My 90s Boy Band Boyfriend: A YA Time Travel Rockstar Romance (Teen Queens Book 2)

by Jennifer Griffith

  Besides the Hudson praise to keep her up, she was going to be on TV. In four days. She, Oakley Marsden. Every kid at Wood River High School who seemed to think Oakley Marsden was a no-talent Shoe Girl would see something brand new. And it wouldn’t just be shoes. She’d prove them all wrong. And she wasn’t going to let one bad video—or even half of one—stop her from trying again.

  Those old shoes are done. Shoe Girl is done. And I’ll be wearing the Boots of Amazingness for the audition.

  Boots of Amazingness. Ha. She should trademark that name for them—because truthfully, the boots were great, but the amazingness part was how they made Oakley feel about herself. In them, she was like that song about the boots that were made for walking and they’d walk all over you. By that, though, she didn’t mean the other students, not even the Populars. They weren’t really worth scuffing the Boots of Amazingness for. Rather, she meant they’d walk all over her insecurities. Who on earth could harbor self-doubt while wearing those boots?

  No one.

  Oakley defied anyone to feel the least bit afraid in those boots. Even during an audition for The Next Radio Star. And she’d sing something great—not sure what yet—and wear anything-plus-these-boots and be the girl she always thought she was inside. The little girl who could. The little girl who not only could, but did. She was going to rock the world in those boots.

  Hudson had offered to buy them for her, and he believed she could sing well enough to win.

  Hudson. He was so much more than just a ten thousand-watt smile and a killer singing voice. He had more depth and poetry to him than that. Then she recalled his hunch. Had he really been prompted to do things like hide cash? Or was a hunch telling him now that those wacky conspiracies in Mom’s book had merit?

  Oakley rolled onto her side and curled up. She needed to sleep. There was too much to do tomorrow. Just as she was drifting off, thinking about how Hudson’s kiss the other day had felt—a sharp pinprick of pain pierced her just below her heart.

  What if her dad were to see her performance on TV? Not Sherm, but her real dad. Derek Marsden. Would he recognize her? By her last name, by how much she resembled her mom? Oakley sat bolt upright in bed, the thought electrifying her—but not necessarily in a good way. Was she ready for anything like that?

  Padding downstairs in just her bathrobe, she went to the kitchen. A glass of water cooled the lava of worry burning in her stomach, and released the tears in her eyes. They slid down her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Hudson’s voice startled her. “Couldn’t sleep? Me, neither.” Then he looked at her more closely. “You’re upset.” He gathered her in his arms, where she melted into soft butter. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to rock the audition. It’s fine. And I’m going to find my family.”

  “What are you doing up?” Oakley asked, glancing over and seeing the computer on. “Research?”

  “Don’t be mad, but I couldn’t stand the tension. I hired a private investigator. He’s starting tomorrow night, and he needs a couple thousand cash on retainer. So we need to go pick up my money in the morning.”

  “Pick it up? Where? I thought you said we’d need a truck.”

  “Portland. Well, sort of Portland. This side of it, anyway.” He laughed. “Don’t get so worried. I know the address by heart.” His shoulders fell. “Oh, but you’d have to skip school.”

  She shouldn’t skip school. And she would definitely need to be back in time for her job at Board & Brush by late afternoon.

  “Let me go to math, and I can skip the rest. Just have me back by five. It’ll be fine.”

  “It’s a deal.” Hudson pulled her into a tight embrace. “You’re right. It will be fine.”

  The swinging saloon doors banged open, and Sherm stood in them, looking like he’d just heard Mother Theresa admit to robbing a bank.

  “Who’s skipping school?” He stepped into the room, shaking off his umbrella. “And who, may I ask, is this?”

  Hudson released Oakley from his arms, leaving her suddenly cold. He stepped toward Sherm.

  “Hello, sir. I’m Hudson Oaks.”

  Scene 11: “Cool It Now”

  At the saloon doors between the kitchen and the piano room, Sherm fell against the door frame, one saloon door whacking hard against the wall with a hollow, wooden slap. His hair looked damp, what there was of it, and his light brown trench coat had big raindrop splotches on the shoulders.

  He also wore an expression of pure shock.

  “You don’t say.”

  “I hope it’s okay, but Stacey invited me to stay.” Hudson extended his hand to Sherm to shake. “Just until …”

  Until when? Inside Oakley, this question burned a huge hole. Until he found his parents? Until he got his career back? Until Mr. Mulroney was proved wrong and the time wave crested again, sucking Hudson back to where he began?

  Too many untils.

  “Sure, sure.” Sherm looked like he’d gone into a half-trance. He unbuttoned his coat and let it drop on the kitchen tile in a wet heap. Oakley had never seen him so off his game. Slowly he circled Hudson, finally taking his hand and shaking it. “It’s uncanny. Seriously.”

  “Sherm,” Oakley said, “I know what you’re thinking. That this guy can’t really be Hudson Oaks. But I assure you, he is.”

  Her stepdad’s eyes swept Hudson’s face a dozen times, and then he checked out his whole frame, still shaking Hudson’s hand.

  “Stacey said I could borrow your clothes. Just until …”

  Again with the untils. Suspense was going to kill her.

  “No, no. That’s fine. You’re welcome to anything Stacey says.” He let go of Hudson’s hand, but Sherm was still doing the full visual research on the guy. “Honestly, I would swear to it. Do you sing like him, too?”

  Oakley opened her mouth to stop this interrogation, but Hudson beat her to the answer by filling the room, floor to ceiling, with his luxurious voice. “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed, I never knew it could be like this …”

  Every note poured over Oakley’s head and shoulders, warming her. Hudson had a voice like an electric blanket on a cold winter’s night. It made a girl want to snuggle down into it. A girl could fall in love with that voice.

  “It’s uncanny,” Sherm said, slapping his cheek and letting his palm slide down it. “I’d swear, you’re a dead ringer for … for the dead guy.”

  “He’s not dead, Sherm.”

  “Well, I can see that. I mean, he’s standing right here. And Murgatroyd, but he sounds exactly like him. You could make good money on some kind of tribute band tour, you know that?”

  Well, that idea hadn’t occurred to Oakley. But Sherm was probably right: girls of the twenty-first century would go just as nutso over the fake Hudson Oaks—who was the real McCoy—as the girls of the twentieth century had gone over the original version.

  Maybe he didn’t have to lose his career. Maybe the Now Hudson could slide right back into fame by being someone else pretending to be himself.

  Whoa. That was just too meta.

  Then again, maybe going to The Next Radio Star could be his ticket. If she were to slide him into her act at the last second, then well, duh. Maybe in that moment, the world would be convinced about the time travel thing, and they had nothing to worry about. He could just say, hey, girls, I’m back, and everything would be fine. It had worked on Mom.

  It had worked on me.

  No. Oakley brushed the weirdness of it away. None of Hudson’s career could even be considered until after he’d found his family. That was priority one. Even over her own tryout—far beyond that.

  “And you like Oakley, it seems.” Sherm was going on with his interrogation, widening his search now. Oakley’s face flushed hot. She couldn’t believe Sherm had walked in on her hugging a strange guy in her pajamas in the kitchen in the middle of the night. After all, she was supposedly the sweet sixteen and never-been-kissed type. At least before Hudson. At least in Sherm’s eyes.

  �
�And it appears you’re staying here?” Sherm asked, starting yet another interrogation with the word and. His eyes darted between Oakley and Hudson, and his gaze darkened. “While you are dating my daughter?”

  Step-daughter, Oakley’s mind automatically retorted, even though it was a little unkind. “He’s here at the house. In one of the guest rooms.” There were four guest rooms, plus the study, the theater room, and the crawl space under the stairs. “We’ve got plenty of space, right? Besides, he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He can’t, uh, he can’t find his family.”

  “Oh. That’s—that’s too bad.” Sherm tilted his head. “What happened to them?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out. But we’re hitting dead ends.” Oakley went over and picked up the wet trench coat from the floor and shook it over the tile in the foyer before folding it over her arm. “Have you eaten? How was your trip?”

  If she distracted him, Sherm might not have time to say Hudson couldn’t stay. Plus, if she threw out a big need—like the disaster of not being able to find the Oaks family anywhere—she knew Sherm well enough to know he’d jump in and help. He couldn’t resist someone in need. Strange for a lawyer, especially a financially successful one, but he was actually a solid guy.

  Oakley did know that. Even when he irritated her.

  “As an attorney, I have some public record access we could use for that.” Sherm had lost his kick-out-Hudson train of thought already. “When was the last time you saw them?”

  Sherm and Hudson went into the piano room and sat on the couch. Oakley stayed in the kitchen and warmed up a plate of pasta and some vegetables, bating her breath. Please, she begged silently, don’t tell Hudson he can’t stay. With every spin of the microwave’s turntable, she whispered, Please believe this whole wacky time-travel thing. When there were eleven seconds left on the timer—half of an eleven eleven—she murmured, Please don’t call the cops on Hudson for being an impersonator and taking advantage of your wife and step-daughter while you were out of town.

  Sherm could have potentially done that as well.

  “And so they were in Seattle twenty-three years ago, and that’s all you know.” Sherm accepted the plate of pasta from Oakley’s hands. She thought she should go up and get Mom, but she got caught in their conversation.

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “But …” Again, Sherm looked Hudson up and down. “You’re, I swear, you’re not more than eighteen.”

  Oakley jumped in and handed Sherm his glass of cranberry juice, his favorite. Please don’t flip your lid.

  “I’m seventeen, sir.”

  Fingers quaking, she handed a napkin to Sherm, who was slowly shaking his head. Please accept it. Please accept him.

  “Call me Sherm,” he said. “I get enough sirs in court.”

  The held breath exploded from Oakley’s lungs. Yes! Sherm had accepted Hudson. Maybe not the whole cockamamie story about the time travel—which might not have even come out yet, for all Oakley knew—but he trusted Hudson with his first name. It was a sign.

  “Well, I don’t totally get it. Yet. But I get the sense you’re not a liar. I deal with liars all the livelong day, and you’re not one.” Sherm took a bite of his pasta and washed it down with a swig of juice. “You are, however, confusing. And you had your hands on my daughter. So we do have some barriers here. Let’s discuss the physical affection first.”

  “No,” Oakley groaned. “Do we have to?”

  Sherm shot her a stern look, and then he turned to Hudson. “If Stacey has allowed you to stay, she trusts you. But you’d better not abuse that trust by compromising Oakley. Oakley is a special girl.”

  “I know that, sir. Believe me. She’s one in a million.”

  “Add a b to the beginning of that million word instead of the m. She’s unique. And we’d like her to stay that way.”

  In all her sixteen unkissed years, Oakley had never been so humiliated. Who knew that humiliation had a temperature? Hers soared way past fever levels.

  “Sherm. Can we just not—?”

  “And furthermore, I’d like to know how old you are. If your parents disappeared twenty-three years ago, then you have to be at least that age. Logic insists. Though you hide it well and claim to be younger, I’d have to saw off your arm and count the rings to be certain.”

  “Sherm!” Oakley protested, though she’d known herself this topic was going to come up.

  He put up a hand. “Come on, Oakley. Even you have to admit that his story doesn’t jibe.” He frowned and looked back at Hudson. “If you’re going to be confusing, I’m going to have to ask for proof of age. Do you have a driver’s license? A birth certificate?”

  “Sherm! I found him on the streets. He was homeless and wandering and hurt.” She definitely didn’t want Hudson flashing that driver’s license that proved he was a couple of months older than Mom. “He’d been in an accident, and Mom let us take him in. He helped me with my algebra test, and he bought me some shoes.”

  Sherm’s eyes lit. “You got different shoes?”

  “I insisted, sir,” Hudson intervened for Oakley. “They look very nice.”

  “Call me Sherm,” he said again. Sherm looked down and inspected Oakley’s feet. They were bare. “Well, I don’t see the evidence yet, but new shoes is a point in your favor, I must say.” He looked at Hudson anew. “We’ve been trying to encourage new shoes for some time now.”

  They had, but Oakley had remembered the deal. “Do we have to go over that again?” It still stung, knowing that her determination to keep her promise to her mom had caused her so much struggle at school. “I thought you guys wanted me to be a person who keeps her word.”

  Sherm sighed. “Your mom wants you to be happy. If keeping your word is that important to you, we always understood, but there’s an expiration date on things. She thinks you reached it. You kept your word for, what was it? Four whole years.”

  Oakley frowned. “I used my college money from Board & Brush to buy new boots.”

  “I offered to pay for them,” Hudson jumped in. “She didn’t let me at the time since I didn’t have cash, but I’m going to be true to my word, sir.”

  “Call me Sherm,” Sherm said without turning his eyes to Hudson. “You used your college money?”

  “I’m going to work hard and replenish it, I promise.”

  “Oakley! Your mom wants to buy you shoes. She feels like she owes you several years’ worth.”

  Well, the boots cost several years’ worth. She didn’t tell him so. She didn’t want to see his head explode. She just nodded slowly. “Okay. Maybe we can go halves.”

  Finally he turned back to Hudson. He eyed him, his skepticism obvious. “Most dads would go ballistic finding what I walked in on. But if you have influence on her—good influence, I mean exclusively—I’ll take what I can get. Since she wouldn’t listen to us, I’m glad she at least listened to you. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing.” Hudson dug around in his pants pocket. “And yes, I do happen to have a driver’s license.”

  No. No, no, no. Oakley’s heart stopped for a second. “Hudson, I don’t think—” If Sherm saw that, he’d be apoplectic. That, or he’d kick him out for being forty and hitting on Oakley.

  Actually, worst of all, he might insist that Hudson go public with his return.

  No. He wouldn’t do that. As an attorney, he was all about client privacy. Which gave Oakley an idea.

  “Wait!” She put out a hand to stop Hudson from handing over anything from his wallet. “Sherm.” She swung around and knelt by him. “You always said I could ask you for any advice, right?”

  “Of course.” His eyes softened.

  “What about legal advice?” It sounded stupid. But it was worth a shot. “What if you act as Hudson’s attorney? And give him legal advice? For me? For my sake?”

  A cloud passed over Sherm’s face, but it floated away. “All right.” He patted Oakley’s shoulder. “I’m glad you trust me enough to come to m
e with this.” He turned to Hudson. “Is everything all right, young man? Your story does seem convoluted, but it’s also troubling. What exactly is going on?”

  “This, sir.” Hudson’s wallet was already open, and he handed Sherm his ID. “I really am Hudson Oaks.”

  ***

  Sherm’s pasta had grown cold. At some point, Mom had awakened. She’d come down and joined them, and her testimony of Hudson’s identity went a long way toward convincing the level-headed attorney that the impossible had actually occurred, strange and unlikely as it might have been.

  Oakley sat close to Hudson on the love seat. While Sherm digested the information and typed things into his phone, Hudson slid his hand over and took Oakley’s, intertwining their fingers.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, low and close to her neck, so that she could feel his breath against her skin, setting it on fire. It was as warm as his singing voice. She snuggled against him—only ten percent though, since her parents were watching. Having a pop star for a boyfriend had its perks. Having him in her house in full sight of her parents full time, not so perk-filled.

  “Look. I’m on this.” Sherm tucked his phone into his pocket. “This is complex, but I think we can locate your family, for one.” He looked again at his plate of food, and Mom hopped up to take it back to the kitchen. Soon the microwave hummed.

  “We don’t have to pay for a private investigator?” Oakley said. “That’s such a relief.”

  “I told you I could afford it.” Hudson squeezed Oakley’s hand but spoke to Sherm. “That’s great, Sherm. I haven’t seen them for a long time.”

  “Twenty-three years is definitely a long time. They’ll be—”

  “It’s been longer, actually,” Hudson interjected. “I lost them before the plane wreck.”

  “They were missing?”

  “No, I told them to, uh, get lost.” He winced. Oakley winced for him. Get lost was pretty harsh. “I’m not proud of it, sir. Whether or not I did it based on false information, I don’t just want to make amends. I need to make amends. And to do that, I have to find them.”