Page 49 of Going Solo (The Brent Boys #2)
Chapter Twenty-Six
I t had been a long week. For the third night in a row—one night in Glasgow and two in Manchester—I’d done two hours of live radio surrounded by thousands of Kenneddicts. I’d seen Cole’s concert three times. Although it did not get old, I was as mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted as a police sniffer dog who’d done double shifts all Glastonbury weekend. A late-night call from Denzil had informed me the board had “received overtures from an interested party.” I felt like the station’s entire survival was in my hands.
I’d got out of the shower and was ready to fall into bed when my phone pinged.
Fiona Kennedy: We’re in the car park under your hotel. Can you come down?
I groaned. The Kennedys had monopolised every waking hour of the last week. I wanted to sleep. Still, my curiosity switch had tripped. I replied saying I’d be right down. I ran a brush through my hair and threw on my boysenberry puddy-cat velour onesie and my fluffy slippers. I was way too tired to make an effort. If Cole wanted to see me at one in the morning, he could take me as he found me. It was only going down in the lift that I remembered the paparazzi might be lurking about. I looked at my reflection in the elevator mirror. I looked like someone had tried to recreate Weekend at Bernie’s with a dead Pink Panther. The press would have a field day if they saw me like this. I popped the hood up over my head. One puddy-cat ear stood upright, the other flopped down. At least if I got papped with Cole now, there was a chance I wouldn’t be recognised and the tabloids might take him for a fetishist.
The elevator chimed, and the silver doors shuddered open. Cole was nowhere to be seen. I don’t know why I expected a global superstar to be standing in the middle of an underground car park in a hotel that was teeming with fans who’d been to his concert. A pair of headlights flashed, and a big black SUV rumbled up and stopped right in front of me. A door opened, and Fiona’s face appeared. She waved a hand, urging me to get in.
“What’s going on?” I asked as she climbed out of the car.
“We need your help to bury a body,” she said, rolling her eyes—a good reminder that no one’s patience is at its best at one in the morning. “What do you think? Cole wants to speak to you.”
I peered in. Cole was seated in the back of the car. He waved at me like Forrest Gump. I climbed in.
“What’s new, pussycat?” he said. Two car doors slammed. Mitch had joined Fiona outside.
“Am I the body you’re going to bury? Is that what this is? Because if I’d known, I’d have blow-dried my hair.”
Cole reached across and felt the fabric of my ears. “I was going to bury you, obviously, but this is so super cute, I’m going to have to reconsider.”
“I believe bundling me into a hessian sack and throwing me into the canal is the traditional way to deal with unwanted cats.”
Cole’s eyes met mine and locked. I could feel the heat of his hand through the velour hood of my onesie. “But that assumes the kitty cat concerned is unwanted,” he said.
I slapped his hand away and pushed the hood down.
“Speaking of wanting things, it’s late, what do you want?”
Cole shrugged. “To thank you. For this week. For giving me a chance to clear the air a bit. It’s felt good to hang out, you know?”
Despite myself, I did know. “It’s not every day someone drops a million quid to hang out with me. The least I could do was put on my party dress and show up.”
“I’m glad you did. It means a lot to me that you agreed to it.”
“To be clear, I was not given a choice.”
“Of course you had a choice.”
“Ah, no, I didn’t. Denzil made that crystal clear. The station needs that swag or the board is going to sell us to some soulless hedge fund who’ll strip our assets and kick our arses onto the street. I’m literally here because Denzil didn’t give me a choice.”
Cole looked crushed. “It wasn’t meant to…” I could see his mind processing what I’d said. “Is that genuinely the only reason you’re here?”
“If I’m being honest with you, yes.” And there was a part of me, the part of me that had spent ten years hating Cole Kennedy, that enjoyed watching the words sink into his chest like the blade of a stiletto piercing his heart. But there was another part of me, the part buried deep inside me that was forever sixteen, the part that felt like the last few days had been a gift from the universe, that felt more than a little guilty.
“But I’m glad I’m here,” I said, letting my better angel win. “It feels good to talk.”
Cole’s face brightened. “Good. And we’ve got plenty of time to talk.” Our eyes met again—and I felt the old attraction tug in my chest. I fought it, dropping my gaze to my lap.
“Anyway, I wanted to pop by and say goodbye,” Cole said. “I’m off in the morning for a four-day promo tour for the US shows, so I won’t be around.”
“Oh.” I felt a little deflated. I had no right to. I hadn’t been expecting to spend time with Cole between gigs. Nick and I were driving down to Cardiff in the morning and leaving the van in a lock-up, then catching the train home for a few days. Yet, in that moment, I felt like I was going to miss Cole, and I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye. We had more things to talk about, process, and catch up on. Talking to Cole had been therapeutic. I felt like I was starting to let go of a lot of anger, disappointment, and hate.
“Hey.” I felt awkward, like a teenager summoning the courage to ask his crush out on a date. “Are you free now?”
Cole’s smile was all teeth and cheeks, but it quickly morphed into an apologetic grimace.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got a round of radio interviews in the US to do. East Coast, then West Coast. Then I’ve got a Zoom call with my US tour team. Then it’s straight to the airport.”
“When do you sleep?”
“Rock and roll, baby!” he said. I felt tired on his behalf.
I looked down, not wanting Cole to see the weird disappointment I was feeling. I pulled at a thread on my onesie. Cole’s finger found my chin, and my heart flipped. I looked up into his soulful eyes.
“I’ll see you on Thursday, though, in Wales,” he said, letting his hand fall. “Chase is coming to the show. He’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“Oh,” I said, returning my gaze to my lap. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see any of Cole’s old bandmates again. I hadn’t seen any of them since my last day on Make Me a Pop Star .
I wound the loose thread around my finger and tugged at it, but instead of it snapping, a heap of stitches pulled loose, making a great big hole up the length of my leg.
“Bollocks!”
Suddenly, I felt like I was going to cry. Call it stress, call it chronic sleep deprivation, call it being trapped in the back of a car with your ex-boyfriend. But I was literally and metaphorically coming undone.
“Tobias Lyngstad, are you undressing in the back seat of my car?” Cole said. “I don’t know what you think this is, but I’m not that kind of girl.”
“I have to go,” I said. I scrambled for the door handle, flooded with embarrassment—about not only the hole in my onesie but this unshakeable feeling I’d been rejected again. All these old feelings were bubbling up inside me, and I felt a panic attack coming on. I opened the door and made a dash for the elevator. Which, as escape plans go, was not the smartest. I slammed my finger into the button, then had to wait ten seconds for the damn thing to open. Why hadn’t I taken the fire stairs? The doors were right there. My chest tightened. When the lift finally opened, I leapt inside, too terrified to turn around in case Cole was watching me. I flicked my hood up and cast my eyes to the floor, not wanting to catch a glimpse of Cole in the mirror—knowing he must be staring at me. I grabbed at the seam of my onesie, holding it together so my knob didn’t fall out through the hole. My heart was thumping in my chest. After what felt like forever, the doors began to rattle to a close.
“Wait!” I heard Cole shout. I looked up, instinctively, to see the reflection of Cole diving between the closing doors and into the lift. At almost the same instant, I felt his body crash into mine. I lurched forward, into the mirror, and turned to find Cole standing inches away from me, his eyes wide and pleading, his warm, minty breath on my skin. His mouth was moving, but he wasn’t saying anything—nothing I could hear, at least. It was like a fever dream. Everything was in slow motion, fuzzy. Then Cole’s hands—warm, strong, beautiful hands—were sliding inside my hood, cradling my jaw, his fingers trembling as they grazed the hair behind my ears. I was frozen. Then his lips were on mine.
Everything around us dissolved. In an instant, with the warmth of his breath in my mouth, the taste of him on my tongue, we were Cole and Toby again. We were sixteen again. Two young boys, lost in lust and love and wonder. His kiss was a time machine, and we hurtled back to a place before all the hurt, the pain, the monster of fame.
I sank into his body, felt him press against me. Then I pulled myself free and slapped him. A decade’s worth of trauma, of anger, of hate, flooding back.
He put his hand to his face. His eyes met mine, full of confusion. The elevator door opened. I had no idea what floor we were on, who might spring us in here. A photographer? A dozen bloodthirsty Kenneddicts ready to sacrifice me to save their idol? We both spontaneously straightened—stiff-backed like naughty boys, pretending nothing had happened. Fiona was standing there, hands on her hips, looking well annoyed. We hadn’t gone anywhere at all. We were still in the basement. The whole interlude—the kiss, the slap, reliving an entire decade of pain—must have lasted only a matter of seconds. Cole’s eyes were fixed on me. I looked at the floor, my heart pounding in my throat, adrenaline coursing through my body—confusion blurring my thoughts. I was definitely going to cry.
“Cole, you’ve got a pre-record with Seacrest in five,” Fiona said. “I’m sorry, I know this is important. But we have to go.”
Cole nodded. I kept staring at the floor, my fist gripping at the hole in my onesie, unable to leave it alone.
“I’ll see you Thursday,” Cole said, “and we can talk.” I didn’t look up, but I nodded. Cole stepped out of the lift to stand with Fiona. I hit the button for my floor. When I finally looked up, Cole was staring at me.
“Keep pulling at that thread, Toby. Promise me you’ll keep pulling at that thread.”
The doors rattled closed, the ground beneath me shifted, and the elevator started to rise.