Page 48 of Once Upon a Boyband
“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 upand 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.
