The sound of the front door opening echoed round the quiet house like a gun shot. JJ glanced up at the kitchen door, eyes like dinner plates. He clearly wasn’t expecting company.
“I shut the door behind me. It must be someone with a key.”
“Shit,” he hissed, dumping his bowl in the sink before sliding down from the countertop.
I let my eyes travel from the kitchen door to where he stood, almost trembling in his pajama pants and nothing else. His usual easy grace was gone, replaced with something that seemed to both recoil at the prospect of whoever had just walked in while steeling itself for battle.
“Who is it, JJ?” I asked him, keeping my tone steady.
“Think you’d fit in the pantry?” he replied, delivering his ridiculous suggestion with no hint of a smile.
“JJ?” The man sounded equal parts exasperated and furious, his deep, clipped voice filling the foyer with ease.
The breath JJ was holding leaked free as a long, low whistle. I grabbed his hand, more out of instinct than anything and started to pull him out of the kitchen to where the mystery man was waiting for him.
I didn’t want to scare him or force him into anything, but I hated the idea of him cowering in the kitchen. JJ Keswick didn’t hide from anyone.
The man was tall, an inch or two taller than me, and built like a football player. He was handsome too, in a stereotypical middle-aged way—chestnut hair swept away from his face, exposing blue eyes and a nose that had been broken at least once. His eyes were a shade lighter than JJ’s, but I would recognize that sneer anywhere.
“Mr. Keswick,” I said, trying (and failing) to sound like a reasonable young adult.
“Who are you?” he demanded, setting his briefcase down at his feet. He’d turned on the lights, and they made the polished leather of his shoes glitter.
“I’m Jack Daveyson. I’m a friend of JJ’s,” I told him, holding out a hand.
He grasped it quickly, keeping his grip loose like the idea of shaking hands with me repelled him a little.
“Hey Dad,” JJ chipped in, stepping out from my shadow. “I wasn’t expecting you until next week.”
He looked at JJ with something that was equal parts pity, obligation and confusion. I could feel my blood simmering beneath the flimsy surface of my skin. I could see why JJ had been reluctant to see him, cold disdain rolled off him in waves. The desire to say something cutting or clever rose up so suddenly that it threatened to choke me.
“I left some paperwork here,” Mr. Keswick replied gruffly, his eyes flickering between us. A dash of color rose in his cheeks—JJ was barely dressed, after all, and I was sure my face was redder than JJ’s stupid sports car.
Whatever assumption he’d made about us, he chose not to voice it. He nodded at JJ, once, before heading upstairs to his office. As soon as he was out of sight, JJ let out another breath. I followed him back into the kitchen, glad to be out of the way.
“So that’s your dad, huh?”
“The one and only.”
“He’s scary.”
“You don’t get on the boards of tons of evil corporations by playing nice,” he reminded me as he opened the fridge, no doubt looking for something to drink.
Mr. Keswick called out to JJ ten minutes later. He was back in the foyer, clutching a folder and what looked like an overnight bag.
“Have you been to school this week?” he barked, snapping his briefcase shut.
“Does it matter?” JJ replied, rolling his eyes. The initial shock of his father’s sudden appearance had seemingly worn off.
“God damn it, JJ, if you’re kicked out of this school, so help me—”
“Gee, sir, this record’s broken.”
Mr. Keswick took a step forward, his eyes blazing. I half expected JJ to take a step back, but even in his darkest moods, he seems to get a kick out of surprising me. He took a step forward, closing the space between them while his own gaze hardened. He tilted his chin, and kept his shoulders square. He had adopted what Jessica had called a “rock star posture”—a stance that apparently seduced and terrified an audience in equal measure. His dad may have been taller, broader and lit by dubious morality, but JJ didn’t hesitate. He stared him down with the sort of cockiness I grudgingly admired. JJ wasn’t going to lose because, in his mind, in that moment, the possibility of losing just didn’t exist.
“I’m not going to fight you on this, JJ,” his dad grumbled as he straightened his jacket. “I don’t have the time. You are sixteen years old, I will not—”
“He’s eighteen,” I blurted, the words tripping from my tongue in the same second they crossed my mind. The realization that Mr. Keswick didn’t know how old his son was made my head spin. My dad may not have had my class schedule memorized, and he sure as hell didn’t know I spent my Saturday nights playing shows as Howie’s, but he knew how old I was. He knew the important things, like when school started and what grade I was in.
“What?” Mr. Keswick said, his rage faltering when he caught my eye.
“Your son is eighteen. He’s five foot seven. Wears a size eight. His favorite color is royal blue, and he’s left handed. Ringing any bells?” I spoke slowly, as if I was talking to a child.
Mr. Keswick’s nostrils flared, making him look like an angry bull. “Thank you for the lesson, Mr. . . .”
“Daveyson. I’m sure it’ll come in handy, next time you want to pretend you care.”
“Yes, well,” he tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. With one last look at his smirking son, he left, slamming the door behind him.
The blood drained from my face so quickly it left me dizzy. Silence fell on the foyer once more, swift and heavy. I had no clue what to say to JJ. There was every chance he’d be furious at me for getting involved. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t my business, but I just couldn’t stand there while his dad huffed and puffed at him, not that day.
“I just want you to know,” JJ whispered in my ear, leaning in so I could feel his smile against my jaw. “That my small feet aren’t indicative of my . . . proportions elsewhere.”
That was it. The tension was gone. I couldn’t help but laugh, turning to shove at his shoulder. His skin was so warm, streaked gold under the soft glow of the lights. He grinned at me, crooked and proud.
“You’re an asshole,” I told him as we traipsed back into the kitchen. I needed a glass of water, a shot of whisky or something to steady my nerves. JJ Keswick was definitely going to be the death of me.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, still smiling. “But I walked into your practice room, so now you’re stuck with me.”
***
“I have a question,” JJ said as we loaded up the van to head to Monroeville.
“Uh oh,” Jess replied as she handed him her guitar case.
He stuck out his tongue at her before placing her case in the back of the van. “How come you can stand up to my dad, but you won’t tell your own about our awesome band?”
I glared at him, even though I knew it would have absolutely no effect. He was more observant than people gave him credit for it, and he seemed dead set on using his powers for evil.
“Wait,” Ash chipped in, sticking her head out of the van. “Jack met your dad?”
“And sassed him to hell and back,” JJ told her, winking at me as he picked up his guitar case to add it to the increasingly unsteady pile of instruments in the back.
“I did not sass him,” I protested weakly. “He was being a dumbass.”
“Of course he was. Where do you think I get it from?”
“I’m pretty sure being a dumbass isn’t genetic,” Jess mused from her spot in the passenger seat. “I aced my biology test this week too, so if it was, I’d probably know.”
“Sure you would,” I assured her as I climbed up into the driver’s seat.
JJ opened the passenger door and Jess scooted over to let him in. “Hey, don’t dodge my question, Daveyson. You’re gonna have to tell your dad sooner or later. He’
s gonna notice when we’re splashed across the cover of every half-decent music magazine.”
I rolled my eyes at JJ’s comment, but I couldn’t help but smile. He was getting in the habit of saying things like that, throwaway comments about how awesome our debut album was going to be or what the stage set up would be like for our first stadium tour. It would have sounded ridiculous to anyone else. Hell, it sounded a little ridiculous to me, but his confidence never wavered. The future of the band was one of the few things he was sincere about.
“I’ll tell him,” I replied, shrugging. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”
JJ snorted as if he didn’t believe, me but I’d made up my mind. I couldn’t hide Forever Fading Echoes from my dad forever. Graduation, adulthood and all the resulting headaches it offered seemed much closer on the other side of Christmas. I was running out of time to be honest with him about what I wanted to do with my life.
“So . . .” I began, clearing my throat as I caught JJ’s gaze. “Does ‘Hey Dad, I know you’ve spent my whole life working your ass off to save for my college tuition, but it turns out I want to shun traditional education to be a rock star’, sound okay, or should I try to word it a bit better?”
We debated the best way to break the news to my dad all the way to Howie’s. Our weekly show was amazing as always, a blur of lights, noise and JJ’s slick, wicked smile. As we packed back up, triumphant and buzzing, I was more determined than ever to tell my dad about the band.
I got my chance a week later when he came home for a couple of days. I waited until we were home alone, although part of me thought it’d be best to break the news in Aunt Rose’s company, so there’d be a witness. We had dinner in the kitchen before settling in the living room to pick a DVD to watch.
He looked fairly content, sitting in his favorite chair with a cup of strong, dark coffee. I made a joke about slippers and a pipe, earning an indulgent smile from him as I sat down on the sofa. I sat on folded legs, trying to keep my breathing deep and even.
“So, um . . . I wanted to tell you something,” I began, pushing my hair out of my face. Jessica had assured me I couldn’t hide behind my hair, not for this conversation. She said I had to be present, straight forward and clear. Apparently, I can’t be those things with my hair in my face.
“This sounds serious,” he replied, picking up the remote to turn off the TV. He turned to face me, frowning.
“It’s not,” I assured him, knowing that it might take me a few minutes to get the words out. I didn’t want him to panic. “Well, not really.”
“Spit it out, kiddo.”
“I’m in a band. A really good band, as it turns out. I’m the guitarist, Jess is our bassist. Ash plays drums, and Dylan plays guitar and keyboard,” I explained, tripping over my words.
His expression didn’t change, he didn’t seem angry, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled either.
“You guys have a singer? Or a name?”
“Oh, right. Yeah. The band’s called Forever Fading Echoes, after that line in mom’s poem.”
His eyes softened at that, they always did when my mom came up. My dad may have been big, bearded and tough as nails, but nothing exposed his vulnerability like a mention of my mom. Ten years and thousands of miles later, she still made his eyes glitter.
“I’m sure she’d be really proud, Jack,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Singer?”
“JJ Keswick, believe it or not,” I replied with a smile. I was pretty sure my dad had never met JJ, but I knew he’d recognize the name.
“The rich kid?”
“The one and only,” I nodded. “We held auditions at the start of the school year. He showed up and blew us all away. He’s . . . well, he’s still surprising me.”
His eyes narrowed, and I felt a blush blooming across my cheeks. I could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he pieced together the information I had given him. I waited, anxiously, for him to speak. Or yell.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, finally, his tone quiet and even.
I hadn’t been expecting that. I had never really kept a secret from my dad before. I’d even told him I was gay as soon as I had figured it out. We had agreed after my mom died and he’d gone back on the road that we’d always be honest with each other. The time we had together was so limited that neither of us really wanted to waste it communicating in vague half-truths.
“I thought you’d be mad,” I admitted. “I just wanted to play, Dad. I love it, and I’m good at it.”
“Why would I be mad? I knew you’d be a good guitarist, Jack. I’ve known since you first started playing. I wouldn’t have taught you how to play the guitar if I didn’t want you to keep playing.”
“I guess . . .”
“It’s not a big deal, kiddo. As long as you keep your grades up, there’s no reason why you can’t be in a band. Hell, lots of college kids play in bands, you could keep playing when you go to school. You just need to keep your priorities straight.”
My heart sank as he spoke, gesturing with his hands as he launched into a story about how one of his best friends had played in a band all through college. I had thought that telling him I was in a band would prompt a discussion about my future, and what I wanted to do with myself when I finally escaped Wayville. My dad had worked for dozens of bands, listening to their dreams and helping them to launch careers. I had hoped that he’d take the same interest in Forever Fading Echoes, but he seemed so focused on the notion of a college education.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “You should come see us practice, some time.”
“Sounds good,” he replied, getting to his feet to go pick a DVD from the cabinet. “Do you feel better, now that you’ve got that off your chest?”
“I do,” I lied, nodding as he sat back down. I pulled out my phone to text JJ. He’d been messaging me all night, going between sincere encouragement and light-hearted teasing from one message to the next. I knew he’d understand.
Sure enough, his reply had me fighting a smile while my dad looked on, bemused.
***
“So,” JJ began as he strolled into the shop on a Thursday afternoon, smiling around the lollipop in his mouth. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you love me?”
I looked up from my math homework and smiled at him. Jess leapt down from the counter, holding out her hand. JJ pulled a lollipop from the pocket of his skinny jeans and handed it over with a grin. She kissed his cheek before unwrapping the lollipop and sticking it in her mouth.
“I’d say you’re a solid four,” I replied, closing the textbook. There was no chance of getting work done with JJ and Jessica in the same room.
“How about now?” he asked as he dropped an envelope on the counter.
It was plain white but had my name written on it. I tore it open without a second thought, reaching in to pull out the slip of card inside.
My heart swelled to at least twice its normal size, skipping a beat in the process. It was a concert ticket for the Taking Back Sunday show in Monroeville the next day. The show had been sold out for months, much to my dismay. My dad had tried to get tickets (he knew someone who worked at the venue) but with no luck.
“How did you get this?”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he replied, still smiling as he handed Jessica an envelope with a ticket for her.
“This is freaking awesome!” She beamed, bouncing around the shop, hugging him twice in the process. “Are we all going?”
“Yup, I have tickets for Ash and Dylan as well.”
“Thanks, JJ, this is really generous of you,” I said, math, college and my future forgotten for a brief moment.
“You’re welcome.”
He followed Jess up to the practice space while I stayed downstairs, determined to finish my homework. Going upstairs to jam with them would be like a reward for getting through a sheet of equations. I found my eyes wandering from the textbook to the envelope I’d left on the counter, the dark bl
ue ink of JJ’s scrawl—Jack’s—glittering in the light.
The realization hit like a bucket of water being dumped over my head, sudden and chilling. The sickly heat that spread under my skin was enough to make my head spin. I reached for my backpack with shaking hands, pulling out the notebook with the plastic pocket at the back. It was full of notes, crumpled and curling at the edges, all of them covered in handwriting that had become sickeningly familiar.
I found the note I was looking for after a few frantic seconds. It had been slipped into my locker the week before. Another daily reminder that I was not alone, that there was someone out there who understood me, even if I didn’t know who they were or why they’d taken an interest in me.
Dark Blue
Jack’s Mannequin
The writing on the note matched the envelope. The envelope JJ had given me. The envelope with his handwriting on it. They were pretty much identical, which could only mean one thing.
JJ Keswick had been leaving notes in my locker since the start of the school year. For months, he’d been the person making me smile at the end of every school day. I’d started a playlist for the songs my anonymous friend had suggested, and I listened to it every time I felt like crap (which had become a more frequent occurrence after my chat with my dad). JJ Keswick, the spoiled rich kid who had come into my life like a hurricane, had been propping me up without realizing it.
I could hear him laughing upstairs, and Jess joined in. I glanced up at the ceiling, debating whether I should go up there and ask to talk to him. I was having trouble finishing a thought, so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to finish a sentence. Plus, I didn’t have a clue what to say. Should I thank him for cheering me up nearly every day? Should I be angry that he’d kept something like that secret, even after we’d become friends? Why had he started leaving me notes in the first place?
Fake It (The Keswick Chronicles Book 1) Page 12