More Than Music (29 page)

“He learned
both
?”

“Yep. And recorded both parts himself, too.”

No wonder he was spending all his time here; he was doing the work of two musicians instead of one. “Didn’t the show get someone to fill in for me?”

“They did, but the guy was terrible, and Jared flipped out and scared him off. Dan’s been filling in as needed until we figured out what to do.”

I hung my head. “I’m so sorry I bailed on you guys. I just went a little crazy, and I couldn’t deal with anyone. But I won’t abandon you again, I promise.”

“Hey, we all lost ourselves a little that night,” Hector said. “But that’s over now.”

“Have you talked to Jared at all?” Kyle asked me.

“No.” I glanced at the door again. Jared must be in this studio somewhere, only a few walls separating us. “I’m not ready to face him yet. I know I’ll have to, but I just need a little more time.”

Kyle nodded. “I’ll tell him what’s going on. For today, why don’t you practice in here while you learn the song?”

“That sounds good.” At some point I’d have to talk to Jared, but no matter what happened with him, I was a part of this band and I deserved to be on the show with them. I wanted to be by their side whether we won or lost and for everything that came after.

B
y some miracle, my hotel room was still mine. I’d never checked out, but I’d assumed the producers would cancel it after I’d left. But Dan wouldn’t let them give it up because he kept telling them I’d come back. Even after I’d walked away, he’d still believed in me.

I set my bags down and fell onto the bed I’d slept in for the last few weeks, and it felt as much like returning home as going back to my apartment. Except this room was much cleaner at the moment. I pulled out my acoustic guitar to play through “Behind the Mask” again so I wouldn’t be rusty on Monday, but as soon as I picked off the first chord, someone knocked on my door. I knew who it was before I even opened it.

Jared was holding his guitar case, and today’s villain shirt said, “Moriarty Was Real,” from BBC’s
Sherlock
. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, but he was still every bit as handsome as I remembered. You’d think after spending nearly every waking minute with him for weeks I’d be immune to the shock of his blue eyes, his perfect lips, his kissable neck, but no.

“Not okay?” he asked softly.

“Not okay.” Very much not okay, especially now that he was here. “But I will be.”

“Did you get my messages?”

“Yes, but…I couldn’t listen to them.”

He gave me a hesitant smile. “Probably for the best. They were pretty pathetic. There was a lot of groveling and begging. Some drunken singing. It wasn’t pretty.”

Now I wished I had listened to them. Maybe things would be different now. Or maybe I still wouldn’t believe a thing he said. Jared was a master of words, of using his voice and looks to manipulate people, and I didn’t need any more empty promises.

He looked past me into the room. “Can I come in?”

I nodded and stepped back, quickly putting distance between us. I didn’t trust myself being so close to him. But he didn’t move toward me; instead, he set his guitar case down on the bed, and I realized it wasn’t his case—it was mine.

“What…” I held my breath and popped it open. My beautiful green guitar had been repaired, and you couldn’t even tell it had been broken except for a small ring of lighter wood on the neck. I ran my hands over it, my eyes tearing up. My guitar was scarred, but it was whole again. Like me. “You got it fixed?”

“I wanted you to have your guitar, even if you didn’t come back.”

“Thank you.” Jared knew how much this guitar meant, and my heart softened a tiny bit, knowing he’d done this for me. I closed my eyes and strummed a chord, enjoying the familiar weight in my arms. This must have cost a fortune, especially to have it done so quickly. “How much was it? I can repay you…” Eventually. Somehow.

“No, definitely not.”

“But—”

“Please, I want to do this for you. Let me try to be a hero for once.”

I dropped my gaze. “All right.”

He stood there a long moment, looking anywhere but at me, and our unspoken words hung between us. I felt like apologizing, but for what? For being honest about how I felt? I’d told him I loved him, and he’d let me walk away.

“I should go,” he said, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to bring you that and to say I’m sorry for everything that happened and everything I said the other night.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Because I was, even if I wouldn’t take back anything I’d said. I hated hurting him, but I couldn’t let him keep hurting me either.

“I’m really happy you’re back,” he said. “And I know I might not be able to fix things between us, but I’m going to try.”

I waited for him to say more, but he slipped out the door without another word. I wasn’t sure how he planned to fix things. Nothing had changed between us since that night, even if he had gotten my guitar fixed. He obviously cared for me, at least a little, but that wasn’t enough. He was still the guy who would do anything to win, who flirted with other girls, who flashed his stage smile for the audience and kept his real self hidden away. Maybe he wanted to fix things, but I refused to be his secret anymore.

I
t was time. One last day of performances, with four bands competing for the prize: a contract with Mix It Up Records, plus all the opportunities that came with it. Spots on late night talk shows. Songs on the radio. Performances on future seasons of
The Sound
. Plus, the headlining spot on the tour next month.

Somehow, despite the odds, despite all the roadblocks thrown in our path, our band had made it to the finals. When I’d agreed to help the guys with their audition, I never in a million years dreamed we’d get this far. And yet, I knew we deserved to be here. I knew we had a chance at winning.

I’d only spent a day practicing “Radioactive” on my own, followed by one day with the rest of the band, but for once, I wasn’t too worried. I could admit it now: I was a damn good guitarist. I had the song down, and what I might lack in practice, I’d make up for in energy. I wouldn’t let anything hold me back tonight.

We did our soundcheck in the morning, and then had an hour break for lunch before we had to start getting ready for the live show. I headed for the food table with the other guys, but Jared stopped me.

“Come with me,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.

I’d finally listened to all his messages the night before. He’d apologized a dozen times and pleaded for me to come back—if not for him, then for the other guys. He’d even sung me a drunken rendition of “Stay” that had morphed into “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” halfway through. It had broken my heart all over again, but hearing how upset he’d been had mended it a tiny bit, too.

“Where are we going?” I remembered all too well the other times we’d sneaked off during a show. Not that I wasn’t tempted, of course, but nothing like that was going to happen today.

“I want to show you something.”

He led me out the side entrance of the theater and past the security guards to where the line for the audience wrapped around the block. People stood when they saw us approaching, and some cheered or shouted our names. I slowed, uncomfortable with all these people looking at me. This wasn’t like on stage where I couldn’t really make out faces in the crowd, where there was some distance between us and the fans. And it wasn’t like when we’d met fans before, one at a time or in a small group. There were
hundreds
of people here. Maybe thousands. But Jared walked over without any hesitation, and I tailed behind him.

“Hey,” he said, to the group of girls at the front of the line. They didn’t look a day older than thirteen and had one very patient parent with them.

“Oh my god, you’re Jared Cross! And Maddie Taylor! We love you!” The girls all shrieked and bounced and flailed, and I couldn’t help but laugh. They were so enthusiastic, so excited to see us.
Both
of us.

“Thanks,” Jared said, with a warm smile. “We love you, too.”

“I’m freaking out. I can’t believe you’re really here,” one of the girls said, fanning herself.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Portland. We’ve been camped out here all night.”

“Wow, thank you for coming to see us. We’re truly honored.”

“You’re, like, my all-time favorite guitarist,” a girl in glasses told me. “I totally want to be you when I get older.”

Her words hit me hard, right in the chest, and my throat closed up. “Thank you,” I managed to get out. “That means so much to me.”

“She
is
pretty amazing,” Jared agreed.

“Please tell us you’re together,” the first girl said, looking back and forth between us. “Please!”

“You…want us to be together?” I asked. Is this what Jared wanted to show me? Even though I’d wondered if some fans might want us to be a couple, I didn’t expect this reaction after all the nasty comments about us online and everything that had happened between us. But these girls looked like they might mash our faces together and force us to kiss in front of them.

“Yes! You
have
to be!” my fangirl said.

“You’re just
so
perfect for each other!” the third girl added.

“I agree,” Jared said and smiled at me. “We’re trying to figure things out right now. But I’m hopeful.”

The girls all clutched their chests and said, “Aww.”

I stared at him, completely speechless. For the first time ever, Jared wasn’t denying his feelings for me. He wasn’t saying he was single. He wasn’t saying we were just friends. Was he giving up the act finally? Or was he just joking around in front of these girls?

They all wanted photos with us and asked us to sign things, and the crowd around us grew. We carried on down the line, talking to all of the people who’d come to see our band, and encountered the same thing over and over. The fans loved our music, and they didn’t care about Jared’s player image. They wanted the fairy tale, the epic romance, the story of the reformed bad boy who fell in love with the good girl. Some people even had signs that read “Jared + Maddie” with hearts all over them, while others had drawn the Villain Complex logo on their arms and cheeks like tattoos. We even ran into some people wearing Villain Complex T-shirts.

“I didn’t even know we
had
T-shirts,” I said to Jared.

“News to me, too. How do I get one of those?”

“Here, you can each have one,” the woman said. “I made them.”

I held the shirt up to my chest. “Thank you, I love it.”

Jared and I both pulled them on over the shirts we were already wearing, and I thought the fan might faint on the spot.

We spent our entire lunch break there, and I was sad when we had to go back inside but also more alive than I could ever remember being. Talking to the fans made every single thing we’d gone through worth it and gave me even more motivation to do my best tonight. That was the dream, right there—not winning the show or the recording contract or even the tour. It was knowing our music had touched other people’s lives, that people had come to see our band, that they were rooting for us. And finally, Jared realized that, too.