The Way Back Home (7 page)

“You were fantastic,” I say honestly.

“Man,” he says, draping an arm over my shoulders and leading me backstage. “What a crowd. Your fans are so awesome.”

“They know good music when they hear it,” I say.

As we walk through the hallway, I feel like I'm watching the Adam Dean
E! True Hollywood Story
. People are giving him pats on the back and fist bumps as we make our way toward the dressing rooms, and I feel like I'm riding his wave. A musician's very first arena performance is the kind of thing that is etched deep in the soul, and I love that I get to watch people discover a talent I've known about for years.

When we get to my door, he stops and leans against the frame. “You're on in twenty?”

I check my phone. “Yep.”

“Okay, see you then,” he says, but he doesn't move. He just keeps staring at me, and I hold his gaze, having no idea what he's thinking or what to do. Finally, he squeezes my shoulder and says, “Break a leg.”

“Thanks, Adam.”

He rolls off the wall to walk back to his dressing room, where I hear his band go wild as he enters. It is totally unheard of for a band to join a tour on such short notice, so I know the guys are stoked. As I meet my glam team for final touch-ups, I honestly can't pretend that I'm not, too.

“You are amazing!” Adam says later. He was in the wings for my entire show, and every time I caught a glimpse of him watching me, I felt a new surge of energy. “You had the crowd in the palm of your hand the entire time.”

“You were amazing-er,” I say, bumping him in the hallway as we head back toward the buses. “It was your first arena performance, and it looked like your fiftieth.”

“I don't know about that, but I will concede that it was a good night,” he says. “For both of us.”

“Yes,” I agree. I usually wait for Stella after the show because once I'm out of wardrobe, she and Amanda have to take inventory of all the pieces and get them packed up and secured. But tonight Dylan was crashed on my dressing room couch, and she waved me off.

“You know what would be the perfect way to celebrate?” Adam asks now, stopping dead in his tracks. I look at him blankly. “With a fountain Coke.”

My face nearly splits open I smile so wide. “Oh my gosh, yes! There must be some restaurants nearby.”

Adam looks at me as if I've sprouted an alien head. “No, no, no, no, no,” he says. “The tradition is that we try the Coke at the venue we play.”

“Adam,” I say in disbelief. “We can't go out there. We'll get mobbed!”

“But that's what you've got him for,” he says, gesturing to one of my bodyguards, always good at sticking to the shadows but always nearby. “And oh!” he goes on, digging in his duffel bag. “We can use a disguise.”

“A disguise?”

“Here, put this hoodie on. It's probably too big, and it's definitely the opposite of all the skimpy little outfits you wear during your show.”

“Skimpy?” I say, mock offended. “You sound like my dad.”

“Yeah, except I'm not complaining,” he replies with a grin.

I blush and take the sweatshirt, pulling it over my head and breathing in deep. It smells so good, so fresh, so Adam. I am never taking it off. Ever.

“Now put your hair in a bun,” he goes on. I do and he takes out a Titans cap, pulling it so low over my eyes that I have to crane my head all the way back to see. He laughs. “Okay, I think that's as good as we can do under the circumstances,” he says.

“But what about you?” I say as I adjust the hat. “You were the tour opener.”

He shrugs. “At this point, I'd say a lot of the crowd has thinned out anyway. But if it'll make you feel better, give me those shades.” He snatches the big sunglasses hooked on the side of my bag and puts them on, never mind that they're bright pink and bedazzled.

“I think that may be the opposite of a disguise,” I say, laughing.

Nervously, I let him lead me through the hallways until I'm almost certain we're lost. Finally, we find someone who works here, and she leads us to the upper-level concession stands. They are closing up shop when we get there, but Adam removes the disguises and the vendors immediately fill a couple of Shine Our Light souvenir cups with ice-cold Coca-Cola. I have to take pictures with the workers and sign a couple of T-shirts for lingering fans, but the fuss is worth it to keep our celebratory tradition alive.

“Thanks again, y'all,” Adam says, leading me away toward the cheap seats for some privacy.

Once we're settled in the upper decks, watching the crew below break down the stage, I turn to Adam for a toast. But before I say a word, he grabs his wallet and fishes out his old list of the country's best fountain Cokes.

“I can't believe you still have that,” I say.

“It's seen better days, but I always hoped we'd play a show together again one day. Consider it my vision board.”

I smile, completely flattered. “To Toronto,” I say, holding my cup up for a toast.

He meets it with a
clink
, and his eyes lock onto mine. “To us.”

“O
KAY
, D
YLAN JUST
texted that he's with the band, but I don't know how long Monty can keep him occupied,” Stella says as she power walks through our hotel lobby, Adam and me on her heels. “So chop-chop, people.”

We play a couple of shows in Chicago this weekend and my parents are visiting to celebrate Dylan's birthday, so I sprang for rooms at an adorable little boutique hotel. At Stella's request, I sweet-talked the management into letting us use the kitchen before they open so we can make Dylan a from-scratch birthday cake, but I can't manage to muster up the same enthusiasm about it all that has possessed my best friend. “Why didn't we just send somebody out for boxed cake mix?”

“Or buy one from a bakery?” Adam chimes in. “Or from the restaurant we are currently in?”

“Yeah, why go through all this hassle?” I ask as we enter the kitchen. Stella uses her phone to pull up the recipe she wants to try.

“Because,” she says, looking up from her phone with a sly grin, “Channing Tatum finally kissed me.”

“Stella!” I shout, attacking her with a big hug. “When?”

“This morning. We watched the sunrise together, and it was perfect.”

“You met Channing Tatum?” Adam says, confused.

“Code word for my brother during conversations rife with romantic details,” I explain.

“Your brother?” Adam asks, shocked. “And Stella?”

“Yes,” I say to him. Then I turn my attention back to her. “Spill.”

She beams at me, and it all comes rushing out. “So remember last night when
Channing
was talking about his map and asked if anybody would want to see the sunrise over at the Adler Planetarium?”

“‘TripAdvisor says it's the perfect place to see the whole skyline!'” Adam says in his best Dylan impression. I giggle.

“So while y'all were snoozing away,” Stella goes on, “I dragged my butt out of bed and hopped in a cab with Channing Tatum. Yes, I know, I've clearly got it bad. It was hella early, but he met me with a to-go cup of coffee and held my hand the whole way there, and it was just really fun and sweet.”

For a second, I think back to my weekend in Chicago with Kai, how romantic it was, what a beautiful place this is to let your heart go. I feel a quiet sadness, a little loss just for a moment, but then I shake my head and focus on Stella. This is
her
story.

“He laid out a sheet from the hotel so we could snuggle up and watch, but this city really is windy, and Channing saw me shivering so he gave me his jacket,” she goes on. I think it would be physically impossible for her smile to be any bigger than it is right at this very moment. It's so cute that I actually forget she's talking about my brother. “He helped me put it on and then pulled at the collar and just, like, kept his hands gripped there. And he didn't move. And so then we were just sort of sitting there staring at each other as the sky started to get pink and pretty. And he was nervous, I could tell, and it was like something out of a movie and then finally,
finally
, he asked me if he could kiss me.” Her cheeks flame—and I rarely see Stella embarrassed. “And then he did!”

I squeal and squeeze her arm. “Then what?”

“Then we watched the sun come up, and honestly, it really is breathtaking.”

“The view or Dylan's kissing?” Adam pipes up.

She giggles. “Both.”

“
Channing's
kissing,” I say with my hands over my ears. “Those are Channing Tatum's lips.”

“Anyway, then we met y'all for breakfast back here.” Stella stops and sighs. “And now we're together.”

“I cannot believe you made me sit through breakfast without telling me this,” I say, slapping the stainless-steel table beside me.

“Bird, your parents were right there!”

“Bathroom break?”

“I tried that, but your mom came with us!”

“Oh, that's right,” I remember with a laugh. “Well, anyway, I'm really happy for you,” I tell her, and it feels good to mean it. It's definitely going to be complicated, but anybody with two working eyeballs could see it coming. And they do seem to bring out the best in each other.

“So did you DTR?” Adam asks her. I do a double take. I never thought girl talk would include Adam, and I certainly didn't think he'd know the lingo.

“We did,” Stella replies.

“Wow!” he goes on. “You're already official? I had a roommate in Texas that went on and on about how guys always take too long to ‘define the relationship' and how it drove her crazy.”

“I can see her point,” Stella says thoughtfully. “But I've known Channing for so long. It's like our friendship laid the foundation first, so now dating just feels natural.”

I glance up at Adam at the same time that he looks over at me. We both look back at Stella quickly. While she goes on, I start to wonder about Adam's old “roommate” in Texas.

“So, anyway, that's the first kiss story,” Stella says with a happy sigh. “The most romantic moment of my life.”

“Who knew my brother had it in him?” I say with wonder. It may be weird that my brother is dating my best friend, but it's a whole lot better than him dating someone I don't like… and much more fun.

“And
that
is why Channing Tatum deserves a cake made from scratch,” she continues, “so that's what we're doing. Grab an apron.”

“Yes, chef,” I say, taking a starched white apron from a hook on the wall nearby.

The plan is to hurry, but baking a cake takes a while. The restaurant opens at eleven thirty so every second counts, both to get it done before the staff shows up to prep for their day and to keep Dylan from growing suspicious. Monty called an “emergency meeting” to buy us some time and then my folks will have “computer problems.” If all goes as planned, we'll rendezvous back at my room by ten for Dylan's mini-party. Then I've got a full day of promos and interviews before the show. Life on the road means making the time when you don't really have it.

Stella directs us around the kitchen now with all the confidence of Rachael Ray, but finding the ingredients we need is like an impossible Easter egg hunt.

“Baking soda or baking powder?” Adam calls from across the room.

Stella checks the recipe. “Powder!”

“How many eggs?” I call from the fridge.

“Two,” she commands.

Stella finds a big mixing bowl and adds the ingredients as we bring them over, stepping around one another as we search. “I need a giant spoon,” she mumbles to herself. Unfortunately she bends over to check a drawer at the exact moment that I'm walking by with a big bag of flour.

It's like a scene from a movie that I'm watching in slow motion. I fall forward, holding my arms straight so that I don't spill the flour, but the open paper bag is already out of my control and headed right for Adam, who sees it all happening in time to close his eyes but not in time to get out of the way.

The bag hits him square in the chest and thuds as it hits the floor. We all stand as still as statues, Adam looking like a ghost as he blinks hard once, twice, three times. I wait for him to laugh, but he doesn't.

“Bird,” he says quietly. “Am I covered in flour?”

I try not to laugh. “Yes, Adam.”

“And Stella, is this all your fault?”

She pauses. “Define ‘all.'”

“Well, ladies,” he says, opening another fridge. “You leave me no choice.”

Before we can react, Adam turns from the fridge with a can of whipped cream, and we run from him, screaming like banshees. I feel the whipped cream in my hair and then Adam's arms around me. “Let me go!” I wail.

He sprays me at close range, the whipped cream cold on my neck and chin. “Adam!” I scream, laughing like a maniac. Stella squirts my arm with chocolate syrup, and I lunge for a nearby refrigerator. I know I saw ketchup in there somewhere…

“What in the world is going on in here?” Dylan shouts.

“No!” Stella cries. “You're early! You'll ruin the surprise!”

But Dylan's distraction gives Adam the perfect opportunity to cover Stella's hair with whipped cream. “What the hell, man?” Dylan says, and without a moment's hesitation, he picks an egg off the counter and launches it at him.

“Dude!” Adam cries, holding his biceps where Dylan hit him. “That hurt!” He aims the can of whipped cream at Dylan—a direct hit to the cheek.

“Attack!” I holler, coming at everybody with the ketchup.

It is a sugary war zone. Suddenly the lines are drawn, and it's Adam and me against Dylan and Stella. The cake is completely forgotten once the food fight is under way. By the time someone finally calls a truce, we're all tired and so weak from laughing that we can barely stand. We crash on the floor of the kitchen to catch our breath.

“We are going to be in so much trouble,” I finally say as I survey the room from my spot on the floor.

And as if on cue, my parents walk in.

“What in the—” my mother begins, but Stella hops up and cuts her off.

“Good!” she says. “You're just in time.”

She scoops a bunch of the mess into her hands and lays it in a lump on a baking sheet. She carries it over to a relatively clean spot on the counter near the door, where my mother looks pretty disappointed and my father actually seems amused. Then she pulls a candle out of her jeans pocket and shoves it into the middle, where it leans like the Tower of Pisa. She grabs a book of hotel restaurant matches and lights the pathetic little candle, motioning for us to stand up next to her. We walk over, a motley crew, our hair white from baking powder and flour, our clothes covered in ketchup and chocolate syrup. We are disgusting, cold, and soggy, but we are also happy and here to celebrate Dylan's birthday.

“Happy birthday to you,”
we start singing.

“The candle's sinking,” Stella says, waving her hand in a circle. “Speed it up.”

“Happy birthday to you,”
we speed sing.
“Happy birthday, dear Dylan, happy birthday to you.”

“Make a wish,” Stella says, turning to Dylan with bright eyes.

“Mine has already come true,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulders. I would gag, but it's pretty sweet.

Even my mom softens, sparing us the lecture and simply saying, “Y'all make sure you clean this up good,” before turning to go.

“That took forever,” I say, wringing out my wet hair as I join the others in the sitting room of my hotel suite. It took over an hour to clean up the mess we'd made in the kitchen, and I had to swear one early staffer to secrecy by giving him free tickets to tonight's show, but it was nice to have a little fun on tour.

“Okay, everybody,” Stella says, sitting close to Dylan on the love seat. “Now presents!”

Adam, who rejoined us after showering in his own room, pulls an envelope out of his back pocket and throws it onto the small pile of gifts on the coffee table.

“I went all out, man,” he says.

Dylan grins and leans forward, picking that gift up first. “It's not what's on the inside,” he says mock emotionally as he taps the envelope, “it's what's on the
inside
,” he finishes, pounding his heart.

Adam fakes wiping away a tear, and I laugh. “Dorks.”

“Yes!” Dylan says when he opens it. “An iTunes gift card. I can always use that. Thanks, bro.”

Adam nods. “Happy birthday.”

Dylan opens the exact same gift from Jacob, something I'm sure my mom picked up for him. Then he moves on to the big boxes from my parents. “Jeans,” he says, Captain Obvious as he pulls out a pair of new blue jeans.

“Since you're touring so much now, I thought you could use some nice clothes,” my mom says. She points to the other wrapped gift and says, “And those are shirts.”

Dylan looks up at her as if she'd spilled the beans on something really major. “Mom!” he says, clawing his way into the box. “Don't ruin the surprise!”