Part of me—a pretty big, convincing part—knew that JJ was lying. We’d been spending a lot of time together, and I had started to pick up on his tells. A dash of color across his cheeks, a smile higher on the right than the left, a slight tremble to his hands as he ran them through his hair, they were all sure fire indications that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. He lied a lot at school, and a little bit at practice, those little blushes and crooked smiles giving him away.
He dismissed it, and so did I. It was easier than I thought to push our little kiss to the back of my mind—after our first set at Howie’s, we were offered a permanent gig every Saturday night. We still practiced every Wednesday and met up early on Saturday afternoons to drive out to Monroeville in my rattling van. JJ still showed up hungover but sober. He sang the Twin Atlantic song. He still flirted with everyone that dared to come within ten feet of him.
We’d go back to his house after every show to drink, play music and watch movies until the high of the stage wore off. I found myself waking up on his bedroom floor every Sunday, wondering what my life had been like before JJ Keswick had swaggered into it.
I still thought about him a lot. Well, more than a lot. It was bordering on unhealthy, and I knew it. I thought about whether he called any of the girls (or boys) who’d given him their numbers after our shows at Howie’s. I wondered if his dad had come home since the start of the school year, then found myself wondering if he cared. I wanted to know if Lesley saw a difference in him, now he had something to focus on beyond drinking and partying.
I wondered if he ever thought about it, the five seconds or so when we’d been so caught up in each other that I hadn’t been sure where I ended and he started. For those brief, beautiful seconds, I had been more than a timid guitarist who could count the number of people he’d kissed on one hand, and he’d been more than the cocky vocalist who genuinely couldn’t remember who he’d lost his virginity to. I was a different person when he kissed me, he was a different person when I kissed him. I wasn’t sure if those other people were better, but they were certainly very interesting.
“Can you sulk at a lower volume, please?” Jessica asked one afternoon as winter closed in around the empty store.
I had been staring at my math textbook for the better part of half an hour, and it still wasn’t making any sense. My brain, seemingly terrified by the numbers and symbols, had retreated into daydream mode—Daydream Three, to be precise. I was particularly fond of Daydream Three and had spent an increasing number of afternoons living among the misty edges of my make-believe rock stardom.
“Not sulking,” I muttered. “Thinking.”
“About math? I highly doubt that.”
“Not about math,” I replied. “I never think about math. Not even when I’m in math class.”
“Ooh, you rebel,” she said drily as she looked up at me from her spot on the shop floor. “You thinking about JJ?”
“No,” I lied, hoping my dark fringe was long enough to hide the blush I could feel burning under my skin. “Not really.”
“Not really?”
“I think about the band, about what it could be like after we get out of this town. We’re good, Jess. We’re better than I ever thought we could be. Playing at Howie’s just made me realize we could do this. We could make a real go of it.”
“Of course we could,” she replied, smiling as she got to her feet. “We’re kicking all sorts of ass, just like I knew we would. Why do you sound so sad about it?”
“I’m scared,” I admitted with a little huff, slamming my math book shut. There wasn’t much point continuing with the illusion that I gave a damn about equations. “It feels like there’s a lot at stake, with the band . . .”
And with JJ . . .
“I’m gonna tell you what I told JJ, after he missed our first practice. We’re friends first, bandmates second. If we decide to do this, it’s not going to be easy. We’re musicians, Jack. We’re not gonna get along all the time. But we’ll always be friends. You need to stop over thinking everything.”
I nodded, letting her words lift the tension across my hunched shoulders. She was right—we were all friends. I still considered JJ a friend, even if he’d been a little weird since the time we’d nearly made out. I was confused about a lot of things, but if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that my friends would be there for me, no matter what.
Things settled down eventually, the rhythm of life returning as fall faded into winter. My dad was still on the road but certain he’d be back for Thanksgiving, and Forever Fading Echoes were improving with every practice and every show. Howie upped our fee to a hundred and fifty dollars a week because people were turning up at the club just to see us. We played, we practiced and we hung out. Eventually, the weird tension between JJ and I dissipated, no match for time, my exasperation and JJ’s charm.
We played a show in costume for Halloween. JJ dressed up as Gomez Addams and Jessica dressed up as Wednesday. I was supposed to be a zombie lumberjack.
Jessica had grinned when she’d told me what I’d be wearing. “That’s what you get for wearing so much plaid.”
Dylan was a zombie football player, and Ash didn’t dress up, because she looked kick-ass without a costume.
Thanksgiving was a small, quiet affair. JJ ended up going to Texas after all. He’d been in two minds about going, but his grandmother had called him to ask him to spend the holiday at the family ranch. She’d gotten him a Rolex to celebrate his senior year, and wanted to give it to him in person.
He spent the holiday texting me approximately every twenty minutes. His messages ranged from asking me how I felt about gravy to sending me a selfie, which featured him sitting in his grandfather’s study, boots on the desk with the sun stained ranch stretching out behind him.
“Who’s texting you so much?” my dad asked as Aunt Rose and I joined him on the couch after Thanksgiving dinner. “I thought Jess would be having her post-dinner nap by now.”
My dad had spent enough Thanksgivings with Jess to know that any large amount of food makes her sleepy. It’s why she stopped coming over to our house for Thanksgiving. She always ended up passed out and drooling somewhere, much to her embarrassment. My dad liked Jess a lot—I think she reminded him of my mom at that age—so I made a mental note to ask her to stop by the shop to see him before he left.
“Just a friend,” I replied, shrugging. There was no way I was going to explain the JJ Keswick situation (not that you can ever really explain someone like JJ) on a full stomach.
“Boyfriend?” he pressed, his blue eyes glittering, despite the straight face he was trying so hard to keep.
At first glance, my dad wasn’t the type of guy you’d expect to be so comfortable with having a gay son. He’d been a hockey player when he was young and was built like the back of a tour bus—as short and stocky as I was tall and lean. Combine that with his tangled dark hair and a pretty impressive beard, and the whole look screamed “biker!” rather than “supportive dad!”
He had always been good about it, though. I came out when I was thirteen, sobbing and red faced at the kitchen table while my dad rubbed my back. I had asked him what was wrong with me, and he’d shook his head as he said there was nothing wrong with me. As far as he was concerned, I was perfect, like my mom had been perfect, and I shouldn’t let anyone tell me otherwise. I didn’t believe him, probably never would, but he would not be convinced otherwise.
“We don’t need to talk about this, you know,” I told him, always looking to give him an out. I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable—knowing I was gay in theory was a world away from knowing I was possibly/probably developing feelings for another boy. I always expected him to get to a point where he couldn’t support me anymore, but it never came.
“Sure we do!” he replied, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “You’ve been smiling all day, if it ain’t a boyfriend then I’m gonna start to think it’s drugs.”
“That would explain why you
ate so much at dinner,” Aunt Rose added as she sat down beside me, blanket in one hand and wine glass in another.
I rolled my eyes at them both but couldn’t hide my smile. Having my dad home was amazing, it kind of felt as if we were a real family when he was there.
“He’s not a boyfriend, just a friend. He’s spending the holiday with his family, and I think he’s bored out of his mind,” I explained with a shrug.
“But you like him, right?” Aunt Rose asked, exchanging a high five with my dad as I started to blush. “Oh that’s so cute!”
“It’s not like that!” I insisted, blush deepening as my voice rose.
“Well, I think it’s cool you found someone here. Wayville’s not exactly full of romantic possibilities,” my dad said, completely ignoring my choked protests. “Let me know if he gets back before I go. I’d like to meet him.”
“Sure, dad,” I replied as I typed out a text to JJ, reminding him my dad was home and he shouldn’t swing by the shop until he left. I had told him that my dad didn’t know about the band yet (which was true) and for once, my cowardice was going to work in my favor.
JJ got back the day after my dad left on another band’s European tour. He stopped by the house to give me the ridiculous fringed cowboy hat he’d picked up for me in Texas (“Gee, thanks, I’ll wear it all the time.”) and to charm Aunt Rose into extending my curfew, so we could go for a drive and get caught up on all the tiny little bits of information he hadn’t texted me while he was away.
“My dad’s officially engaged to whats-her-name, which sucks way more than I can express in my traumatized state,” he informed me as we drove to the hills on the outskirts of town, music blasting.
“That does suck,” I agreed. “What did your grandparents say?”
“Well, my grandpa thinks she’s a swell girl. Of course, that’s all down to her winning personality and nothing to do with her double D’s. My grandma thinks it’s ridiculous, but she knows better than to interfere. She told my dad not to shack up with my mom, and well . . . look what happened,” he replied with a bitter grin, pushing his hair away from his face.
“At least they won’t be home much,” I told him, trying to find the silver lining. It was a pretty shitty situation when the only silver lining in your dad re-marrying was the knowledge that you wouldn’t have to spend much time with your future stepmom because your dad never bothered to come home.
“I guess,” he sighed as he parked the car on the stony ridge overlooking the town.
It was an unusually mild night, so we got out the car, sitting on the hood with our backs against the windshield. He seemed to relax as we gazed up at the night sky in comfortable silence, the radio playing softly in the background.
He lay with one arm tucked under his head, the fingers of his free hand tapping against his toned stomach. A sliver of skin was visible where his shirt had ridden up, revealing what I had long suspected—he had a tattoo on his hip. It was an old-fashioned, black and white piece, a swallow with outstretched wings and sad eyes. I would have asked about it, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
He was quiet and content, with his cigarette dangling between his pink lips. Tendrils of smoke curled upwards into the dark. I watched, mesmerized, as his long, golden eyelashes cast deep shadows over his face. I had to admit, he was pretty damn perfect, from the knowing smile on his lips to the way his moonlight streaked hair spilled over the collar of his jacket.
I had always wondered what girls saw in JJ. He was confident to the point of being obnoxious and seemingly never satisfied with whatever gorgeous girl he’d convinced to go out with him, but as I looked at him, propped up on my elbows with my cheeks burning, I got it. I really fucking got it.
“What’s your real name?” I asked him, figuring that was a less intrusive question than the dozen I had about his tattoo.
“Not the time, Jack.”
“You ever gonna tell me?” I whined, dropping back down to lie beside him. I stared up at the night sky, and I could feel him smiling beside me, his dark mood melting away as he laughed at my desperate attempt to discover his best kept secret.
“Maybe for Christmas.”
He sat up to stub out his cigarette on the sole of his boot, before laying back down beside me. I glanced at him when I was sure he wasn’t looking. His eyes were closed, and he was still smirking, always smirking, seemingly at peace with the world.
I started to whistle, just to break the silence. My secret note-leaver had been on a Fall Out Boy kick before school finished up for Thanksgiving, so I picked the first song that came to mind—“The Kids Aren’t Alright.”
JJ’s smile widened when he realized I was whistling the intro. He started singing right on time, his voice clear and strong as it echoed around me. He sang as if he was headlining a stadium show, hitting all the notes without opening his eyes, his chest rising and falling as his smile glittered in the gathering dark. I was so captivated by him that I didn’t realize his hand was resting on top of mine, our fingers tangling of their own accord.
I lay back, cheeks burning and listened to him sing. The stars twinkled above us, cliché, and clear and pure. I felt as if the moment was being burned into my brain as my blush deepened—I’d remember it forever. I’d remember JJ Keswick, singing that song under the night sky, forever. It was the sort of moment I’d dreamed of having before the school year had started. It was understated and sweet, romantic in a gentle way that I would never have thought him capable of.
I pulled my hand away before he could realize I was freaking out about it. What sort of teenage boy gets all flustered about holding hands? His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, and his smile faded ever so slightly, but he continued to sing without missing a beat. I regretted it as soon as I’d finished shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans, but I knew that saying something about it would just make things ten times more awkward than they already were.
I was still cursing my crushing lack of coolness when he stopped singing. The silence that followed was overwhelming, despite its hollowness. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself, while he opened his eyes to stare impassively at the stars.
“You should come to my house for Christmas,” I blurted, still blushing. I’d been thinking about it all Thanksgiving. He clearly hated going to Texas for the holidays, and Christmas should be awesome. I knew I could bribe him into keeping quiet about the band while my dad was around. Plus, I was sure that once my dad met JJ, he’d stop teasing me about my supposed secret boyfriend. Anyone who saw JJ and I together would find it hard to believe we were a couple.
“I don’t wanna intrude.”
“I invited you, it’s not intruding. Everyone will be there. Jess, Ash and Dylan always stay over on Christmas Eve. We watch terrible movies and drink too much eggnog. Aunt Rose makes a massive breakfast on Christmas morning, too. It’s awesome.”
He turned his head to smile at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hair was getting long, gold stained silver by the moonlight. Thinking about Christmas was enough to distract me from the weird little moment we’d just had. It was a safe subject, something that had become increasingly rare around him.
“Why does everyone spend Christmas at yours?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “You know they have families of their own, right?”
“Jess is Jewish, so her family doesn’t celebrate. Dylan’s folks always go on vacation, but he prefers to stay home for Christmas. I actually don’t know about Ash. I asked her about it the first time she stayed over, and she just shrugged,” I explained, trying to keep my tone light.
“It sounds very wholesome,” he replied. “But I probably should go back to Texas. My dad gets really pissed off if we don’t pretend to be a real family at least a couple of times a year.”
“Oh, okay. Just . . . let me know if you change your mind.”
“All right.”
He drove me home and even came inside to say hello to Aunt Rose. He seemed okay, but I was pretty sure he h
adn’t experienced awkwardness before, so he probably didn’t recognize it. He was grinning as he said his goodbyes, and I went to bed still thinking about his hand curled around mine.
***
Jessica huffed at the clear sky, muttering angrily about the lack of clouds, frost or anything remotely snowy as she pulled her car into JJ’s driveway on Christmas Eve. Every movie she’d been watching for the past week had ended with gentle snow drifts and smiling faces, rosy cheeks and fabulous scarves. She didn’t think that was too much to ask for, but no, the weather remained stubbornly bright and snow-free.
She had a face like thunder, arms decisively wrapped around her slender frame when JJ opened the door. He had the good sense to recoil, shrinking in his pajamas when he came face to face with her wrath.
“You’re supposed to be in Texas, asshole,” she reminded him as he stepped aside to let her in.
She was disappointed, but not surprised to see that the mansion wasn’t decorated for Christmas. No tree, no garlands, nothing. She checked every single mantelpiece in the whole place, determined to find one with a stocking, while JJ trailed behind her.
“What are you doing?” he asked her, smiling in spite of himself.
“You don’t have any Christmas decorations,” she replied, her pretty face torn between shock and pity.
“Lesley offered to put some up, but I didn’t see the point,” he explained with his trademarked frustratingly graceful shrug. “My dad isn’t coming home so . . .”
“Yeah, well, Mr. Daveyson isn’t coming home either, but Jack has his decorations up,” Jessica countered, folding her arms again as she aimed another glare at him.
“Why do you care about Christmas decorations anyway? You’re Jewish and . . .” JJ began, his words trailing off. The look of realization that dawned on his handsome face would have been adorable, if she had been in a better mood.
“First, being Jewish doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy Christmas. And yes, you heard me right. Mr. Daveyson isn’t going to be home for the holidays.”
Fake It (The Keswick Chronicles Book 1) Page 10
