Chapter Eight #3
A bark of I’m-so-happy-I’m-nearly-hysterical laughter escaped my mouth, making Jake tilt his head ever so slightly and eye me in alarm.
“You really had me going there. This isn’t a problem, it’s the exact opposite of a problem!” I enthused. “This is amazing. It could be the answer to—” I came to a dead stop, studying Jake. “Why aren’t you smiling?” I shook his arm in excitement. “This is good news.”
Jake shifted uncomfortably and apprehension crept in.
Jake rarely twitched. His posture tended to be cool and solid.
Unbothered, but precise. It had been that way since he was a kid—and whenever I saw him in a video, sitting on some talk show host’s couch like how he used to sit on mine at home, that was the one thing about him that hadn’t changed.
“Wait,” I said, “this is good news, right?”
“The thing is,” Jake began, “the band and I are— Well, I haven’t actually spoken to them lately.”
Ghosting your friends and having communication issues? Big surprise, is what I wanted to say. Instead, I simply questioned, “You haven’t?”
“No. Not since a month ago when we were all sort of . . .”
“Since you guys were all sort of what?”
Jake mumbled something, the slight Texas twang slipping into his voice again. Between the accent and the quiet way he rushed his words out in a blur, I couldn’t understand a thing.
“Slow down,” I said, trying to focus on his half-mumbled, half-whispered words as he repeated himself.
“You haven’t spoken to them since you all got the .
. .” I wrinkled my brow, trying to decipher his sentence.
“Urge for stolen cups?” I doubted he was talking about their penchant for pilfered mugs. “Come on, Jake, say it louder.”
Jake took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling—or maybe to heaven for strength—and then slowly said, “I haven’t spoken to them since we had a band meeting that got so out of control, we were all on the verge of breakin’ up.”
“You guys are what?” I gasped, my voice rising several octaves higher and louder.
“Shhh,” Jake hushed, palms rushing to cover my mouth as he nervously glanced back at the door.
I counted to three to digest the news, then wrapped my fingers around Jake’s wrists and cautiously lowered his hands away from my lips. “The Usual Suspects are breaking up?”
“No, no, no.” Jake winced. “I don’t think so? I mean, we thought about it for a good minute. We had this huge, stupid fight, so we all agreed that we needed a break from each other.”
“Your vacation before tour,” I said, Jake’s words from earlier flashing through my mind.
“Exactly. So I don’t know who out of the guys is going to want to talk to me right now,” he admitted. “I mean, Leon’s never really mad at anyone for long, but I haven’t spoken to Aspen or Phillip in a month. I’m pretty sure those two haven’t spoken to each other either.”
I crossed my arms. “I thought you boys were friends.”
“Yeah, of course we are,” Jake argued, looking affronted that I suggested they weren’t. “Good friends. Best friends!”
Headlines ran through my mind like I was scrolling though a timeline. Besties Got the Beat: Boy Band Members Are Buddies for Life! These Teens Are Bros 4Ever! US Is All Love!
“Then why aren’t you talking? Didn’t you guys just have an interview in Mic’d Up where you called each other family?” I asked.
“Exactly. Besides being best friends, we’re family. And families fight.” Jake noticed my skeptical expression. “Like you don’t have at least one cousin who you’d be ready to throw hands with.”
“Manny,” I answered automatically.
I called him Manny the Mansplainer. The nickname’s self-explanatory.
“But we also love each other,” Jake continued, stressing his point.
“The thing you have to understand is, we’re four brothers.
Four brothers with wildly different personalities who are stuck together rehearsing for hours at a time.
Then we’re put on planes and tour buses together for hours at a time.
When we leave the bus or plane, it’s only to get shuffled into hotels, where we’re together for hours at a time.
Then we have sound checks and even more rehearsals for hours at a time, before performing for—”
“Hours at a time,” I finished, realization dawning on me. No wonder they’d gotten into a fight—it was bound to happen sooner or later when you’re living like that. I’d start snapping at anyone I got stuck sharing a space with for that long, on top of all the stress of performing. “I get it now.”
“Those tour buses are not as big as they look from the outside when you’re sharing them with three other guys and a driver,” Jake admitted, making a face of disgust. “So, yeah, we’d kill for each other.
It’s just that, sometimes, we also want to kill each other. Right now, we’re in that second part.”
“How long does the second part last?”
“It depends. Usually, we’re back talking to each other pretty quick.
We can resolve a lot of our bickering in less than ten minutes.
We may squabble, but we never actually want to hurt each other.
We’re too close for that. But there have also been fights that have stretched through, like, four states and six tour stops. ”
Both my eyebrows went up in shock. “Four states?”
“And five stages of grief. We made up somewhere around Wyoming.” Jake shrugged. “We all got over it and became bros again like nothing ever happened. But this is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking in person or texting, since we’re supposed to be taking a break from each other.”
“Wait, hold on.” I pressed my fingers to my temples while Jake patiently waited for me to collect my thoughts. “I’m missing something—if you guys got in a fight and agreed not to talk right now, then why does your manager want you to perform together?”
“Marie didn’t like our decision to take a mini vacation from each other instead of doing more promo.
She wants everyone back together and on good terms before we start our tour,” Jake explained.
“Even if we aren’t in danger of actually breaking up, Marie says she can’t have a repeat of the Great Midsummer’s Fair Incident. ”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what happened at the midsummer’s fair?”
“We had some dumb argument on the drive there and didn’t make up before we got onstage. So we each stood, like, four feet away from each other and avoided eye contact the entire time we were singing. A local reporter called it ‘social distancing choreography.’ It was a disaster.”
Yikes. “I can see why your manager wants you guys to go back to being friendly so badly.”
“Yeah. That’s why if I get everyone back together for her, Marie’s offering to fund the performance and put it on the official channels. Well, that,” Jake added wryly, “and because I’m sure she thinks it’s great promo for our tour.”
“So is she going to ask them?”
“No.” Jake made a face, crinkling his nose. “That’s the thing—she wants me to get everyone back together.”
“Why you?”
He avoided my gaze. “Because I’m sort of the one that started the fight?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Seriously?”
Me. His bandmates. His ex, Livie. Nice to know I wasn’t the only relationship this guy had problems maintaining.
Apparently, it was just a thing with him.
The Jake Moody starter pack contained: One smile as cryptic as his texts, eyes that may haunt your daydreams (or possibly your nightmares), and the never-ending thrill of wondering when he’d disappear off into the mist. Press his hand to hear him sing!
An easy fix for your problems not included.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to start anything,” Jake said defensively. “Yeah, Phillip and Aspen were fighting me at first, but then they somehow started arguing with each other. They’re like Tom and Jerry. How’s that my fault?”
“What was the fight even about?”
Jake hesitated before blowing out a breath. “Nothing. Like I said, it was just stupid stuff.”
“Well, do you think we can get them to agree to come down here?” I asked. Jake didn’t answer, looking away, and I reached out for him on instinct. “Please.”
Jake didn’t look up at me; instead his focus caught on my fingers curled around his wrist.
“We need this,” I pleaded. “I need this.”
Jake’s eyes jumped to mine. He took a deep breath, “Let’s—”
Before he could finish his sentence, we heard a sudden shout.
“Lucy,” Amber called. “Are you organizing the pantry again? Oh my God, I just figured out why Sylvester looks so familiar, he’s actually—”
Without warning, the pantry door swung open fast, hitting the wall with a reverberating bang.
I leapt backward, bumping my back hard against the shelves. The box on the shelf above me rocked back and forth, making the bell toys inside clink threateningly. I put my hands up to shield my head right before the box tipped over, its contents spilling onto Jake and me in a jingling cascade.
Clink! Clink! Clink!
“Ouch!” Jake tried to get out of the onslaught, but slipped on a ball, tumbling forward and falling into me instead. He let out a strangled noise as we both started tipping over.
Desperately trying to keep himself upright, Jake made a mad grab for the shelf behind my shoulders, only to accidentally cage me in against him with his arms in the process.
My first thought at seeing Jake accidentally arched over me was, Oh, that’s close. My second thought was, Huh, Jake’s arms are pretty toned. And my third thought went something along the lines of, What? Why am I noticing his biceps? Did I inhale catnip?
I decided to ignore all three and chalk them up to temporary insanity due to a jingle ball concussion.
Jake gave me a worried look as I reached up to rub my forehead. “Are you—”
Amber let out a high-pitched shriek. Jake and I froze.
Amber clamped both hands over her mouth, then looked over her shoulder and down the hall toward what I assumed were concerned-looking customers.
“Sorry!” she shouted to them. Eyes wide as saucers, her head swiveled between them and Jake. “I—er—saw a mouse!”
A gasp could be heard down the hall. I winced. “Not the kind of thing you want to tell café customers.”
“A toy mouse!” Amber corrected, her voice going up a notch. “Don’t panic, it’s just one of the cat toys! The ones we have here look so realistic!”
Jake glanced at me. “The pink polka-dotted ones?”
Unable to help it, I breathed out a laugh. The sound caught Amber’s attention, and her eyes somehow got even bigger once she took a better look at Jake and me. Why did she seem so shocked at—
Right. Jake was still caging me in.
I cleared my throat. “Jake?”
“Yeah?” he questioned, glancing down at me. “What—?” He seemed to suddenly realize how, if I angled my chin upward just slightly, we’d be kissing. “Oh.”
He quickly let go of the shelves, righting himself so fast he fell into me again, our limbs entwining in a tangled mess.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as the warmth of his arms pulled away.
Amber watched our interaction with fascination, before looking at me and asking, “I thought you were mad at him?”
Wonderful time to bring that up, Amber.
“I mean, every time ‘Lovely, Aren’t Ya’ comes on my playlist, you’re all like .
. .” Amber effected a falsetto, which did not sound like me at all, thank you very much.
“Ugh, hearing Jake’s verses makes me want to grab the closest item and stuff it in my ears so I don’t have to hear him. Amber, please hand me that croissant—”
“I did not say that,” I argued as Jake sent me a look. “I swear I didn’t!”
“And now you’re hiding in a pantry with him to—” Amber gestured vaguely about the position we’d fallen into. “Make out?”
I choked on air. “Excuse me?”
Jake frowned. “I’d never make out with Lucy in a kitty supply pantry.”
Amber’s eyebrows went up. “But you’d make out with her somewhere else?”
I choked on air a second time. “We weren’t meeting up for that. Jake needed to talk to his manager about helping the café.”
“Oh!” Amber’s eyes widened. “Really? You’re going to help?”
Jake’s eyes met mine and held my gaze. I sent him a silent plea.
“Yeah,” he said, after a moment. He nodded, never breaking our eye contact. “I’ll try.”