Ripple Effect

by J. Bengtsson

  As the final song began, the guys and I took our positions, standing side by side at center stage, belting out the words to our most popular song to date, Wait For You. Unlike other boy bands, we weren’t dancers, even though the producers had diligently tried to make that happen. At the beginning of our rise to fame, our dance routines had been so painful to witness that in one scathing review, we’d been compared to a family of three-legged giraffes suffering from ear infections. After that, we were allowed to do our own thing, and it turned out we had just enough spasmodic moves to entertain the fans just fine, thank you very much.

  Fireworks exploded overhead as we finished our final encore. Smiles plastered on our faces, we waved to the crowd as the stage descended, shielding us from view. A half a dozen tech guys swarmed around us. We stood silently under the stage while they removed our earplugs and mics, having learned the hard way that anything we said after the show would be broadcast live into a stadium filled with innocent ears. You only had to drop one f-bomb into a crowd of preteens to learn your lesson.

  Now free from all devices, it was like surfacing from a deep-sea dive. We could hear and breathe normally again. In an hour’s time, we’d be ushered out of the arena under heavy security to the chorus of all those little screamers damaging their vocal chords just to let us know how much they loved and appreciated us. There would be pushing and cameras flashing and middle-aged men fighting to keep the makeshift fences from toppling over in the crush of overeager fans determined to adore us to frickin’ death.

  But that was in an hour. Until then we were free to be the twenty-something guys we were instead of the larger-than-life perpetual teenagers our fans envisioned us to be. And with the veil of perfection lifted, we transformed into a group of frat boys trying to one up each other. In the short trek from the stage to our dressing room, I’d been shoved, punched, and grabbed in the ass. After five and a half years together, there was nothing off limits anymore.

  “Can we all just take a moment to recognize our friend Dane here? I mean bravo, dude. It takes a special kind of stupid to trip over your own shoelace in front of a crowd of twenty-five thousand people.” Shawn clapped for our fallen brother before acting out a step-by-step replay of the entire event by pretending to trip and fake-slam his face into the floor. The slow-motion reenactment had us all in stitches.

  “It came untied,” Dane grumbled, fixing us with his droopy, condemning stare. He had what was commonly referred to as bedroom eyes. You know, the kind that made a person look perpetually stoned? Even when Dane wasn’t high, like right now, he still had that ‘Dude, where’s my car?’ expression on his face. And it certainly hadn’t helped his cause when the guy had a spiritual awakening last year and shaved his head. Suddenly those eyes of his took center stage and, truth be told, he creeped the rest of us out in a Steve Buscemi kind of way. “And just so you know, while you dickheads were laughing your asses off, I had blood hemorrhaging from of my nose. I think it might even be broken. So, fuck you all.”

  That only brought a fresh round of laughs. Certainly not the sympathy he desired but what did he expect? We’d all taken our tumbles on stage at one time or another. Dane’s clumsy ass wasn’t special by any means.

  “You’re having your face fixed with plastic surgery, you say?” RJ flashed a satisfied smirk as he patted Dane’s shoulder. “I think that’s probably best.”

  “Fuck you, dude. Your ass must be jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth.”

  RJ made a show of speaking in a low tone as he addressed me personally. “He’s just upset because I matched with his mom on Tinder.”

  Retaliation was swift with Dane jumping over a chair to get at RJ.

  Completely ignoring the combat zone behind him, Shawn formed his hands into prayer and pleaded, “Please. Please let someone have Dane’s face plant on video. We could switch it to slo-mo and add a little music montage. No offense, Bodhi, but I’m getting tired of all your Barbie doll sex tapes.”

  Oh god, don’t remind me. Shawn was referring to the special edition AnyDayNow collector set of dolls that some bigwig toy executive thought would be a moneymaker and preceded to sell the idea to our manager, also known as my father. Because we were just the hired help and had no real say in the business decisions, shit like those dolls flooded the market. Our images also adorned pillows, posters, key chains, and even toilet paper, where haters got to use our faces to wipe their shitty assholes. Sure, we got a cut of the profits, but was it really worth the loss of our dignity?

  “Oh trust me, no offense taken,” I said, and meant it. If I never saw another Barbie doll of any kind for the rest of my life, I’d be a happy man. “I’m more than willing to hand over the YouTube crown to Dane here.”

  He waved me off as if the words were beyond ridiculous. “Dude, it’s gonna take a lot more than me flopping face-first on stage to unseat your dolly’s gangbang sessions with Ken and GI Joe.”

  When the faux Barbie dolls hit the store shelves, we tried to justify their existence by calling them action figures. “My action figure this” or “His action figure that.” It was our way of feeling better about the plastic, dickless versions of ourselves. And while everyone else’s doll was fairly well done, mine looked like a young Steven Tyler—had he been a boobless twelve-year-old girl. Okay sure, yes, I had the surfer boy fringed, shoulder-length dark brown hair… big, damn deal. A lot of guys had long hair without looking like chicks.

  Anyway, as you might imagine, my doll was a hit. For entirely the wrong reasons. It took all of two days for videos to spring up on YouTube, starring my doll in bikinis, evening gowns, and high heel shoes.

  The other guys harassed me relentlessly and what could I say? Had the stiletto been on the other foot, I never would have let them live it down. Still, it sucked that I couldn’t get behind my dolly the way the other guys had. In fact, every one of them had been thrilled with their likeness.

  RJ scored with an Enrique Iglesias look-a-like doll.

  Dane was more than stoked to discover his resembled the Dali Lama.

  Shawn, or ‘Blackout Shawn’ as we knew him, couldn’t have been happier with his doppelganger. And why wouldn’t he be? For the first time in his life he had abs. His love of beer had resulted in a pregnancy pouch that was none too funny to our handlers, who expected nothing short of physical perfection from the five of us. But due to Shawn’s hilarious escapades with alcohol, he didn’t have the stamina in the gym that the rest of us had. Not to mention, he surely had brain damage after the many times he’d passed out in the last four years. So excuse me if I was a tad bit irritated that the guy who spent half his life draped over a toilet got a cooler doll than me.

  And finally, there was Hunter. ‘The Sweet One’ as fans knew him. Oh Hunter. I mean if anyone deserved a pretty doll in our group, it was that guy. The dude spent more time in front of a mirror than anyone I knew. His hair alone took an hour to style, and don’t even get me started on his skin care regimen. Had I known charcoal masks were such a thing, I would have scooped the black residue out of the barbeque for him long ago.

  Yet, instead of giving Hunter the high-maintenance doll he deserved, the toy makers inexplicably made him look like the ultimate player, complete with bulging muscles and a sexy come-hither expression.

  Let me be very clear here when I say, Hunter was no ladies’ man. He wasn’t even a dude’s man. In fact, the oldest member of our band was as celibate as they came. Hunter was saving himself for marriage and wanted that same lofty commitment from his bandmates. You can imagine the brick wall he came up against when he explained the benefits of abstinence before marriage to the rest of us horndogs.

  But a couple of years ago, after much debate, the four of us decided to open our minds to a new way of thinking… or at least humor Hunter with a stretch of celibacy. How hard could it be, right? Unfortunately, with our busses rolling through Sweden the first week of that crucial month, it was clear we’d chosen the wrong country to begin Hunter’s ex
periment.

  “I keep telling you to report copyright infringements on YouTube,” Hunter lectured.

  I groaned because it’s not like I hadn’t heard that exact same advice from his mouth numerous times before.

  “It’s a doll, Hunter.” I replied matter of factly. “It doesn’t have any legal rights. Besides, don’t you think if I could prevent my Barbie from getting porked in front of a live audience, I would?”

  Everyone laughed except Hunter who still seemed overly invested in the purity of my plastic clone.

  “Um… excuse me… Mr. Beckett?”

  I turned in search of my father before realizing that the security guard, standing in the doorway, was actually speaking to me. I didn’t recognize him and, from the look of his nervous shifting, he’d never seen me in person either.

  “Yeah?”

  “Um… sorry to bother you, but your mom is outside. She wants to see you.”

  My jaw dropped open in surprise. My mom? Well this certainly was news worthy of interruption. Glancing to the guys, I found them sporting the same disbelieving gape.

  My response required maximum clarity. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

  “Carter.”

  “Well, Carter.” I was just being a dick, exaggerating his moniker for effect. But Carter deserved it after the bomb he’d dropped. “That’s just flippin’ awesome news. I can’t wait to see her again.”

  His face brightened. Apparently he thought he’d done good coming in here to bother me with his bogus news.

  The series of words that shot from my mouth hit their intended target. “Especially since my mother has been dead for the past twenty-four years.”

  Poor Carter. The hopeful expression on his face was no more. Now he resembled a man who’d just been clocked in the nuts with a twenty-pound weight. “I…I, oh god.”

  “Exactly,” I said, turning my back to him and wiping my hands of the conversation.

  Much to my surprise, Carter wasn’t giving up easily. “It’s just she… she asked me to give you this.”

  I craned my neck in his direction only to find him boldly stepping forward with an envelope in one hand and what appeared to be a photograph in the other.

  “Dude.” Dane cut in front of Carter, blocking him from reaching me. “Not cool. Shit like this happens all the time… fans trying to talk their way in. You’ve been had. Next time you get something like this bring it to the head of security. Don’t bother Bodhi with it. Now go. And don’t bring fan stuff back here again, got it?”

  Carter backed off immediately. “I … I’m sorry. She showed me this photograph of her holding a baby and Bodhi’s father was in the picture, so I guess I just assumed she was telling the truth. I’m really sorry.”

  What the fuck? My father? Now, I was more than just a little curious about the photograph he was holding.

  “Hey,” I called out to his retreating frame. “Give it to me.”

  Carter turned around, appearing horrified by his misstep. He knew well that I could get him fired but what was the point? I was certain the security guard had learned a valuable lesson and would never again get within fifty feet of me. After placing both the photograph and the letter in my hand, he hurried out the door as if he feared the knob would knock him in the ass on the way out.

  “What was that all about?” RJ asked, leaning over my shoulder to get a look at the photograph in my hand. I shrugged him off, finding a vacant corner for this little blast from the past. After all, it’s not every day a guy gets a letter from his dead mother.

  The background noise faded the minute I laid eyes on the photograph. My brain struggled to make sense of what it was seeing. The woman in the picture looked identical to the woman in the photograph I kept of the mother who’d died giving birth to me. Yet here she was staring vacantly into the camera, holding a baby who looked suspiciously like me. It was as if she’d somehow checked out of the entire scene.

  My father, a good five to ten years older than the woman, stood off to the side, his arms folded in front of him, a scowl hardening his disgruntled expression. It was clear by their body language that these two people didn’t much like each other. None of it made any sense.

  With shaky fingers, I pulled the letter out of the envelope and read the first two lines before slumping against the wall in shock. Bodhi, I know what your father told you about me, but it was all a lie. My name is Marni Easton and I’m your mother.”

  One Click Like The Wind now!

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  Ten years have passed since Jake survived a stranger abduction.

  He now finds himself on top of the world, a singer famous for the music that helped him heal. He thinks he’s put his past behind him. He thinks he’s okay. It isn’t until he meets sweet, quirky Casey at his brother’s wedding that he realizes all he’s been missing out on.

  Casey Caldwell has never had grand plans for her life. She’s perfectly happy with the idea of meeting some nice nerdy guy after college and settling down near her family. But once she meets Jake, she can’t remember why she ever wanted a simple life.

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  Each book in the Cake Series delves deeper into how that one terrible crime continues to impact everyone in Jake’s life and how their quest for love will set them free.

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  Start the beloved Cake Series at book one. Casey and Jake. Cake A Love Story.

  Join my newsletter jbengtssonbooks.com/newsletter and Facebook reader group, J. Bengtsson’s The Banana Binder, for future release updates.

  The Cake Series Books

  Cake A Love Story is the story of a musician who survives a high profile crime as a child and has since become a closed off man. A bubbly waitress he meets at a wedding changes his life forever. Without focusing on the crime itself, Cake explores what it takes to move on, not just for the victim but also for those who love him. With no manual to guide the way, the McKallister family uses humor and love to heal.

  In book two, The Theory of Second Best, you will learn what happened the day Jake disappeared and why Kyle harbors such feelings of guilt. You will also get a fun, lively friends-to-lovers story set on an island with a cast of lovable characters.

  In book three, Fiercely Emma, you will go back in time to learn what happened to the family during the month Jake went missing. Follow along with the McKallisters as they struggle to help teenage Jake heal from the crime that nearly ended his life. You will also get a present day opposites-attract love story set at a music festival. Emma just might be the most misunderstood McKallister. This book is her redemption.

  In book four, Cake: The Newlyweds, Jake and Casey are back with new adventures and fresh struggles. As always, their story will be told with love, laughter, and a touch of heartache.

  And, in book five, Rogue Wave, travel all the way back to a time never before explored in the McKallister saga and see what life was like before tragedy took the members of this family out at the knees. You will also get an entertaining opposites attract, second chance love story that spans over a decade.

  NEW! Book Six is here! Next in Line The youngest McKallister boy, Quinn, is all grown up and coming for Jake’s musical throne. Go on a journey with Quinn as he discovers that the past might be the key to his future.

  Want more Cake?

  Hunker Down, a Cake Series novella. For fans of the Cake series by J. Bengtsson comes a funny, heartwarming companion novella featuring the Cake characters in lockdown. Just like the rest of the world, the McKallisters find themselves strugg
ling to conform to a new way of life after the virus confines them to their homes. These connected short stories give fans a chance to catch up on all of their favorite Cake characters as well as enjoy a bonus epilogue and interviews with the characters.

  Up Next in the Cake Series? Grace Note (Coming 2022)

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  About the Author

  J. (Jill) Bengtsson writes contemporary novels focused on love, humor, passion, and family. Her heroines are strong, nurturing, and quirky while her heroes are what dreams are made of - gorgeous, committed, and in need of a little saving. With her novels, you will rediscover the rush and joy of falling in love.

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  Also by J. Bengtsson

  Cake A Love Story

  The Theory Of Second Best

  Fiercely Emma

  Cake: The Newlyweds

  Rogue Wave

  Hunker Down

  Like The Wind

  Next In Line

  Ripple Effect