My 90s Boy Band Boyfriend: A YA Time Travel Rockstar Romance (Teen Queens Book 2)

by Jennifer Griffith

  “Let’s figure out your song.” Hudson sounded excited for her. “What’s your vocal range? I know you’re an alto.”

  He’d noticed. Cool. She swooned a little at that—though maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through every vein at the thought of being on the show.

  For the rest of the trip back they discussed all the possible songs she could sing. Of course, Hudson only knew the oldies, but that was fine. Those were the songs Oakley was most familiar with anyway, thanks to Mom’s nineties obsession. When they came out of the Gorge, Oakley started to message TNRS to ask permission to do her song as a duet, but then she chickened out. Chances were, she was already on the fringes of favor with them, so she’d better not do anything iffy.

  Besides, it might be easier to get forgiveness than permission. Seriously, if it were on TV, the live show, what were they going to do, go to commercial break if Hudson wandered onstage and started playing backup guitar for her? Man back from the dead after twenty-three years makes his appearance on live TV as a comeback and as a gift to the music world? No TV producer would reject that. It was ratings gold.

  Even if the current viewers didn’t recognize him instantly, with the way Hudson looked or played the guitar, the cameras and audience would eat him up. The fantasy played out in her mind. It would be perfect.

  That was, if they could find his family before the tryout. Otherwise, there was no way she’d do that to them, spring him on the world before springing him on them.

  If they were alive.

  They needed to find the Oaks family. And before Thursday’s live show—whether or not Hudson appeared with her.

  Thursday. That gave her four days to prepare, not the ten she’d originally expected. Her number had to be something spectacular in order to make up for how bad she’d been in her first audition. Judges might have said that they didn’t have long memories and that they only judged individual performances, but they were human.

  Well, probably. That judge guy with the narrow face and skinny tie did have a hint of the cyborg about him. If he were spray painted gold, he’d be a dead ringer for C-3PO.

  The second they pulled into the driveway, Oakley sprang to undo her seatbelt, ready to race to the piano and start plunking out chords and possibilities, but Hudson reached a hand over and stopped her from getting out of the car.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?” Leading him down the path of emotional boulders?

  “For taking me to a place I needed to see. And for … you know. Believing me. That I am who I think I am.”

  She felt her lips go into a flat line, and she swallowed hard. “Thank you, Hudson. For the same thing.”

  At this, he lifted her hand and pressed it to his mouth. “I should have waited to kiss you, not just pounced on you on the stairs at your school.” Sincerity infused every word, as did contrition. “That wasn’t cool of me.”

  “It’s okay,” she managed, moonlight streaming through the car’s windshield and lighting Hudson’s very handsome face. “You’re nothing like I would have expected, Hudson. Your mama done raised you right.”

  As soon as the old-timey phrase left her lips, she realized what she’d said, and how they must have slain Hudson, knowing how he’d lost his family and they couldn’t find them, no matter how they tried. His face fell, and Oakley’s mouth opened to try to scoop those wrong words back inside. But she couldn’t, and Hudson’s voice filled the air, low and gravelly.

  “She did. They both did. And I rejected them when they needed me. Maybe it’s another hunch, but I really can’t imagine them asking me for money.”

  “You’re saying you think Roman lied?”

  “I—I don’t know. I think I’m lacking some vital information.”

  “Well, if we can hire the private investigator to find your family, maybe we can also get him to track down this Roman guy’s home address.” If he was still even alive. “Maybe seeing him face to face, you could get some answers.”

  “Even without a PI, we could start by watching his TV show. That might help us locate him. The credits at least will tell where it’s filmed.”

  Ugh, boring, badly produced YouTube shows were not Oakley’s thing. She’d had more than enough of YouTube this past week, what with her mistakes going out to the whole mocking world. Assuming it was a YouTube show. It seemed like everything was these days.

  “Okay. But sometimes those showmakers are hard to track down, too. They aren’t always on location during filming. The stars usually are, though. If he’s on the show, that will help.” Maybe.

  Guiltily, Oakley remembered she had secretly tried to find out the address of an awesome singer guy a couple of years ago with no effect. Brinn had been gaga over him, and Oakley had to admit he wasn’t bad. In fact, the two of them could have gone the whole Stacey-Sanders-crazed-fan route, but the firewall of privacy spared Oakley that fate when she could only sleuth out a rented post office box in Iowa for the cute guy calling himself The Duke of Girls.

  Thank goodness for privacy firewalls. They’d protected not only the singer, but Oakley and Brinn from their own idiocy as well.

  It was getting late. They had some music to do before bed, with only days until show time.

  Inside, they ate some leftover fried chicken and gave Mom the report on their trip to the Gorge, including the stuff left in the pile at the vigil and, most significantly, the facts surrounding the blackout, including that Hudson didn’t feel the crash.

  At this news, Mom’s shoulders dropped, as if she’d been holding a breath or some kind of tension for a long, long time and she could finally release it.

  “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.” A little tear slid down her face. “I always knew you were alive, and I’d just wished on every star that you hadn’t been hurt in the process.”

  “I was fine.” Hudson pulled a half-smile, and Oakley knew he was thinking of Nick, Chris, and Al, who hadn’t been so fortunate.

  Mom must have read his thoughts, too. “I just wish it had been the same for your friends.”

  Oakley didn’t tell Mom about the screams Hudson had described, and neither did he. She didn’t need to know that. Hudson reached over and patted Mom’s hand on the countertop.

  “You’re a really nice lady, Mrs. Sanders. When I think of all you’ve done for me …” It was almost like he got choked up.

  “Your songs meant a lot to me, Hudson. They … got me through.”

  Into Oakley’s mind flashed a picture of Mom, just younger than Oakley—no parents, having to support herself, going to work to just keep herself from starving, and getting the job at the record label. Suddenly life got less bad for her, and yet, it must have still been horrifically lonely.

  No wonder those songs meant a lot. They were about the life Mom could have had. Should have had. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. The eyes have it. Those must have been words that Mom could hold up as an ideal, words that made her hold out until a man truly loved and respected her. A man like Sherm. Well, and maybe like Ranger Derek, at least for a while, until her prolonged phase of crazy fandom pushed him away.

  Oakley couldn’t really blame Derek for taking off after so long with Mom not looking like she’d ever change.

  And she couldn’t blame Mom, either. Hudson was worth looking for.

  Hudson left to sit at the piano, leaving Mom and Oakley together.

  “Mom, it’s still bugging me.”

  “What, honey?”

  “The whole dad thing.”

  “Sherm will be home soon.”

  “You know what I mean.” Oakley rolled her eyes. “It’s just tough. I wanted to know who Derek Marsden was all these years, and you never once gave me a clue. For all I knew, I was the result of a one-time bad decision.”

  Hearing herself say it sent a sick feeling up her throat.

  “Nothing about you is a bad decision, Oakley. You were celebrated when you arrived.”

  “By you, but not by my father.” In al
l her life, she’d never been so direct or blunt with anyone, not even Mom. “If he doesn’t know about me, how could he rejoice?”

  Mom looked sad. “There are decisions we make when we’re young that we don’t realize the implications of.”

  “Yeah, but couldn’t you look ahead and see how I’d feel as a girl, wanting to know who would walk me down the aisle when I got married someday?” Even saying it, Oakley knew her mom hadn’t experienced that, what with losing her parents as a teenager. “You know what I mean.”

  Mom heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t think you can understand how young I was, even when I was married and pregnant with you. The thing about you, Oakley, is you weren’t born young. You were born with a spiritual maturity that helps you look forward, and to understand how one choice affects the future.”

  While it was nice to hear something like that, Oakley didn’t know if that was entirely true.

  “Look at how well you’ve been saving for college. You choose to work, even as a sophomore. That’s future-mindedness. It’s just one indication of your patience.”

  “What does this have to do with your never telling me the name or occupation of my dad? I mean, he’s a forest ranger. How harmless is that? How bad would that have been for me to know?”

  “It has to do with this—that there’s a downside to your old soul.”

  “What’s that?” Oakley didn’t really intone it as a question.

  “That you can’t sympathize with pure, unmitigated immaturity.” Mom’s voice hiccuped. “I’m—I’m sorry. I made a mistake not telling you. I guess I thought I was shielding you. I was wrong.” Tears welled in Mom’s eyes. Oakley felt a little bad for pinning Mom down, for not letting go until she had an answer.

  While she hadn’t really gotten an answer, exactly, not one that expounded on what Mom had said earlier about why she was ashamed for her loss of a good man, she did at least get a sincere apology.

  Maybe that was what she’d wanted all along. Well, that and a relationship with her father.

  Mom went to get ready for bed, and Oakley went straight to the piano. Hudson was already sitting there, fingering the strings on Sherm’s guitar, the one with the dragon painted around the sound hole.

  “Your mom dug it out and loaned it to me when I asked.”

  Of course she had. Sigh. She answered other people’s requests immediately.

  Don’t be impatient, a voice said. Asking for a guitar or use of a car isn’t the same as asking for access to a person’s deepest, darkest, saddest past. Because that’s probably what failing in a first marriage felt like to Mom.

  “What are you playing? We can’t play too late, since Mom’s a morning person, not a loud-music-in-the-house-at-night person.”

  “Just a few chords. Do you like them?”

  “Yeah. But, hey. I still don’t know what song to sing.” Oakley was scrolling through her phone. “For the TV show.” As if he didn’t know what she was referring to.

  “Where’s all your sheet music? In the piano bench?”

  “It’s in here.” She pointed at her phone. “I’ve got lists, too.”

  He started scrolling through the lists. To do so, he leaned in closer. He still smelled like Irish Spring and healthy teenage boy at this proximity. Oakley had to think about other things to keep herself from noticing.

  “This is a gold mine of sheet music! I’m liking the twenty-first century. Have I told you that?” He looked over at her, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “For a lot of reasons.”

  Electricity crackled through Oakley, so she looked away.

  Don’t wish he’d kiss you. Don’t.

  Hudson was a pop star, and he would go back to his life. Even if he couldn’t return to his former life by way of time travel, he was the type of person that couldn’t expect to go unnoticed, in any decade. It was only a matter of time before his talent and charisma swept him back into the spotlight.

  Oakley was nothing but a viral video flash in the pan. And not in a good way. He’d move on and forget about her.

  She had to protect herself.

  “What about this song?” She pulled up some sheet music on her phone, breaking the spell.

  Together at the piano, Oakley and Hudson sang covers of other people’s songs for a while. They chose stuff Hudson and she both knew from back in the day, and Oakley couldn’t believe how well their voices blended. She’d never really had anyone to try a duet with before.

  “You have a killer voice, Oaks.”

  She eyed him askance. “You weren’t supposed to know about that whole being-named-after-you thing.”

  “It’s too hilarious to let it go un-teased.”

  “Ha, ha.” But her mind was still stuck back on his compliment. He thought she could sing? “You really think I can pull this off?”

  “With the right song, they’re not going to be able to resist you. Your voice is unique. It has a rasp, but it also flies. It makes my soul soar when I hear it.”

  Oh, Mylanta. Oakley’s heart did a stratospheric soar of its own. Had he really just said his soul soared when she sang? No one had ever, ever said anything to her that meant more than that. However, it soon crash landed on terra firma.

  “You just hit a key point—with the right song.” She clunked in reality. “I haven’t found one yet.” Nothing even close.

  “What about going back to something you’ve written?” he asked, getting up to walk around and pick up the guitar. He strummed a few chords. “You have some great lyrics.”

  Oakley jolted. “My lyrics?” She’d only barely dropped a hint, during her moment of duress, that she did lyrics. Had he seen her book? She got up from the piano bench and started looking for it atop the piano, on the shelf beneath the coffee table. She might have been frantic.

  Where was it?

  “Don’t look so alarmed.” Hudson laughed. He pulled her down onto the couch beside him. His feet were on the coffee table, the guitar in his arms. “I get it. I’ve known a lot of artists who are sensitive about their work.”

  “I’m not sensitive,” she squeaked out, like the timid mouse she was. She reached into the cushions behind her. There! She felt the familiar pages buried beneath the sofa pillows. It was safe. Probably no one had seen it. “I’m just cautious.”

  “Ignore your doubts.” Hudson strummed a few chords. “I mean, you rewrote my song for that audition.”

  Heat flushed up her neck and across her cheeks to her scalp. “Sorry about that.”

  “Sorry! What’s to be sorry about? Those lyrics were great.” He strummed quickly, like a Spanish guitarist, and then plucked a complex system of notes that made her want to dance a tarantella. “Plus, you admitted you have big aspirations as a lyricist. Remember? In the car. Yeah, I was listening.”

  The blushing did not relent—but now it was because she felt a glow of gratitude for him. He had listened to her, even when she had only accidentally dropped a hint about her hobby.

  “I’ll bet you have a whole notebook somewhere of lyrics.”

  Her mouth went dry. “You’ve been snooping.”

  Hudson shook his head quickly. “Not guilty. I swear it. I’ve just known too many lyricists, and they all have a notebook of scrawled song ideas. You’re part of a vast band of poets, whose secret scribblings might someday change the world.”

  Change the world? Like Hudson’s first two hits had changed Mom’s world? The thought floated Oakley’s soul.

  His arm reached around her shoulders, tentatively. She stiffened, not sure whether to bolt or whether to relax into the moment.

  “Fine. You pegged me. But even if I do have lyrics, I don’t have anything with a melody.” At least nothing with a melody she was willing to foist on the world. “Besides, from what I understand, for the show they want you to do a cover so the audience will be familiar with the song. That’s the point, selling more records of current artists. That’s why the artists allow the covers, and it’s a cycle of commerce.”

  Hudson leaned in,
his deep brown eyes wrinkling at the edges, and just the hint of a quiver of his upper lip. “Cycle of commerce, huh?”

  Being close to him—even if she shouldn’t be, and maybe especially since she shouldn’t be—sent a thrill of danger and excitement through her. “Hudson,” she breathed. “We shouldn’t …”

  Her breathy voice said the opposite, though, revealing her intense need to let her lips brush against his.

  “You’re right. We shouldn’t …” He lifted his chin and placed a kiss on her temple. It melted there, sinking into her skin and warming her all the way to her toes. “Because of the age difference. Gotcha.”

  “You don’t seem too old for me,” she said.

  “And maybe you’re an old soul, Oakley.” He pressed another kiss, this time to a spot just above her eyebrow, and it radiated all through her. “Old enough to be with me, for sure.”

  Yeah. Precisely the right age for that. Except that she couldn’t. Luckily, Hudson stopped tempting her in that way, and instead tempted her in another way. He took his arm from around her and strummed a few chords, humming some great tune, his voice filtering through every pocket of Oakley’s soul. “Oakley, Oakley,” he sang, “the girl who is named after me.”

  “Hey.” She pushed against his ribcage with her shoulder. “Hey, you weren’t supposed to find out about that.”

  “Oakley, Oakley,” he sang instead, “the girl who completes me.”

  Her jaw dropped onto her chest, while her mind hollered, I like him. I like him so much. For a second, she thought about telling him. But then reason and self-control reasserted themselves.

  “Good night, Hudson.” She didn’t get up yet. The echoes of his song held her captive. She wished she could hear him say those words again. Not that she believed them, but that they were nice to hear anyway.

  “Good night, Oakley. Oakley who ignites me.” He sang this with a deep, resonance on her name, granting her wish and ruining her willpower simultaneously.

  “Good night, kids.” Just then, Mom came out in her bathrobe. Mom supervised the trip up the stairs. “I’m going back to sleep. You should sleep, too.”

  Ha. As if. Oakley climbed under the covers, but worrying about what to sing wouldn’t be the only thing keeping her blood moving too fast for sleep.