little bit interested in the idea.

The call from Kevin rings out and goes to voicemail.

It's been a very long time since I've been Deke— the stage name assigned to me by a label executive who thought Adam was too white-bread for a boyband. Deacon is my middle name, so it's not like he just made something up, but it was only ever a stage name for me. A gimmick. And it always felt that way. Like I was stepping into a role whenever it was time to perform or handle the press.

I didn't truly mind it. I loved making music, and I loved the other guys. It pushed me out of my comfort zone a lot, but logically, I understood that the fans, the attention, were all part of it.

I wouldn't say I thrived under the spotlight, but in retrospect, I wonder if that had more to do with the way our band was managed and less to do with the industry as a whole.

The record label said a lot to make our families feel like we were in good hands. All of us were under eighteen when we signed, so our parents were signing too. And on the surface, everything looked great.

No one was local to Nashville, but we needed to be together, so the label moved us into a house fifteen minutes from their office location with host parents who were supposed to look after us, feed us family-style dinners, and make sure we were doing our homework. We were all enrolled in a distance learning program through a private high school based in Nashville, and tutors dropped by the house a few times a week, but we never attended an actual class. We didn't go to prom or homecoming or football games. We just worked. Sang. Practiced choreography until our feet were bleeding.

Then our first album dropped, and we started our first national tour, and the rest is history. We basically lived on the road for the next three years, expanding the tour to Europe, then Asia, then doing a second leg back in the US before going back to Europe again.

It was a lot of pressure. A lot of work. And a lot of adults who didn't really seem to remember we were just kids. Jace's mom was sometimes on tour with us, and she was the closest thing we had to an actual advocate. But our agent, our tour managers, they all had one goal. And it wasn't to preserve our mental health or give us the breaks we needed.

A notification pops up that Kevin has left a voicemail, then a text immediately follows.

Kevin

Come on, man. Just answer the call. If you want me to leave you alone, pick up and give me a firm no.

Seconds later, the phone rings again.

I sigh and swallow my last bite of rigatoni, then answer the call. "Hi, Kevin."

"Deke freaking Driscoll," he says into the phone. "You are one difficult man to catch."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You sound different, man," Kevin says, his words lifting and rolling just like they always did. In person, Kevin looked the part of a professional agent, but his voice always sounded more like he just walked out of the Pacific carrying a surfboard than a boardroom. Apparently, that hasn't changed.

"You sound exactly the same," I say. There's an edge to my words that I wish I could take back, but my response to Kevin almost feels involuntary. The last few months before I walked out on Midnight Rush were hell, and he was the one who was pushing me the most. He was the one coaxing me to stay just a little bit longer.

"Thanks for finally answering my call," he says. "Where are you these days?"

"Living in North Carolina."

"Under a rock?" Kevin asks. "Did you know the internet is placing bets on whether you died?"

"Not dead," I say. "But honestly, I'm happy to let people think Deke is."

"Don't say that, man. I know it's been a while, but this concert?—"

"You said you needed a firm no," I say, cutting him off. "And now you have it. I'm not interested." I push back from the table and stand, carrying my plate to the sink.

"Look, if this is about how you left things, I've talked to the guys. They aren't mad. They want you to be there. In fact, they don't want to do it without you."

They aren't mad.

Those words make my stomach clench, because how could they not be?

Every couple of months, I spend a few minutes googling the other guys from the band. Tracking where they are, what they're up to. Last I checked, Leo was living in Nashville, running his own recording studio and making a name for himself as a producer. Jace is out in California with his supermodel wife and the kid they had a year or so ago, smiling in the background of all the lifestyle photos she puts on Instagram. He released a solo album a few years ago, but it didn't get a ton of traction outside of the Midnight Rush superfans, and now he seems to be focused on doing the family thing.

Then there's Freddie. He's got a career bigger than anything Midnight Rush ever was. Every song he drops goes straight to the top of the charts. He's been in the top ten of Spotify's global most-listened-to artists for three years running, and he took home three Grammys last year. I'm honestly surprised he's even willing to do a reunion show. A lot might consider it a step down after all he's achieved.

Either way, he has to still be pissed over how I left things. They all have to be.

Because I didn't just turn my back on the band. I turned my back on my friends.

Kevin has to have an agenda here. He proved over and over again that he'll say what he needs to say to get what he wants, no matter whom he hurts in the process, so I have no reason to believe him now.

"You say that, Kevin, but I don't trust you."

"Ouch. Why not, man?"

"You know my answer to that question," I say. This time, I don't care that my words are sharp.

"Nah. That's water under the bridge. What happened a long time ago—let's leave that out of this. Your friends want you there. That's all that matters."

"Then why aren't they calling me instead of you?"

"They're just busy. I promise you," Kevin says. "You can trust me on this. Did I mention the proceeds of the concert will go to charity?"

I turn on the water to rinse my plate. "Charity? "

"The Breast Cancer Foundation. That's what your mom had, isn't it?"

I drop the plate, and it lands on a glass, which immediately shatters from the impact. I swear under my breath and put down my phone, turning on the speaker. "Kevin, what is this really about? Why that charity? Why a concert now, after all this time?"

He's quiet for a beat before he says, "The charity was Freddie's idea, but New Groove loved it. Great PR."

PR. It's one of Kevin's favorite phrases. Great PR. Bad PR. It's how he framed everything. I'd be fine if I never heard the words again.

"The label wants to give all the proceeds to charity? I can't imagine Dixon ever agreeing to something so generous."

"Dixon retired," Kevin says. "But you're right. He would have said no if he were still around. But Meryl Hendrix is in charge now, and she thinks it's brilliant."

I have vague memories of Meryl Hendrix. She was always around when Midnight Rush met with New Groove executives, but I don't remember her having much to say.

"Now that New Groove has lost Freddie, they're anxious to get their hands on what he's doing. Their only way to do that is through Midnight Rush."

The contract the four of us signed with New Groove Records is what the industry calls a three-sixty, which, in simple terms, just means they get a cut of everything. Sales, streaming, tours, merch. Any revenue the band generates. For that reason, it makes sense they'd be excited about a reunion show, generally. And if Freddie were still on their roster, I might understand them donating revenue to charity as an investment in his career. But without that incentive, it's hard for me to believe.

"When did Freddie leave New Groove?"

"Last fall. Finished out his contract and cut ties."

"Then why would New Groove be willing to bankroll a concert that won't make them any money?" I say. "That makes no sense."

"The PR, man. Don't worry about the details. The details always work out."

The details always work out . Another one of Kevin's catchphrases. And it usually means he's hiding something.

"Deke, man, listen?—"

"Adam," I correct.

"Right. Adam. I don't know if you've watched much entertainment news lately, but Freddie has been all over it. He could use a little positive PR right now."

"What happened?" I ask, feeling simultaneously worried for Freddie and relieved that whatever is going on, it doesn't have anything to do with me.

"He didn't do anything wrong," Kevin says. "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the media turned it into something it wasn't. But his sales have taken a hit, and his new label isn't liking the current landscape. We're thinking a reunion concert would be good for his image. A way to remind people of his wholesome roots."

Street noise filters through the phone, a car horn honking, the beep of a truck backing up, a hurried shout. It's so starkly different from the sounds of Lawson Cove, and it sends a wave of uneasiness washing over me.

"Not to mention the media storm it would create," he continues. "Fans would lose it. It's all people would talk about, and then all this other stuff would get lost in the excitement."

A few years ago, Sarah asked me if I'd ever consider a reunion show, and I told her I didn't think there would be any interest now that we're all so old. She spent the next thirty minutes showing me websites for all the other boybands still actively touring. The Backstreet Boys even do an annual beach vacation thing that includes a concert and VIP meetings with the band. It sells out every year, apparently, so what do I know?

"Your fans all grew up, dummy," Sarah said. "And now they have jobs and money and cars to drive themselves to a show. Even without Freddie's enormously successful career, which definitely doesn't hurt things, you guys could still sell out a whole tour. I guarantee it."

For a split second, I forget how much Kevin irritates me and let myself think about singing with the guys again. We had a lot of fun on stage, but for me, it was more about the music. That's the part I really miss, and I'd almost say yes just for that—for the chance to make music like I used to.

But I can't just remember the good parts of the past and forget everything else.

I can't undo how or why things ended.

I close my eyes, suddenly wishing I'd never decided to pick up the phone. "I'm sure it will eventually die down anyway," I say. "Freddie will be fine. A little bit of bad press isn't going to hurt him."

"Deke, come on," Kevin says.

"Adam," I correct again. Something makes me think he's getting it wrong on purpose.

"Please just think about it. I know it would mean a lot to Freddie. "

I turn off the faucet and pinch the bridge of my nose, leaving tiny droplets of water on my forehead.

"Just picture it," Kevin says. "New Year's Eve. Packed house in the Ben King Arena in Nashville. Midnight Rush on stage for the first time in eight years."

A New Year's Eve concert is sooner than I would have guessed, but it's a detail that doesn't matter because I can't say yes. Even if a small part of me wants to.

"I can't do it, Kevin."

"Why?" he says, his voice sharper than it was before. "After everything, man, you won't do this one thing for your friends? For Freddie?"

Unease swirls in my gut. I don't like the direction Kevin is going. He has all the fodder he needs to guilt me into this.

I was the one who walked away.

I was the one who ended the band.

I was the one who dealt with my grief, with my anger over losing my mom, by shutting everyone out.

I can't let Kevin go there, because I won't be able to say no, and I really, really need to say no.

I glance around my kitchen as if the solution to my problem is hidden inside my cabinets or behind the paper towel holder. He said a firm no was all he needed, but I should have known better than to believe him.

I opened the door when I answered the call, and he isn't going to let this go.

"I'm just…busy," I say, grappling for something, anything I can tell him to make this all go away. My eyes land on the business card Laney gave me when she said goodbye this afternoon, and an idea pops into my head. "With my fiancée," I blurt. "She's going through…a thing."

"Fiancée? You're getting married? "

"Yep," I say, even as alarm bells sound in my brain. What am I doing? Why am I lying about this?

"Wow. Congrats, man. Is she all right? What's she going through?" It shouldn't surprise me that Kevin asks. It's his business to know the business of his clients, so prying for personal details is second nature to him. But I'm not his client anymore.

Also, I don't actually know any details, so I really wish he'd lay off.

"Yeah, she's good," I manage to say. "It's just…a family thing. With her dad. I can't really talk about it right now. But it's taking up a lot of time and I need to be here to support her."

I drop my forehead into my hands, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I'm sorry to hear that. What's her name?"

My eyes pop open. Really? He needs me to name her?

"It's Laney," I say, a little too loudly. "Her name is Laney."

"Hmm," Kevin says. "Is she a fan of Midnight Rush? I bet she'd love to see you perform."

I almost roll my eyes at the irony. If what she'd name Taylor's puppies is any indication, Laney probably would love a reunion show.

"It's not going to happen, Kevin. Look, I should really go. But thanks for calling, all right? Tell the guys I won't be offended if they do the concert without me. They should do it without me."

I sit in my living room for a long time, phone in hand, even though the screen has long gone black. I feel for Freddie. I do. But I can't go back to that life.

Since moving to Lawson Cove, I've finally felt like I've well and truly put the past behind me. When we left Tennessee, we left anyone who still knew who I was. We left all the places that reminded me of Mom. We left her gravestone, her childhood home. Our childhood home.

Lawson Cove was my new start.

I can't muddy it up now by reconnecting with my past.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look down to see a waiting text from Laney.

My not fiancée.

It's the perfect distraction.

This is what I want. Why I came to Lawson Cove.

New start. New life. New relationships as Adam Driscoll. And no one else.