ONCE UPON A TIME
Jude
William enthralls the fans for a trio of tunes, the entire arena rocking out to his music. When he croons the ending of his hit “I Said Someday” then holds the mic to the audience, the crowd joins in to sing the final line back at him: “And I said someday, we will meet again.”
He strums a long, lasting chord on his guitar. William thrusts an arm in a rocker salute. “Thank you, Las Vegas. You’re brilliant, and I love you madly.”
He takes a bow, then heads to the wings, where Stone yanks him in for an embrace. I turn to TJ. “Let’s go backstage. VIP tickets are good for something.”
Five minutes later, security takes us to the surprise guest’s green room.
William’s eyes light up the second we step through the doorway. “It’s the London crew! How the hell are you fuckers?”
“Fantastic,” I say.
Especially because William looks . . . different.
Glowing. Vibrant. With a sweat-slicked face, he strides across the room and wraps me in a hug. “So good to see you,” he says, warm and bright.
“Thanks for the heads-up, mate,” I say, ribbing him.
When he lets go, he mimes zipping his lips. “Stone made me swear to secrecy. NDA and all,” he says, then turns to TJ, giving him a fond once-over. “You look terrific. Like, you’re all happy and shit.”
“Sounds about right,” TJ says as William drags him in for a hug too.
Once they separate, I stare at William. “So, what the hell are you doing here? Surprising us like that.”
“Oh, you know, playing a show. Having a good time. Celebrating one week of sobriety.”
I tingle with happiness at the news. “Seriously?” I pray he’s not taking the piss out of me.
William’s expression shifts to somber. “I’ve started going to meetings. And I found a therapist. It’s early days, but you know how it goes. One day at a time,” he says.
“I’m so happy for you.”
William’s smile is small but proud, as if he’s not taking anything for granted. “Thanks. And listen, I don’t mean to turn the moment all serious, but sometimes you have to be. You sticking around for me did it. It was a wake-up call, everything you did to help me. No one else told me to get my act together.”
Was I that harsh? “Did I say that?”
“Pretty much, mate,” William says, clapping me on the shoulder. “And it worked. So, yeah, thanks.”
I’m honored and humbled. But I won’t take the credit. “You’re the one doing the hard work. I’m here for you if you need a shoulder to lean on.”
Then he turns to TJ. “Don’t let him get away.”
“I don’t plan to,” TJ says, and I like the sound of that. “Also, I’ve got a shoulder for you too if you need it.”
William swallows, eyes shining with emotion. “Thank you. Truly, just . . . thank you.”
“What are friends for,” I say.
“There’s a bunch of us having dinner,” TJ says, and it’s like he can read my mind. I was going to ask William along too. “I booked us a private room at this sushi place. Want to join us?”
“I’m there,” William says.
***
Thirty minutes later, William joins us in a stylish private room at the sushi restaurant with the rest of the guys—a table for six. We dine on salty edamame, gleaming yellowtail, and glittery seaweed salad. There’s sake for some of us, but William declines, opting for a green tea.
Over the first round of sashimi, Christian shares tales from the set of his recent action-adventure pic, then he asks Luke and Jason what’s cooking in their sports world.
Luke runs a hand through his hair, preening as he shows off his thick golden-brown locks. “The annual charity auction is coming up soon, so we’re laying down the bets on which player goes for the most dough,” Luke says, all brazen confidence. “My money’s on . . . me.”
Jason snorts, rolling his eyes.
Christian chuckles. “You doubt him?”
Luke answers for Jason. “Yes, he doubts me. But I plan to show the first string QB that a second-stringer can clean up. Make it rain, make it rain, make it fucking rain,” he says.
“Luke struggles with confidence,” TJ says.
“I can see that,” Christian says, then looks to William across the table. “And tell us—how the hell did tonight come together? That was like a surprise jump out of the cake at a bachelor party.”
“I wish there were cake. Can we get some, please?” William asks, turning on the cheeky charm as he meets Christian’s gaze.
“I’ll get you cake,” Christian says, just to William.
Well, that didn’t take long at all. I nudge TJ’s side. He winks at me.
The rocker blushes briefly, then says, “It all came together quickly. When Stone Zenith calls and invites you as his special guest, you say yes, and how high do you want me to jump.”
“And how high does he want you to jump?” Christian asks, and we might as well not be here for all the flirting between these two men.
“Apparently all the way around the world. He invited me on his European tour,” William says, almost like he wants to add come with me to Christian.
Luke shoots a wide-eyed stare at Jason. Jason just shrugs to say, yeah, they should totally get a room.
Fine, they should. But someone needs to cut the sexual tension between them, or the room will get a hard-on too.
I nominate me.
“William, I would say you’re a rock star, but clearly I’m going to need a new analogy. What’s the next-level compliment when someone does something amazing? Got anything, TJ?”
TJ taps on his chin. “Obviously, the only higher pinnacle than rock star, movie star, or sports star is . . . wait for it . . . writer!”
Everyone laughs, then Christian peppers William with a few more questions about his upcoming tour. William is popular enough to headline European tours on his own, but Stone Zenith is on another planet. Playing with him will blow up his fan base. “We take off in a week. We’ll be hitting Barcelona, London, Vienna.”
“I’m so sorry. That sounds awful,” Christian says drily.
“It’ll be dreadful, I’m sure,” William says with a smile.
Before Christian can flirt even more, the movie star steers the convo back to us. “So, you two were roomies once upon a time, I read somewhere?”
“It’s all true,” I say.
“Every word,” TJ echoes.
Even when we faked it, the stories of us have all been true, including this chapter unfolding tonight, here with friends—where we don’t have to pretend at all.
* * *
A little later, Christian parks a hand on my shoulder. “What’s the deal with your rocker friend?”
A man should work hard for a number, so I feign innocence. “Oh, why ever would you ask?”
“Is he single?”
“That’s a good question,” I say. Admittedly, I was worried for a while that William was trading one vice for another—liquor for men. But it’s not my place to decide. Still, I can ask him about his romantic status. That’s what a friend would do. When Luke and Jason descend into a rabbit hole of baseball predictions with TJ and Christian, I pull William aside by the doorway. “So, someone is kind of interested in you,” I say.
“It better be the American movie star who’s been giving me fuck-me eyes all night,” he says.
“Shockingly, it is. He wants to know if you’re spoken for. But I’m not sure if you’re taking a break from dating as you work on sobriety.”
With a sad but resigned smile, William sighs. “I’m trying not to get involved right now. I want to focus on recovery.”
“Good on you. That makes sense.”
“But I’ll get his number. For down the road,” he says with a smirk. He saunters over to Christian and pulls up a chair next to him. They chat for a while, flirting too—not-quite accidental touches, welcoming grins.
The evening winds down, and TJ snaps a few pics of the six of us before Luke, Jason, and Christian make their way out. William, TJ, and I linger a while, then leave together, wandering past the slot machines at The Extravagant.
“This was amazing,” William says. “Better than I imagined.” He gestures to the elevators. “But I should be a good boy and get some rest before the tour.”
TJ clears his throat. “How about a pic of the three of us? For old times’ sake.”
William’s eyes sparkle at the invitation into our world. “Hell yeah.”
TJ pulls me into the middle of the shot, with the games of chance behind us. My fake boyfriend stretches out an arm to snap the pic then shows it to us. “What do you think? Can I post it later?”
I blink, pat his cheek, as if verifying his identity. “Is this really you? You never post anything but coffee, music, and books.”
TJ’s all bashful as he says, “First time for everything.” His reaction is as adorable as these changes in him are wonderful.
William and I say yes, then TJ puts the image on his Instagram and captions it: “Once upon a time we were a barista, a bookstore clerk, and a finance reporter. Now we have new jobs but we’re still friends. The more things change . . . the more they stay the same.”
We say goodnight, each of us hugging him, no one caring who takes a picture now of the three of us. Let The Hollywood Scoop slap this on its home page. Let Rikki Finch blog about us. Let any fan splash us across a feed.
I’m tired of hiding both my friendships and my romance.
Once TJ and I reach The Invitation, he waggles his phone then makes a show of hitting the Do Not Disturb button. “I have no doubt Daddy will have a hissy fit over the selfie of the three of us, and I don’t care.”
“I don’t either,” I say, shoulders up, head held high.
When we return to our room, I expect to fall into bed. It’s late, and tomorrow we have an early flight to Paris for the next leg of our fake boyfriend tour.
But TJ pats the couch. “I want to show you something.”
Curious, I take the spot next to him as he clicks over to Instagram. But he doesn’t show me his public feed with the newest photo he posted. “I’ve been working on this new handle. It’s a private one. There’s not much on it. But I thought this could be fun to share with family and close friends,” he says, excited, maybe nervous too as he looks to gauge my reaction.
I peer closely at the name. The real story of AshHam, AKA, TJ and Jude.
There are four photos on it.
Pomander Walk.
The breakfast café.
A shot of us thrifting.
And a group photo from tonight.
I can’t wait to add more pictures. “Our real dates,” I say, as I take in the photos and the story they tell.
The start of us, all over again.
Gently, I take the phone from his hand, set it on the table, then meet his eyes. I can see our future in them. “Do it. Share it. Post it,” I say.
“You like it?” he asks as if pinning all his hope on that one question.
“I love it.” I’m so close to saying what’s inside my heart and mind, but everything’s happening so quickly, and we’re not even done with the dog and pony show.
To keep from saying too much, I kiss him instead. As my lips sweep his, I hold back other words.
You. Me. Us.
But I can’t risk rushing ahead and losing him all over again.
* * *
When my alarm bleats in the morning, I stretch and rub my eyes. Time to get moving, grab a bite, head to the airport.
When I peer around the suite, I see TJ’s already up and showered, tossing clothes into his suitcase with his phone pressed to his ear. “Right. Sure. I understand.”
I tense everywhere. Those words don’t sound promising. And why the hell is he packing like he’s taking off on a rocket in two minutes? Sure, we leave soon, but we have plenty of time to zip suitcases.
Unless he’s leaving . . . without me?
I jump out of bed. I’ve seen this show before. Last time it ended with him walking away from me.
“In fifteen minutes?” he asks as if it pains him. There’s a pause as he stuffs a shirt into the bag. “If that’s the only way.” Another beat as I hunt for my briefs and pull them on, nearly tripping as I go too fast. But I don’t want to be naked if bad news wallops me. “Just send me the details.”
When TJ hangs up, he turns around, dragging a hand roughly through his still-wet hair. He looks thoroughly rattled. I feel that way too.
“That was my agent,” he says hollowly. “Webflix wants me to go to Los Angeles. In an hour. Oh, and Slade’s downstairs.”