Chapter Twenty-Seven. Deep-Dish Drama
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Deep-Dish Drama
The rest of the day, Necktie doesn’t explode at Felix or me. But instead of feeling relieved, it deeply unsettles me. It isn’t like him to stay calm; he’s like a reactive dog. He’s usually all bark, but I can feel the impending bite.
Ignoring the bad feeling in my gut, I chat with Felix while Bhavani does his concert makeup. I smile proudly as he strings together whole sentences using proper ASL grammar.
“Showtime!” Necktie’s voice fills the Green Room.
The boys—save Lachlan, who still has an air of gloom about him—hype one another up as they filter into the hallway.
My uneasiness is finally proved right when Necktie orders the hair and makeup artists to leave, and when everyone is gone, he slams the door and barrels toward me. I can practically see steam coming out of his ears.
“Have something to tell me?” he booms inches away from my face.
My anxiety levels reach an all-time high, and I freeze, only able to shake my head.
“Don’t act coy with me, missy,” he hisses. “I know about Detroit.”
My stomach plummets, and my nerves go haywire. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the rat is. Like a scene in a movie, I picture Lachlan whispering to Necktie in the museum. Backstabbing asshole.
I feign composure. “Felix and I practice ASL at nigh—”
“Do I look like I was born yesterday?!” he growls. “I warned you in Boston. You’re done!”
My breathing quickens. I’ve never been truly scared of Necktie before, but he’s also never screamed in my face while we’re alone. I steady myself and choke out, “D-do you have proof of whatever you’re accusing me of?” I stare him down. “Without proof, you have no justification for sending me home.”
His expression is utter contempt. We both know he doesn’t have proof.
With a final scowl, he exits, leaving me shaky and forcing myself to take deep breaths.
After a minute, my panic morphs into red, searing anger.
The feeling of betrayal cuts through me, but not for myself.
I can live with the temporary sting of being crossed by a new friend.
My heart aches on Felix’s behalf. On the whole band’s behalf.
How can Lachlan so easily betray that bond? Crumple it up and toss it in the garbage? By putting Felix in Necktie’s crosshairs, he’s threatening DAYDREAM’s very existence. They could all suffer for this.
The smells of melty cheese and pizza dough waft through a hole-in-the-wall deep-dish pizza parlor after the concert. Calum and Will push two tables together to create space for the six of us. I stow Ginger underneath the table before sitting.
Felix is across from me, next to Lachlan. It takes everything in me to refrain from casting Lachlan the harshest glare humanly possible.
At the far end of the table, Calum looks at me and his lips move, but I can’t make out more than two words over the din of the restaurant. “Pizza,” he clunkily signs, like him randomly signing “pizza” while we’re in a pizza parlor is supposed to clarify. I breathe a laugh.
Thankfully, Felix interprets: “He’s ordering now. What do you want?”
I turn the menu toward Felix, tap the Hawaiian pizza, then the gluten-free option. His lips tilt downward in disgust, but he relays my request.
“I can’t … believe … you like fruit pizza!” he exclaims after remembering the signs.
“You eat pizza with tomato sauce?”
“Yes…”
“Tomatoes are fruit.” His eyes roll into the back of his head.
When Calum returns, Felix gets swept into a conversation. I don’t catch the specifics, but they’re laughing and throwing around playful insults.
I’d be over the moon seeing them all so lighthearted and relaxed if it weren’t for Lachlan. He’s dramatically changed his tune and is bantering alongside the others, one arm slung over Felix’s shoulders.
I almost prefer his brooding to this warmth. At least when he was acting like a mopey asshole, he was showing his true colors instead of being a fake friend.
For a brief second, Lachlan’s and my eyes meet. His smile wanes as I glare at him. Finally reaching my breaking point, I stand up, and once Ginger moves, push my chair in a little too heatedly. It slams against the table.
Everyone goes quiet and watches as Ginger and I head for the hallway leading to the bathrooms. I slump against the wall and sigh. Ginger nuzzles my leg, and I bury my face in her golden fur.
Barely a minute passes before a hand grips my shoulder and gives reassuring squeezes. I peer up and see Felix squatting in front of me.
My anger starts to dissipate as he places a careful kiss on the top of my head. “What’s wrong, darling?” he signs, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
With a gulp, I decide to tell him the truth. “Andrew confronted me during the show. He knows about us.”
“W-what? How?”
I take his hand, wishing I could lessen the sting of what I’m about to say.
“Lachlan ratted us out. He saw me leaving your room. He’s been acting sketchy and keeps interrogating me about us.
Like in Boston, he warned me about getting close to you, and this morning he said I should explore other options. ”
Confusion, pain, and frustration color his face in a mural of emotions. “What’d he—”
“Hey…” He’s cut off when Lachlan speaks. He approaches us, hands shoved in the pockets of his vintage Alice in Chains hoodie. Felix pops up immediately.
“Did you narc on us?” he asks.
I stand, and Lachlan’s focus darts between us. “I … Lix … damn it,” he flounders, scrubbing hands over his face.
“I can’t believe you.” Felix’s words are wobbly, drenched in hurt.
“I’m trying— —protect the band! It’s too risky. We could lose everything!” Lachlan becomes animated.
“If you had— —problem, you should’ve come to me, not Andrew. You’re supposed to be my best mate!”
“I a-am!” Lachlan chokes out. “That’s why I’m doing this!”
“Yeah, nah, you clearly aren’t! Best mates don’t narc on each other.
” Then, “You think I don’t know this— —risky?
Of course I fucking know,” he bites. “I’m well aware that me dating, me being happy, could ruin our career.
You don’t think— —feel guilty as hell for that?
Scared that I’ll screw this up for— —guys?
” His voice is even shakier this time, betraying how deeply wounded he is.
“This relationship is a mistake, Felix.”
“No. The only mistake was ever trusting you.”
Their words blur together as they argue, and all I’m left with is body language. Lachlan’s clenched jaw, tense shoulders, and fists balled by his sides tell their own story, and a light bulb goes off above my head as I think back to our conversation at Fenway Park and the museum.
After a lifetime of observing people, I’ve learned to recognize certain emotions with far less information, so how have I been so oblivious to his underlying motivation?
“Lachlan, are you … jealous?” I breathe in a rush.
They stop bickering, and their attention lands on me.
After a painfully long beat, Lachlan’s eyes fixate on the floor. “How I feel abo—how I feel doesn’t matter.”
The discomfort is tangible, thick and cloying, and looms over our heads.
Finally, he looks up, takes a deep breath, and meets my eyes, his brows set in a troubled frown. “Someday you’ll see that I’m right about this.”