JJ was back by 8:30, silently fuming. I wanted to ask him about what had happened, take him out of the crazy situation we’d found ourselves in, so that he could be honest with me. Forget the fancy studio, lock out the glittering city and just sit with him. It would have to wait—we had an EP to finish.
Whatever JJ’s dad had said to him, it sparked something in him that fuelled our last session in the studio. He recorded a truly spectacular guitar solo for “Rumors”. I could only watch, stunned. I was dying to kiss him, push his guitar away so I could take him in my arms. I wanted to kiss him until his eyes were jewel bright, until the tension in his shoulders melted away.
We finished the EP shortly after 1 am. Archie waved us off with a wide grin, promising to have the fully mastered digital files finished up in the next couple of weeks. Ash suggested we walk back to the hotel—she has no concept of fear, as it turns out—and I reluctantly agreed.
Our hotel wasn’t too far from the studio, and the walk was actually quite enjoyable. JJ and I strolled, hand in hand, while Jess flung herself at Dylan’s back like a black-clad monkey. He ended up carrying her back to the hotel, her pale arms draped around his neck. Ash walked beside us, the concrete crunching under her boots.
They said their goodbyes in our little hallway, each of them closing their doors with a soft click. I hesitated at JJ’s door, not quite ready to let him go. He looked up at me, gold tipped eyelashes catching the light. I traced his bottom lip with my thumb, knowing I’d remember how he looked in that moment for as long as I lived.
“So how much of a dick was your dad at dinner tonight?” I asked quietly, moving my hand to the nape of his neck. His hair spilled over my fingers.
“No more than usual,” he replied, sighing. His chest brushed against mine, the scrap of space between us shrinking with each passing minute. “I used to hate him, but tonight I realized there was no point. I don’t know him well enough to hate him. He’s like the really shitty teachers at school, taking an interest because that’s what’s expected, but glad when he can clock out at the end of the day.”
“He’s an idiot,” I hissed, hand still tangled in his hair, eyes caught in the soft sweep of his frown. “You know that, right? From the moment I met you, Jude Jaden Keswick, my life has consisted of little miracles. You make my world brighter, louder . . . better. I don’t know what your dad’s life is like, but it must be pretty damn boring without you in it.”
He kissed me as if the world was ending, closing the gap between us before I could blink. I held on to him, drowning in the sudden heat that flared brightly under my skin. He was everything, overwhelming my senses one by one until I was sure he was all that was left in the universe—his lips on mine, his slender frame in my calloused hands, his sighs echoing in my head.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, breaking our kiss to catch his breath.
I was blushing, trembling, lost for words and struggling to breathe. My life couldn’t have been more perfect in that moment. I was almost done with high school. My band had a steady gig and had just finished recording our debut EP in a studio I’d spent my whole life dreaming about. I was absolutely, inescapably, in love with my boyfriend. My beautiful, charming, challenging, wonderful boyfriend.
“Yeah,” I murmured, pressing my forehead to his so I could share his breath. “Okay.”
He stepped away to open his room door. I instantly missed the heat of him, drunk on the feeling of his body lined up perfectly with mine. I followed him inside and closed the door behind me with a decisive click.
“Bruised”—Jack’s Mannequin
Days, weeks, months—they all passed by in a blur of loud music, late nights and languid kisses. School had faded out until it was nothing more than meaningless static. I stuck by my decision to postpone college, and although I hadn’t found a way to tell my dad, the freedom that came from making up my mind was beyond awesome.
I couldn’t help but think that this was what I’d been missing all along, that the life I’d led since Jude had shown up at auditions was the one I’d been promised by the books, movies and music videos I’d spent my adolescence poring over. Making out with my boyfriend, laughing with my friends, playing with the band—my days and my heart were full.
I should have known it couldn’t last. The rosy-edged montage never does, right? Something had to happen. It can’t always be easy. I was foolish to think that I’d paid my dues in my childhood. My dead mother and absentee father didn’t grant me immunity from the drama that is growing up.
My aunt Rose found the letter from NYU while cleaning—snooping around, more likely—my bedroom. She called my dad, who was so angry that I could feel his fury radiating across the miles. He was just getting ready to finish up a tour, and he was coming home to make sure I felt the full force of his rage in person.
“You could have asked me about it!” I yelled at my aunt Rose from the top of the stairs, my face flushed and my hands trembling. “Instead of going behind my back and telling him!”
“He’s your father, Jack!” she yelled back, bright eyes shining with tears. She hovered at the bottom of the stairs, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Since when?” I fumed. “Where the hell has he been all year?” I shook my head and tried to drag in a deep, steadying breath. “Fuck him, fuck college and fuck you too!”
“Jack!”
I spun on my heel, cheeks burning. My stomach was twisted in knots, and my head was spinning. Part of me wanted to say something else to her—to apologize, or try to be sensible at least—but a bigger, bratty part of me wanted to storm off to my bedroom and slam the door.
The brat won.
Jude was sitting on my bed, cross-legged and looking sheepish. I leaned against the door, head tilted back and eyes closed while my breathing evened out. He knew better than to say something. I just needed a minute or two to work my way through those pesky emotions. It didn’t take me long to get them back under control.
“Wanna get out of here?” he asked when I finally opened my eyes to meet his steady, completely non-judgmental gaze.
“Pretty sure Aunt Rose isn’t going to let me go gallivanting right now.”
“Gallivanting? Jesus, you don’t even talk like a normal teenager,” he replied with his slow, teasing smile.
The knots in my stomach melted into butterflies, pathetic but true. I couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m totally normal. Didn’t you hear me just get into a very immature fight with my parental figure?”
“I did, and I’m oh so proud,” he drawled. “In keeping with this new found rebellious attitude, you don’t need your aunt’s permission to go out.”
I frowned, not quite sure what he was getting at. Jude and I had become masters of nonverbal communication. I wanted to put it down to our burgeoning intimacy, but he claimed it was because I was getting used to him. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to him, though. How do you get used to glancing up into eyes like his or a smile that makes everything around it seem dull by comparison?
He nodded towards the window, which he’d left open to the gold-streaked spring sky when he’d climbed into my room.
“Fuck off,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him. “You want me to climb down the side of my house?”
“I do it all the time,” he pointed out. “I’ll show you.”
“I just want to point out . . .” I began, crossing the room to my bed.
He raised his smiling face to meet my quick kiss. I couldn’t resist sweeping a thumb along his jaw, holding him in place for just a few seconds.
“ . . . that I’m not as graceful as you are.”
“Fake it,” he replied, his smile ghosting across my lips.
It turns out, scrambling down a slightly damp trellis while your stupidly gorgeous boyfriend laughs at you isn’t really that difficult. I was chasing him across the lawn to his car in no time, feeling a million times better.
My dad came home on a Friday night, as furious as I’d expected. He had
a first night tradition that usually revolved around pizza, a couple of beers and showing me his photos from the road. That was all abandoned in favor of quiet, soul crushing disappointment.
“I don’t understand, Jack,” he murmured, turning the NYU letter over in his hands.
I sighed, sitting on the couch opposite him. I was a good couple of inches taller than he was, it felt weird to be standing up while he was sitting down, all hunched over and exhausted. So I sat, pulling my phone from my pocket as I did. I was ready for this, finally.
“Dad, when I told you about Forever Fading Echoes . . . I was trying to tell you then that I don’t want to go to college. Not right now, anyway. There’s something amazing happening with the band right now. I’ve gotta give it my best shot,” I explained, hoping I sounded calm and mature. Not sure how mature you can sound as you explain that you want to give up a college education for a shot at the big time, but I was going to give it my best shot.
“I know you guys are good. I’ve seen videos,” he replied, looking up at me.
My stomach dropped like I’d missed a step going down the stairs. “Videos?”
“Howie recorded your set a couple of weeks back, thought I’d like to see it.”
I’d forgotten that Howie knew my dad. Well, I hadn’t forgotten, it was more like I’d pushed that information to the back of my head to make space for new songs and fun facts about my boyfriend.
“So you know,” I said, trying to spin his revelation into something positive. “You know how good we are.”
“Yeah, kid, I know,” he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I know lots of good bands. Hell, I know lots of great bands. You’ve seen ‘em come and go, too. You know that talent isn’t everything.”
I couldn’t help but glance over to the shelving unit we affectionately referred to as the graveyard. It was full of CDs and photo albums, all featuring bands who’d split up while my dad had been working for them. Most had gone out with a whimper, instead of a bang. They usually succumbed to the pressures of reality—bills to pay, families to support—or got jaded by how hard it was to make a living from their music. Bands burned out quick, I got it, but there were exceptions. Rare, beautiful, chaotic bands who somehow made it work. The right people, at the right time, making the right music could change the world.
I knew Forever Fading Echoes had the right people at the right time, and the music? Well, we were working on it. We were getting there. We could change the world.
I just needed to make my dad believe that.
“I know,” I told him, nodding. “And I get it. Doing shitty tours in a shitty van with a fifteen-dollar per diem. Sleeping in shifts, washing our clothes in gas station sinks. I know how this goes, Dad. I still want it.”
“And your friends? They know what they’re getting themselves into? I know Jess would follow you anywhere, but she’s a bright kid, Jack, she deserves . . .”
“She deserves to make her own choice,” I pointed out. “She’s in a hundred percent. We all are.”
“What about JJ?”
I felt as if I’d swallowed a block of ice. It stuck in my throat, freezing me inside out, all the way down to my belly. My dad’s expression had cooled slightly, his gaze switching from concerned dad to analytical father in the blink of an eye.
“What about him?”
“Are you two dating?”
I sucked in a breath, caught completely off guard. I didn’t want our conversation to be derailed by my love life. I thought it was going well, all things considered. I could tell my dad wasn’t happy with my decision, but he wasn’t as furious as I’d expected him to be. He seemed resigned to my fate, at least where the band was concerned. But JJ was dangerous territory. I could tell by the slant to my dad’s shoulders and the frown tugging at the corners of his mouth that he may not like the idea of me skipping college, but he hated the idea of me dating JJ.
“Dad . . .”
“Jack, kids like JJ don’t grow up and settle down. He might clean up real nice, go to fancy schools and wear clothes that cost more than your damn van, but he’s wild. He’s always gonna be wild. It’s gonna make him one helluva rock star, but if you fall in love with him? You’re gonna be chasing a ghost for the rest of your life.”
I didn’t even pretend to think about what he’d said. I couldn’t stand the hypocrisy of his little lecture. He had no right to tell me I’d be chasing ghosts when he’d spent a decade doing the exact same thing. He’d hit the road with an almost religious devotion, as if he believed he’d find my mom or some semblance of the life they’d had tucked away in a run-down truck stop.
JJ Keswick was a ghost. I understood that. He was a façade, a pretty picture. Jude was a master of misdirection, showing people what they wanted on the surface so they didn’t look too closely. I knew that. Jess, Ash and Dylan knew that. Even my aunt Rose knew it.
Yeah, I knew exactly how wild Jude could be. I loved him anyway.
“It’s a bit late to read me the warning label,” I told him, voice steady. “I’m already in love with him.”
His eyes widened, just a fraction. I had never said the words aloud before, but they sounded right. They felt right, too. I wasn’t really sure what love was—Jude wasn’t alone in that regard—but if it’s waking up with someone on your mind, going to sleep with them tangled in your dreams and thinking about them at least a hundred times a day, then I was most definitely in love with him.
“So what happens when you two break up?” my dad demanded. “And I say when, kid, not if. What happens to your band then?”
I glared at him, unwilling and unable to answer his question. I wondered when he’d become so cynical. Had it happened on the road? Had I missed it? He’d always told me I could do anything I wanted, that I had as much right to fall in love as anyone else. Daniel Daveyson had spent his whole life supporting artists and musicians, dealing with the reality of touring so they could focus on making magic. There was no way he’d stopped believing in magic. I found that too hard to swallow.
“Your whole life has been about helping musicians make their dreams come true,” I reminded him quietly, struggling to string the words together. “Some of ‘em had to wake up, I know that, but not everyone. You’ve worked with bands who went on to sell hundreds of thousands of records. Some of the bands you work with have played to millions of people, Dad. So don’t sit there and tell me that what I want isn’t possible, or it’s too hard. You’ve seen it happen for other people. Why can’t it happen for me?”
I kept my eyes on his face, studying his reaction. His face, half hidden by his scary biker beard, didn’t give anything away. I hadn’t expected The Conversation to go on so long, or hurt so much. I’d expected yelling, anger—but the thought of him saying my dreams weren’t possible had never crossed my mind.
“The guys who don’t make it,” he sighed. “Jack, a lot of them don’t recover. They go through their lives bitter, questioning everything. Guys like that spend the rest of their lives wishing and wondering. I don’t want that for you.”
I thought of Jude, sitting in my bedroom with my lyrics in his careful hands, smiling at me as if he could read all of my secrets, scrawled in the margins of my songs. You can’t win if you’re not in the game, he’d said, blue eyes wide and achingly sincere.
“I can’t win if I’m not in the game, Dad.”
He sighed again, heavier this time, scratching his beard. He squeezed his eyes shut and set his shoulders as if he was bracing himself for a battle.
“Alright, kid. If you want this, then I’ll back your play. But if you’ve not made any progress by college application time next year, I want you to go to college. Deal?”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I was almost shaking, completely overwhelmed by our conversation. My dad knew I wasn’t going to college—and he supported me. He knew I was in a relationship with Jude, and although I knew he didn’t understand it, he wasn’t going to stand in our way. The Conv
ersation had been both better and harder than I’d thought it would be, but all in all, it had gone okay.
We were okay, and we were going to be okay. I smiled at him and nodded, sending my dark hair falling into my eyes.
“Deal.”
***
I’m not the school dance type.
It’s okay, I’ve made my peace with it. I’d been to a couple, with Jess, back when we were wide-eyed, naïve kids. Even back then, I thought the whole thing was a bit forced. I’d rather spend my nights in a mosh pit, surrounded by sweaty, swearing, smiling kids. Crepe paper and balloons just never held much appeal.
But prom was different.
I couldn’t explain why it felt different—not to Jess and certainly not to Jude. Maybe I’d over-romanticized it in my head, the hazy daydream spurred on by countless teen movies. I just couldn’t stop picturing Jude in his tux, grinning like he knew how damn good he looked and draping his arms around my neck with a melodramatic sigh because he was pretty bitter about the fact that I was taller than him. We wouldn’t dance, mostly because I can’t, but we could sway a little.
I wanted it so much it was actually a little ridiculous. It couldn’t happen, of course. Jude—JJ, whatever—was still very much in the closet, maintaining the illusion he was single but straight. We couldn’t have that cliché, high school moment. In real life, prom would be hell for me. I’d spend the night gazing at JJ across the room, trying to avoid the homophobic slurs of the drunk jocks and dodging Jess’ repeated pleas to dance.
“Are you disappointed about prom?” Jude asked, a week before the big dance.
The senior class had all come down with a particularly nasty case of prom fever. Every time I walked past one of the misspelled, hand painted banners, my mood soured. Longing had turned to resentment pretty quickly, as it turns out.
“Nah,” I lied, combing my hand through his moonlight streaked hair.
Fake It (The Keswick Chronicles Book 1) Page 15