Page 38 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Freddie

“Just follow my lead,” I whisper to Ivy as I help her out of the car.

Even though she’s watched me do this a million times from the outside, it’s a different experience when all the cameras are aimed at you.

I think back to the morning after the kiss at Margot’s, when we’d just barely decided to keep up the facade of our relationship.

I climbed out of the car, not unlike I’m doing now, turned, and helped Ivy out.

But tonight feels so much bigger than that first moment. It’s not just fans watching. It’s media. Press. Dozens of photographers with zoom lenses and prepared questions.

But my feelings are bigger too. I’m more sure of what they are, even if I do still have questions, which makes the stakes feel so much higher.

Ivy nods as we make our way forward, her hand looped through my arm. And then we’re in it. Posing, smiling, looking this way and that.

People know who she is—they’re calling her name as often as they’re calling mine. She handles herself like a pro, but I take every chance I get to lean down and whisper encouragement into her ear, to press a firm hand to the small of her back so she doesn’t forget I’m right beside her.

It doesn’t take long to make it down the length of the carpet, where Ivy steps to the side long enough for me to pose for a few photos with the rest of Midnight Rush.

“Can we get Freddie in the middle?” a photographer calls out.

“Is there a middle when there are four of us?” Jace asks as he and I switch places so I’m no longer standing on the outside.

“Maybe he should stand in the front with the rest of us in a row behind him,” Leo jokes.

“Stop,” I say, wrapping an arm around Leo’s shoulder. “Just smile so we can get this over with.”

“The faster the better,” Adam says.

“Great. Thanks, guys,” an event organizer says, motioning for us to move forward.

I hold out a hand to Ivy, and she joins me from where she and Laney were standing off to the side.

We walk toward Vivica Rose, an entertainment reporter who’s smiling wide, microphone at the ready.

I’ve met her before, so I greet her by name and introduce Ivy, then she comments on our matching bracelets.

“These were made by Jace’s daughter, Annie,” I say, holding up my wrist. “I think she’s got a future in fashion.”

“It must be so special to be here with the rest of the band members from Midnight Rush,” Vivica says to me.

“And, of course, with the new love in your life. Congratulations, by the way. I want to talk about romance in just a moment, but first, can you tell me a little about what it’s like to be with your bandmates again? ”

Ivy squeezes my hand once, and I squeeze it back.

“It’s great,” I answer. “Jace, Leo, Adam—they’re my best friends in the world.

Whenever we’re together, we just fall back into it.

I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Even though we aren’t making music together regularly, over the past year, we’ve been talking or texting almost every day.

And we’re proud of the song that’s a part of this incredible movie we’re all celebrating.

So, yeah. It’s amazing to be here and to share the evening with them. ”

“Good answer,” Ivy whispers. “You make this look easy.”

“And it must also be special to have Ivy with you,” Vivica says, shifting the microphone to Ivy. “Is this overwhelming for you?”

I drop her hand and slip my arm around her, resting my palm on the small of her back.

“It’s definitely a different experience being on this side of things as opposed to behind the scenes,” she says, “but I’m proud of Freddie and just happy to be here with him, soaking it all in.”

I look down at her and grin. She thinks I make this look easy? She’s a natural.

“Okay, I’ve got a very specific question, if you don’t mind me getting personal.”

I expect Vivica to turn the microphone back to me, but she keeps it in front of Ivy.

“You’ve worked with Freddie for a number of years, but as far as I understand it, the romantic part of your relationship is relatively new. Was there a specific moment when you realized your feelings for him had shifted into something more?”

I’m about to tell Ivy she doesn’t have to answer, but then she nods .

“I actually remember the exact moment,” she says.

“We were on tour—which, we’re almost always on tour—and we got word from security that a mom and daughter outside the gates had a problem with their tickets and couldn’t get in.

I don’t remember what happened—something about the ticket account having been hacked and their seats transferred to someone else.

Whatever the reason, they couldn’t get in, and the daughter was completely devastated. ”

I remember the concert Ivy is talking about, and I’m impressed with her quick thinking. That she was able to recall a memory so easily.

“So the security team messaged us to see if there was anything we could do,” Ivy continues.

“I told Freddie about it, and he immediately popped up off the couch in his dressing room, grabbed a couple of security guys, and went in search of them. It was a nightmare for security. He literally just ran through the crowds like it was no big deal, and everyone was watching and freaking out. But then he found this mom and her kid, and he crouched down in front of the little girl—she was probably eleven or twelve?—and told her he’d love for her to be his special guest at the concert.

” Ivy looks up at me one more time, the gold in her eyes brighter than usual as she says, “I respected Freddie from day one. He makes that very easy because he’s genuinely a good man.

But that day—” She licks her lips and something in her expression shifts.

“That’s when I realized I was in love with him. That’s when everything changed.”

Ivy’s words wash over me, sending a wave of heat pushing out to my fingertips and down to my toes. I know she’s pretending, playing it up for the narrative we’re trying to sell, but her words land like truth, and I have no idea what to do with that possibility .

Except her words can’t be true, because the experience she’s talking about happened well over three years ago. It wasn’t even the same tour we’re on now.

If she’s telling the truth, does that mean…?

Is it possible she’s had feelings for me all this time?

The yearning that swells in my chest is almost painful.

I want her to be telling the truth.

Desperately.

Beside me, Ivy clears her throat, elbowing me gently in the ribs, and brings my focus back to the present. Clearly, Vivica has asked me a question, and I completely missed it.

“Sorry, I—” I look down at Ivy. “You’ve never told me that.”

She shrugs her shoulders like it’s no big deal. “You never asked.”

Vivica repeats her last question for me, something about the new album and when fans can expect an update, then we say goodbye and we’re ushered to the next interview.

No one digs quite as deeply as Vivica did, keeping things relatively surface level, which is good for me. Because in my mind, I’m thinking through countless interactions with Ivy in a new light.

Has she truly been standing right in front of me all this time, hiding feelings I didn’t know she had—and I’ve never noticed?

Over the past couple of weeks, so many things have come into focus for me.

Ivy’s brilliance, her sharp wit, her unending loyalty.

How incredibly beautiful she is, like she is tonight, red-carpet ready, but also at home in her pajamas with her curls piled on top of her head and an oversized hoodie hiding everything from her shoulders down to her knees .

But Ivy has always been all of those things. She hasn’t changed, so how did I miss them for so long?

It’s no wonder she wants to work somewhere else.

Her boss is a colossal idiot.

“Hey,” Ivy says, and I look down at her. “Where is your brain?” she asks. “I’m trying to give you a signal here.”

My eyes shift to where her hand is tugging on her earlobe. She tilts her head toward a set of temporary bleachers directly across from the entrance to the movie theater where fans have gathered to watch us walk the red carpet.

“Fans are watching,” she whispers. “You should kiss me.”

I don’t want this to be a kiss like the one we shared at the Voltage party, where she runs away and avoids me for a day. But I also don’t want to miss the opportunity to kiss her again.

When I finally press my lips to hers, fire floods my veins, and I forget to be scared. I forget to worry that this might not last. That she’s leaving me to work somewhere else. I just melt into the kiss and breathe her in.

Somewhere beyond us, cheers erupt and multiple cameras click, flashes popping. But I don’t care about any of it.

I’m too consumed with the softness of her lips, with the scent of her as I lean close, the look in her eyes when I finally pull away.

“What’s gotten into you?” she says, her tone playful, and I almost ask her. Right there with everyone watching.

I almost ask if she was telling the truth. And if she’ll ever forgive me for taking so long to realize what was standing in front of me all this time.

But I can’t do it. I can’t because if she says no, then I’ll be the one having to squeeze her elbow looking for a way to escape.

“Nothing. I’m good,” I finally say. “Just really glad you’re here with me tonight.”

She pushes up on her toes and kisses me one more time. “Me too,” she says as my hands slide to her hips. I give them a squeeze.

“Have I told you how incredible you look?” I ask.

“You have,” she says. “But I don’t mind you telling me again.”

“You do,” I say. “You look like you belong out here.”

She playfully rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t wish it on me.

I like it much better behind the scenes.

I can’t stop wondering if I have something in my teeth, which is stupid because I haven’t eaten since I left the house.

But all this attention is messing with my head.

I can’t believe how easy you make this seem. ”

“I got used to it,” I say. “Then the whole world shared a video of me looking like I was picking my nose seventeen million times, and I just stopped caring.”

“Did you really stop caring?” she teases. “Because you still seem a little salty.”

“I had an itch,” I say. “My nose itched! I did not deserve to be maligned so brutally.”

Ivy laughs. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”

I silence her laughter with one more kiss, chasing the impulse to be as close to her as possible.

I’m too aware of our surroundings to let go like I did at the Voltage party, but as simple as it is, this kiss almost feels more intense.

Because I’m kissing her with a sense of possibility that I didn’t feel before.

When Ivy pulls back, there’s a question in her eyes, and for once, I don’t filter what I’m thinking. I look at her like I want her, like I’m ready for this thing between us to be real.

“If you kids are done making out with your eyes, it’s time to go inside,” Leo says, stepping up beside us. He drops an arm around my shoulder, and another cheer erupts from the watching crowd. Leo lifts his hand and waves. “You guys gave them quite a show.”

I smile, eyes still on Ivy. “I forgot they were even there.”

Late that night, after we’ve watched the movie and gone to an afterparty that kept us out until close to two a.m. and answered a phone call from Sloane saying Ivy and I basically broke the internet with our public displays of affection, a knock sounds on my bedroom door.

I’m half undressed, down to my suit pants and socks, but I answer anyway, expecting it to be Wayne with some sort of security update.

He lives in the pool house, but he has access to the entire property, and he’s the only one who ever needs anything this late.

But it isn’t Wayne.

It’s Ivy. She’s changed into tiny sleep shorts and a Living Out Loud tour hoodie. Her hair is up, and her face is bare, and she looks perfect.

“Hey.”

Her eyes travel over my naked torso. “Hey,” she says back.

I wait for her to say something else, but she just stands there, so I eventually ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Do you want to go to Knoxville with me?” she blurts in response. “To take Carina home?” She shifts on her feet, her hands hooked around the hem of her sweatshirt. “I thought you might want to see the farm. And…” She hesitates, then licks her lips. “And meet my parents.”

There is a weight to her words, and I immediately sense the significance of what she’s asking me. This isn’t about a random trip to Knoxville. This is about going to Knoxville with her. To meet her family. To see where she grew up.

So far, the significant moments that Ivy and I have shared have been orchestrated. Appearances for the press. Kisses for the fans. Holding hands to show the world that we’re together.

But this. Going to Knoxville doesn’t have anything to do with any of that. This isn’t part of an act. If I go, it’s going to be because I want to.

And I really, really do.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “I would love to.”

Her face relaxes the slightest bit, and her lips lift into a small smile. “Good.” She holds my gaze for a long moment. “I’m glad.”

“Tomorrow?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“I was thinking the day after? You’d have to miss a couple days of studio time, so I totally get it if you’d rather?—”

“I don’t care about the studio time,” I say, cutting her off. Because I don’t. At this point, I’d record the rest of the album on my phone in a bus stop bathroom if it meant getting to spend more time with her. “Seriously. I think a break would be good for me.”

She smiles one more time. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeat.

She backs up a few steps without breaking my gaze. “Good night, Freddie,” she finally says. Then she turns and darts down the hall, disappearing into the darkness.

Taking my heart with her.