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

by Jennifer Griffith

  Hudson knocked again. Oakley watched as his chin set. He put his hand on the doorknob and went inside.

  “Giselle, you little pest. Get back here.”

  Oakley recoiled. She stayed on the front porch. Was it breaking and entering to just go inside? “Hudson! You can’t just go in.”

  She followed him, horrified. It smelled like cookies and a vanilla candle in here. And pine, there was a distinct pine scent.

  “I can if it’s my family. I can if they even care enough to believe I am who I am when I say I am who I am. Giselle! Giselle!” He stalked across the wood floor, each footstep sounding like thunder. Oakley gripped the front door frame. “Giselle the Gazelle, Giselle My Belle, Giselle Kiss and Tell. Get back here. I am talking to you.”

  A face peeked out over some saloon-type doors, probably separating the living area from the kitchen. That peering-over-doors face contained a mix of horror and anger on her late-thirties face. Then the anger took full charge of her emotions.

  “How dare you!” She pushed her way through the little doors, letting them slap the walls and then swing a dozen times behind her. Oakley had thought Sherm and Mom’s mega-house was the only one with saloon doors, but here they were again, slapping with this woman’s emotion.

  Giselle the Gazelle charged past the curio cabinet and came and poked Hudson in the chest. “How dare you research my brother and use the pet names he called me? How dare you interrupt my family’s life? I don’t know how you found us, but my parents have had nothing but harassment from punks like you ever since …” She took a deep breath, winding up again. “Do you know they even had to change their names just to get away from jerks like whoever hired you? I don’t know who told you to come here, but you’d better—”

  “I’d better what, Giselle Annabelle?” Hudson had tugged his shirt collar to the side and was pointing to something on his collar bone. “I’d better show you the scar you gave me when you threw your porcelain doll at me when you were five and I was seven? What was its name? Indie-Anna? Indiana 500’s head broke into five hundred pieces, and it cut me here. I had to get twelve stitches.”

  Giselle took a step back. Her finger-poking hand dropped to her side.

  “How would you know that?” Her eyes narrowed. “That was never written down anywhere. You broke into his medical records, didn’t you?” Anger flared in her again, but Hudson held up a hand to shush her.

  “I’d better what, Giselle Seashell?” He put his hands on his hips. “Tell you where we buried Indiana 500? Under that dog house when we lived on Piney Woods Way in Seattle?”

  The woman’s countenance went from angry to severely skeptical. It was a giant leap in the right direction, as far as Hudson’s future was concerned. Oakley held her breath.

  “If you’re really Hudson, what was the dog’s name?” Her voice was guarded.

  Oakley hoped against all hope that Hudson remembered the dog’s name. Forgetting it wouldn’t do—at all.

  “We never even had a dog.” He shoved his hands onto his hips. “Dad made the dog house for wood carving practice. He told us we could pretend to be dogs. I went out there and played the guitar, and you bayed like a wolf.”

  Giselle lifted a hand to her chest. “How do you know that?” Her voice was stricken. “I never told anyone about that.”

  “Hi. I’m Hudson Oaks. Your big brother.”

  “You’re—you’re a teenager. You’re not my brother. My brother was killed.”

  Oakley cleared her throat. She finally thought it might be safe enough and stepped inside.

  “Your brother was spared,” Oakley said, thinking Hudson needed another witness to testify of his reality. “Hi, I’m Oakley Marsden. I found him wandering the streets of Wood River last week. We’ve spent days trying to track down your family.”

  For a moment that stretched long, Giselle stood with her mouth shut, her eyes flashing across Hudson’s face, over his body, and to his face again. Oakley could see the pulsations of her temples going in and out as she clenched and unclenched her jaw.

  “It’s really you?” she said at last, her voice soft, her hands clutching the lapels of her vest. “It can’t be. It’s too impossible.”

  “It can—but only because it is, Giselle Dimple Dell.”

  A tear slid down Giselle’s cheek. She exhaled, and then she called over her shoulder. “Mom? Dad? There’s something you need to see.”

  ***

  Oakley was curled up on the corner seat of the sectional sofa, her feet poking safely under one of the fluffy cushions. She gripped a mug of steaming cocoa with both hands, sipping it carefully so as not to burn her tongue. It was her third cup. Hudson’s mom made the best cocoa she’d ever tasted, with a little dash of cinnamon on top.

  “And so Giselle isn’t living here?” Hudson looked as comfortable as an old cat sitting among his family. “Not still living with mommy and daddy at thirty-eight, Giselle the Caramel?”

  “No, Hud My Bud. I’ve got a place in the city. And two kids, Hannah and, uh, Hudson.” She looked down at her feet a second and then back up at her brother. Mr. and Mrs. Oaks were alternately beaming and sniffling. A whole pile of used tissues sat on the coffee table.

  “I’m an uncle!” Hudson flopped backward on the couch, slapping his forehead. “Do you hear that, Oaks? Giselle the Wishing Well named a son after me. How’s that for proving I’m her hero big brother like always?”

  “Oaks?” his dad said, not missing the one syllable Oakley would have rather died than explain. Her face burned. “Is that your … first name?”

  “Oakley.” Hudson elbowed her in the ribs. “Right? But her mom named her for me.”

  “I—uh …”

  “So that means I have two people named for me now.” He looked so smug, but then he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Oakley’s temple, and she forgave a lot of smugness instantly. “I guess when you and I have our ten babies we’ll have to name them all Hudson Oaks, Junior, just to keep up the trend.”

  Ten babies! Oakley took a fast gulp of her hot cocoa, and it burned all the way down.

  “You’re scaring her.” His mom threw a used tissue at him, missing. “Can’t you see you shouldn’t do that? Did your mother not teach you anything about how to treat girls?”

  A rush of heat flowed all through her, and not from the cocoa.

  “Are you two, er, seeing each other?” Hudson’s dad asked.

  “Rufus!” his mom pushed against Mr. Oaks’s knee. “You can’t ask that kind of question to teenagers. They just met.”

  “But he just said they were planning on ten babies.” Rufus Oaks aimed a thumb at Hudson. “What am I supposed to do, Greta? Let it slide? Assume they aren’t already expecting a baby?”

  At this, Oakley nearly spluttered hot cocoa down her front. “Oh, no. Mr. and Mrs. Oaks. We’re not, I’m not—”

  “Geez, guys. Could you be more awkward?” Hudson got up. “I’m seventeen. Not an adult. And Oakley’s not—we’re not—”

  Mrs. Oaks held up a hand. “Say no more.” She shot Rufus Oaks a sharp look. “You’ll scare them both away. We just got him back. How did you find us, anyway?”

  At that, Hudson described everything, including the process of going to Barnard, who led him to Chris’s dad, Ignatius, who took serious convincing but led them to Whidbey Island. “The place you always wanted to live. I’m glad you were able to finally be here. Is it a dream come true?”

  Mrs. Oaks’s face clouded. “Well, it wasn’t the circumstances we would have wanted, what with having to change our names and all …”

  “I’m so sorry about that.”

  “Stop apologizing, Hudson.” Giselle threw a pillow at him. “You’re back. That’s what they care about. They missed you, you know. They looked for you.”

  “You did?” Hudson’s head whipped around, as if this fact shocked him. It seemed pretty obvious to Oakley that they’d scour the earth for him, but apparently it caught him off guard. “I thought, after, you know.” He gul
ped. “After I told you to leave me alone that you’d be glad I was gone.”

  At this, Mrs. Oaks gasped.

  “Hudson!” Oakley set down her cocoa and shoved a throw pillow at him. He deserved a second whacking with it for that. He deserved to be buried in throw pillows. “They love you. Can’t you see that?”

  “I believe your exact words were, Get lost, Mom and Dad.” Rufus smirked. The words still smarted for Hudson’s dad two decades later, it was clear. “But we figured we’d give you your space and you’d eventually see what was real.”

  Speaking of real, real pain was evident in Hudson, the way he clenched and unclenched his fist, the anguish twisting on his face. “I can never tell you I’m sorry enough. It won’t be enough until I show you.” From his pocket he pulled a long rectangular slip of paper. “I should have done this years ago, the first second you asked. I shouldn’t have rejected you when you needed me most. Instead, I did frivolous, foolish things with my funds, when I should have been using them to help the people I loved.” His voice hitched, but he continued. “It’s late, but here’s the twenty-five thousand dollars you asked for. With interest.”

  Mrs. Oaks’s hand flew to the side of her face. She and Mr. Oaks shot looks of disbelief at each other.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, confusion marring her otherwise happy face. “We never asked for twenty-five thousand dollars.” She shot a look at her husband. “Was it you, Rufus?”

  “Are you kidding? No. Never.” Rufus Oaks looked like he’d been hit with a baseball bat. “I never asked you for money, son. I have a trade. My hands are my bank account, and they haven’t ever let me down. Who do you think built this house?”

  “They said you lost your job. Like Al’s dad did.”

  “Mom and Dad don’t need your money.” Giselle rose defensively. “They never would ask you for it, either. They have enough and to spare.”

  “Is that true? Even after you lost your job?”

  “He didn’t lose his job.” Giselle’s disgust was obvious. “In fact, Mom and Dad gave your buddy Al’s family a hundred thousand dollars when they lost their business after that bad fire.”

  “But, they said—” Hudson’s voice cracked. “They said you demanded twenty-five thousand dollars from me, or you would disown me.”

  Oakley glanced between all three of the Oaks family’s faces. They looked appalled, and their combined horror could have filled the room and choked both Hudson and her.

  After a long, horrified pause, Mrs. Oaks’s voice broke in a cry, “Oh, son! We never! We would never!” She flew to him, her tears wetting the knees of his jeans.

  Mr. Oaks was less apologetic. “Who? Who told you that lie?”

  “My manager.”

  “Roman Levy?” Mr. Oaks’s voice dripped venom. “I should have known.” He mashed his palms together. “When Ignatius gets his hands on him …” Muttering followed.

  Lies were starting to surface. If Roman had lied to Hudson about his family’s request for money, and about Al’s family’s needs, too, he’d likely lied about other things. Oakley’s heart began to curdle toward this guy Hudson had idolized. He was a guy who tore apart families for no apparent reason.

  “Mom, Dad. I’m so sorry I made you suffer.” Hudson’s face crinkled up. “If I could go back and do things differently, I swear I would.”

  But he couldn’t go back.

  They discussed this time travel topic at length, explaining what Mr. Mulroney the theoretical physics teacher had explained to them. His parents consoled him, and made promises that they wouldn’t trade this moment. Of course, Oakley figured those words had to be a fib, if not an outright lie. Oakley couldn’t imagine any balm that could heal the pain of twenty years’ loss of a child.

  After a few other topics that took up the morning, like catching up on family events and changes, and a good lunch of roast beef sandwiches and those wavy potato chips, the subject came back around to Hudson’s agent again.

  “I never did like that Roman Levy guy.”

  “Really?” Hudson looked startled at his mom’s admission. “Why?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  “I promise Roman did have our best interests at heart.” He detailed all the ways Roman had protected the band from themselves and the pitfalls of fame. “I can only point to one glaring anomaly.”

  Hudson told them about the lyrics of the album, quoting some while they cringed.

  “Anyone who made you sing that is not your friend.”

  No one argued with Giselle on that point.

  “I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. I thought I was being logical, and I judged based on the information I had.” He sighed. “I should have known. I should have known you.”

  This looked like the vindication they’d been looking for. Rufus and Greta Oaks exchanged looks, profound relief on their faces. “We knew you wouldn’t have cut us off so cruelly. That’s not who you are.” His mom came and wedged herself in beside him on the couch. She put her arms around him. “We thought we’d just wait it out. We knew you’d see reason or the truth would come out soon.”

  From her chair by the piano Giselle coughed. “Yeah, they didn’t think it would be twenty-three years.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Dad. Giselle. Really. Something inside me said something wasn’t right. I had a hunch. I was planning, that very day of the crash, to try to reconnect with you.”

  “It looks like God or the Universe or the time waves gave you another chance.” His dad smiled. It beamed over all of them, and then Rufus Oaks came over and sat beside Hudson, too. Oakley slid over to make room. She motioned for Giselle to come and join in the reunion hug, and the whole room filled with the warmth of a family reunited, despite the autumn air.

  “I can’t believe it’s finally you,” his mom said through sniffles. “I’ve dreamed it a hundred dozen times. I never stopped watching the news reports of sightings of you. I never gave up. Never.”

  That was love. Never giving up was love. Oakley had seen her mom love this way, too. Come to think of it, Barnard had loved Hudson as well. It would appear that Hudson inspired great devotion in a lot of people.

  Maybe including me.

  The grandfather clock on the ornately carved mantel chimed eleven thirty. Oakley went into a panic. She had to be at the TV station, and it was a over an hour’s drive after the ferry from Whidbey Island. No one was ready for Hudson to leave yet, obviously, but Oakley really had to go.

  “Hudson,” she whispered, “it’s time. I have to leave or I’ll miss my audition. If you want to stay here, that’s fine. Your family needs you.”

  “No, no. This is your big day, as well.” He gripped her hand like it was a lifeline. “I’m coming with you. Totally.”

  “You’re not leaving!” Giselle looked shocked. “You just got here. We aren’t exactly ready to let you go just like that. We still have to discuss the fact that Ignatius Torres is going to get Roman Levy arrested.”

  “Roman!” Hudson shouted. “What are you talking about, arrested?”

  “Yeah, your agent. Mr. Ignatius is convinced the crash was a result of foul play, and that Roman Levy yahoo orchestrated the whole thing.”

  “Oakley,” Hudson said, squeezing her hand so hard her finger bones might break. “I can’t leave yet. Not until I know what they’re talking about.”

  Even though Oakley needed to be on the road, and she couldn’t stop her foot from itching to tap, she knew this discussion couldn’t be delayed. She glanced at the clock. She had to get back to the mainland, and drive into Seattle, change into her stage costume, and sign all the paperwork—after she’d texted a photo of it to Sherm and he’d looked it over—all by two thirty. Was that even humanly possible?

  “Yes, we’re certain he crashed it, and we know why.” Mrs. Oaks looked grim.

  “Certain!” Hudson kept shouting one-word interjections. “How is that even possible? Were there clues? Did he tell you this with his own mouth? I mean—wait. You said you kno
w why?”

  “One thing at a time, son,” his mom said.

  “It’s taken almost twenty years of digging, but we believe Ignatius Torres has amassed enough evidence for a solid case. There’s only one key point missing. Then he’s taking it to the police.”

  “But he’s a lawyer, not a detective.”

  “Necessity has made his career take a detour.”

  Oakley’s mind had caught on something Mrs. Oaks had said. “What’s the one key point that’s still missing?”

  “They can’t quite figure out how the conspirators got the plane to crash, but everything else matches up.”

  Oakley filed that away, but the conversation was moving quickly. It triggered something in her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it yet. And she was super nervous about being late. Time inched toward noon. They still needed time for the ferry back and the drive to the city.

  “What do you mean, matches up?” Hudson asked. “Like what?”

  “Like where the life insurance money went after the boys died.”

  “What life insurance?”

  “Ignatius turned up documents showing that all the boys in the band, except his own son who hadn’t signed his power of attorney over to Levy, had bought huge life insurance policies.”

  “You mean, those contracts mentioned last week, er, that last week?” For Hudson it really did probably feel like just last week.

  “Yup. Insured against death or injury.” Mr. Oaks chewed on a bite of a sandwich. “And your agent named himself as the beneficiary.”

  “But—” Hudson was breathless.

  “He could do it,” Mrs. Oaks said, “because he’d convinced you boys give him power of attorney.”

  “It had felt like the logical thing to do at the time. There were so many legal documents. We couldn’t possibly understand them all.”

  Oakley bit her lip so hard in anger she could taste the salt of blood. “It seems so blatantly obvious that he’d benefitted. Why didn’t he go to jail? Or at least get put up on trial?”

  “There were dozens of investigations. The local police, the FBI, the insurance fraud people, all of them. Even the U.S. Forest Service.”