“Oh, yeah, he made you learn the drums in high school?” I remembered Jared saying that in our first interview for the show. Why was Hector bringing this up now?
“Sort of. He and Kyle were always playing music, and one day I tried out their drums and was hooked. I spent every day at their house after that, just so I could play with them. When we started the band, I was living with my grandmother and we didn’t have much money, so Jared bought me a drum kit for my eighteenth birthday.”
“Wow, that’s a pretty big gift.”
“It was nothing to him. Changed my life though. And you know their mom is this famous songwriter and their dad is a big shot lawyer for, like, every big musician out there, right? But Jared refuses to let them pull any strings for him. He said if we succeed, he wants it to be on our own, without any handouts. He wants to know we earned it. That’s just the kind of guy he is.”
A lot of things about Jared clicked into place. How hard he worked, how much he pushed himself, how he would do anything to make sure we won. Not that it excused his actions, but I understood him a tiny bit better. “Why are you telling me this?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I get on his case a lot and complain about this being ‘his’ band and all that, but I honestly couldn’t do all the things he does for us. Jared makes me crazy sometimes, but he’s also the best guy I know. Don’t give up on him yet, okay?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I didn’t want to give up on Jared, but I couldn’t continue with things the way they were either.
The door opened, and Kyle returned. “That was Dan. He wants to know what’s going on.”
I drew a long breath and stood up straighter. “Well, I’m back, and I’m ready to rehearse. What songs are you working on this week?”
“The new one is ‘Radioactive’ by Imagine Dragons. Dan chose it because none of us could agree on anything after the results show.”
“What’s the theme?”
“No theme since it’s the finals. We also have to play our song from the audition again.”
I nodded. I hadn’t practiced “Behind the Mask” in weeks, but that song was branded on my soul. I’d never forget how to play it. I didn’t know “Radioactive,” but I would learn the guitar for it by Monday even if I had to stay up all night tonight and tomorrow.
“Who’s been playing guitar?” I asked. “Or did you get someone to play bass?”
The guys exchanged a look. “Jared’s kind of doing both,” Kyle said.
“What do you mean?”
“On Wednesday we all assumed you’d come back after you blew off some steam, so Jared learned the bass for the song. But by Friday, it was clear you were gone for good, and Jared switched to the guitar.”
“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.
* * *
By 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 flir
ted 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.
TWENTY-FOUR
It 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.
* * *
Our special guests arrived just before the show started. Hector embraced his grandmother and his three little sisters, speaking to them in Spanish, while Kyle planted a huge kiss on Alexis. And behind them all stood Julie and Carla, along with my third guest: my mom.
“Mom, you made it!” I said, and ran to her arms. There was nothing like being hugged by your mother. Even if things between us had been weird for a while, it was still the most comforting feeling in the world.
“I can’t wait to see you perform,” she said into my hair. “I’m so proud of you, Madison.”
I’d called her right after I’d rejoined the band, but I hadn’t been sure she would actually come to the show. Getting out of the house was a challenge for her on most days, but she’d flown down to LA to see me, and that was huge for her. Even if she didn’t approve of me playing guitar, she was trying and she was sober, and I was going to do my best to keep things good between us from now on. And maybe, someday, I’d even call my father, too.
Jared stood to the side, the only one who didn’t have any family or friends waiting for him. We’d each been given two tickets for family members, but he’d given his to Hector, while Kyle had given me his spare. Jared’s family—the only people he really cared about anyway—was already here.
Julie gave me a fierce hug and whispered, “I’m glad you decided to fight.”
Carla hugged me next and wished me luck, and then I brought my mom over to meet Jared. “Mom, this is Jared Cross.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Jared flashed her his most charming smile. “Only the good things are true, I promise.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” she said but smiled back. When he went to say hello to Hector’s family, she leaned close and whispered, “He’s very handsome in person.”
I laughed. Ye
s, yes, he was.
Our guests left to find their seats, and Dan called us over for one last pep talk.
“I know things haven’t been easy these past few weeks, and some of that was my fault. I pressured you too hard to worry about what the producers wanted and about winning votes, and I apologize for that. Your brand and your image are important, but this industry can drag you down and turn you into someone you’re not. Don’t ever lose sight of who you are—both individually and as a band.”
He nodded at each of us in turn, and I knew he was referring to what had happened this week. Dan had never questioned my departure or my return; he’d just accepted it, and I was so grateful to him for that. He’d given us space to work out our issues, and we were stronger because of it.
“You may not be what the producers want, but I know you can win this thing,” he continued. “You’re the most talented, most original band on the show, and the fans love you. And no matter what happens, I’m proud to have been your mentor.”
He hugged each of us and wished us luck and then took his place with the other mentors in front of the stage. Yes, Dan might have given us some bad advice, but he truly cared about us and wanted us to succeed. We’d learned so much from him in the past few weeks, and I was really glad I’d spilled coffee on Angel that day.
The lounge was mostly empty with only three other bands still on the show. While we waited for our turn to go on stage, Jared did his vocal exercises, Hector stretched his neck and shoulders, and Kyle paced back and forth. I flexed my wrists and fingers, trying to loosen myself up a bit. Tonight we’d gone for the full-out rock star look after Dan had pointed out that we were the only true rock band left. Black clothes and boots. Studded belts. Silver jewelry. Leather jackets. And Hector wore his normal Villain Complex hat, of course.
On the screens, we watched Brazen do a Katy Perry cover and Not Too Calm perform their song from the audition, which I barely remembered. Finally, it was our turn with “Behind the Mask.”
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 82
