Chapter Fourteen. Stars in His Eyes
Chapter Fourteen
Stars in His Eyes
Lachlan and Will are whisked away to be accessorized while Calum, Mateo, and Felix get their makeup touched up.
After a few minutes of trying to decipher conversations and sort through background noise, a dull headache descends.
I make a desperate attempt to stave off the auditory fatigue by stepping into the hallway, away from the commotion.
I text a picture to Jo: How much do you think these would sell for on eBay? (Before you ask, NO I’m not stealing any!)
I startle when someone taps me. “Sorry!” Lachlan apologizes.
“It’s OK,” I reply.
His ears have diamond studs in them, but his spiky eyebrow piercing is gone. He’s dressed in a sky-blue houndstooth sweater-vest layered over a long-sleeve white button-up, white slacks, and white sneakers.
“You look like an eighth-grade substitute English teacher,” I say.
“That’s … oddly specific.” He huffs a laugh. “You’re right, though. I keep telling the stylists I look like a grandpa. I mean, Mateo’s ‘thing’ is crop tops, Lix’s is long hair and being beautiful, and mine is sweater-vests,” he emphasizes.
I snort. He did kind of get the raw end of that deal. He shrugs it off and glances at the posters. “Do you—” He stops himself, frowning.
“What?” I nudge him. “Tell me.”
“Do you listen to music?” he signs, then says, “I’m sorry if that’s an offensive question.”
“Music isn’t a huge thing for me,” I answer, using SimCom, “but I liked the song you performed at The Apache Café. I couldn’t really hear the lyrics, but you have a nice voice”—Lachlan lowers a thankful hand from his chin—“and I could feel the vibrations. I prefer songs with hard bass.”
“So the exact opposite of DAYDREAM?” Lachlan and I whip around as a recognizable Kiwi voice speaks from right behind us. Felix looks at me expectantly, one filled-in brow raised as he comes to stand beside me.
“Can’t say Knockoff One Direction is my vibe,” I quip.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He winks at me.
Lachlan indecipherably mumbles before walking away. Felix and I hold eye contact for a moment before he signs, “You OK?” Even with rings weighing down his fingers, his signs are much smoother than before.
“A little tired. You?”
“Tired of being in DAYDREAM mode, honestly,” he says before his attention floats to a stylist at the end of the hall. Their mouth moves, but what they’re saying doesn’t register. He hears it, though, and gives a thumbs-up. “Walk with me?”
As we make our way to the stylist, I ask, “What do you mean by ‘DAYDREAM mode’?”
He sighs. “The label made me the face of the band. Interview questions are mostly directed to me, and I have the most lines in our songs. I always have to be ‘on,’ y’know? My mates can relax a little more, but I don’t get a break to be, well, me.”
“I didn’t realize it was like that. It sounds…”
“Suffocating?” he supplies. My focus flickers away from his lips and to his eyes.
“Yeah. I guess. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”
“It’s … fine.” He pastes on a sunny smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Nat,” he says. For a second, I wonder if he’s deflecting from the serious conversation we were on the brink of. His hand gently brushes mine, and I’m not entirely convinced it’s on accident.
We reach the changing room before I can respond. (Not that I know how to respond to that.) Halfway into the room, Felix peers over his shoulder and grins at me.
I know this smile is genuine. A fleeting moment meant for my eyes only.
When we return to the hotel that night, I have a headache so intense it feels like someone is using my brain as a stress ball. My head hits the pillow, and I’m dead to the world.
I’m barely entering REM sleep when Ginger headbutts me awake. I mutter a string of colorful expletives and push her away. She keeps jamming her nose into my thigh and giving irritated boofs.
“Fine! Show me,” I command harsher than intended. She is doing her job, after all.
She hops off the bed and sits in front of the hotel room door, looking proud of herself. I check the alarm clock. 11:41 p.m.
With a groan, I stumble over. I peer through the peephole, then yank the door open.
“Do you know what time it is?” I bite.
Felix teeters nervously. “Sorry,” he rubs a fist around his chest, crumpling the fabric of the black hoodie he’s wearing. In fact, his entire outfit is black. Hoodie, jeans, fanny pack, and those infuriating boots with the three-inch heels. “Let’s go on an adventure!”
“Helping you hide a dead body is going to cost at least an extra $50,000,” I deadpan.
He laughs and hands me a second black hoodie and a ballcap. “You can consider it me cashing in my favor, since I haven’t received my letter,” he says, grinning conspiratorially.
“What kind of adventure?” I raise a brow.
“Anything.” He looks at me with an almost desperate look. “Let’s have one night where we can be normal teenagers. No cameras flashing, no fans, no Andrew. Just us. Felix and Nat.”
I consider him for a moment and recall our conversation at the radio station. I think he needs this—to feel normal. Plus, I foolishly promised him a favor. “OK-OK.”
He helps me hide my pink hair under the hat after I change into the hoodie. I kiss Ginger’s snout and give her a bone before heading into the hall.
“Service Felix reporting for duty!” Felix salutes as I close my hotel door behind me. “Y’know, if the dog gets bones as compensation, it’s only fair that I get little treats, too…”
“I need to see how you perform before we discuss benefits.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckles.
I head for the elevator, but he grabs my wrist and leads me the opposite way. We walk to the far end of the hall, and he opens the service elevator using a staff key card.
“How’d you get that?” I ask as we head to the ground floor.
“Anything is possible with a checkbook,” he jokes.
I tense up. Right as I was starting to see a new down-to-earth side to him, he drops a Rich Boy comment without thinking twice.
Though he meant it jokingly, it stings in a way only someone who’s experienced poverty would understand, and I’m suddenly and jarringly reminded how wildly different our perspectives are.
He’s never watched his parents agonize over whether they should buy groceries or pay bills, or had to start a GoFundMe to pay for a service dog. It’s not his fault he was born into a wealthy family, or mine that I wasn’t. But his joke hurts all the same.
I feel my walls go up, and I stay quiet for the remainder of the elevator ride.
We head for a back door to avoid detection, but before exiting, we both put on black surgical masks. Outside, the night air isn’t cold by Seattle standards, but it’s still a refreshing contrast to the muggy June heat from earlier today.
We walk in silence for ten minutes, the only sound coming from Felix’s phone as it feeds him directions.
When we finally stop in front of a brightly lit storefront, he does excited jazz hands.
I read the sign and discover it’s a gluten-free bakery.
My cold mood thaws as we enter, and the scent of buttery goodness wraps me in a warm hug.
My stomach rumbles as we approach the display case.
Basically, everything DAYDREAM eats contains wheat, so recently I’ve been on a diet of fruit and Lucky Charms Oatmeal—magically delicious and gluten-free.
My eyes float across everything, but the doughnuts grab my attention.
“I’ve never had a doughnut,” Felix admits from beside me, tracking my line of sight.
I gape at him in wide-eyed shock. “How the hell have you gone eighteen years without eating a doughnut?”
“I dunno.”
“Okay, we’re fixing that,” I declare. Felix chuckles when I take charge and peruse the display case, asking the employee about the different flavors and if they have recommendations, before selecting an assortment.
While the worker boxes them up, Felix digs around in his fanny pack.
Eventually, he locates his wallet and whips out his black card.
I look away and swallow another pang of bitterness.
Why is this bothering me so much? I take a deep breath and remind myself that other people’s success doesn’t reflect my failure.
Felix holds the door open for me as we leave the bakery, and we set off into the night with a dozen doughnuts and infinite possibilities.
While making our way back to the hotel, we stroll along the Nashville Riverfront.
Moonlight ripples off the dark blue water, and stars twinkle in the pitch-black sky.
He gazes at the river, only looking away to check his GPS.
Under the cover of night, while he’s too distracted to annoyingly flirt or make oblivious jokes, I notice Felix’s energy is different.
Blond hair tucked under his ballcap, his face softened by the glow of the moon, he radiates a quiet wonder.
His presence feels grounded, vibrant in a way that feels tangible, almost magnetic.
I’m torn away from studying him when I trip on a loose brick. I brace myself to hit the ground, but a strong hand steadies me. I calm my racing heart and look into Felix’s moonlit brown eyes.
“You alright?” His long, slender fingers are woven through mine. He precariously grips the doughnut box in the other hand.
I glance away from our intertwined hands. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Was the view distracting you?” he asks, a mischievous lilt in his voice.
I tug my hand out of his grasp and power walk away. He laughs heartily.
“I meant the river!” he calls out. “Nat, wait up!” He catches up to me in a few long strides. I’m suddenly glad the face mask is hiding my flushed cheeks.
We walk in silence the rest of the way to the hotel. I glance at Felix more than I’d like to admit, and each time his eyes crinkle as he beams, having been staring at me all along.
It’s horrible.