Chasing The Dream: The Complete Series, page 26
A girl in a Captain Marvel shirt shoved a well-read copy of Misfit Squad at me with a smile. I opened it to the title page. My first signed book. How mind-blowing was that? It still shocked me to see the book in person, this thing that Hector and I had spent three years working on together. It was even more incredible seeing actual proof that strangers were reading it and not just my friends.
“I love this book so much,” the girl said. “When’s the next one coming out?”
“Thanks! The second one’s out in September.” I finished signing my name, with a signature I’d practiced for a week to make sure it looked cool and was different from the one I used on checks and stuff. I pushed the book over to Hector and his arm brushed against mine as he signed. I watched his wrist flex as the pen moved, momentarily stunned by how he could make something so basic look so sexy.
He was left handed. How had I never known that before?
The line continued forward, until a guy with black-rimmed glasses and blond hair poking out of a beanie slid a book in front of me, along with a business card. “Hi Tara. I work for Giselle Roberts, the producer. She’d like to set up a meeting with you during Comic-Con, if you have time.”
I blinked at him, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. Giselle Roberts was the biggest female producer and showrunner around. She was known for bringing diverse TV shows to the major networks and then dominating the ratings with them. She’d also created many popular reality TV shows like Behind The Seams, American Supermodel, and Road Trip Race.
“I’d love to,” I said. “Do you know why?”
He pulled out his phone, checking something on it. “She didn’t tell me, but I know she’s a fan. Can you sign the book to her? And are you free tomorrow at all?”
“Sure.” I raised an eyebrow at Hector, who shrugged. We both signed the book while the guy set up a meeting before walking away, leaving me completely baffled.
“What was that about?” Hector asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Hmm. Maybe she wants to turn Misfit Squad into a TV show?”
“No, then she’d want to meet with you, too.” I couldn’t figure it out, but the line moved at a brisk pace and I didn’t have any more time to ponder it.
For the next hour we signed so many books my wrist began to throb. By the end of it I could barely move my hand and we’d run out of books to sell, although many fans had brought their own copies, too. And though some people were there because they’d seen Hector on The Sound, others seemed to genuinely love the book and were excited for the next one.
When it was over we said goodbye to Miguel and headed for the lobby of the convention center. “That was crazy,” Hector said, running a hand through his short curls before covering them with his hat again. “I never expected so many people to show up.”
“Me either. It was such a rush.” I flexed my wrist. “Except now my hand hurts.”
“It does? Mine seems okay.”
“You’re always using your hands, what with drawing and playing the drums. This was probably nothing to you.”
He offered me his hand. “Let me help.”
I rested my palm flat against his and little tingles shot through me. We were so close to holding hands. Touching like this was still in the realm of friendship, but at the same time, so incredibly intimate.
“Your hands are so tiny,” he said, examining them.
“Or yours are just really big,” I teased.
It was true, his were much larger than mine and his long, rough fingers completely dominated my own. What did they say about guys with big hands? Or was that feet? A quick glance down showed that those were big, too. I had to forcibly stop myself from checking the front of his jeans next.
He began to massage my wrist and his touch was firm but gentle. It was all I could do not to melt into a puddle right there. Time seemed to slip away, the crowd around us vanished, and I never wanted him to stop what he was doing.
“How’s that?” he asked, releasing my hand and jolting me out of my trance.
I flexed my wrist and the pain was gone. His fingers were magic. I briefly wondered what else they could do. God, I needed to get my mind out of the gutter. “Much better. Thank you.”
He nodded and glanced around the lobby, but didn’t take another step. This was where we were supposed to split up and go our separate ways, but I got the feeling we were both stalling. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him just yet either.
“Do you want to get coffee or something?” I asked. “A late lunch?”
He gave me another of his elusive smiles. “I’d like that.”
We exited the convention center and joined the sea of people outside. The Gaslamp Quarter of downtown San Diego was almost as packed as inside the exhibit hall, with people hanging out in front of bars and restaurants, walking down the sidewalk to get to their hotels or one of the many off-site events, or standing around handing out flyers or trying to sell water bottles. The sun beat down on us, and I wasn’t envious of anyone in costume in this heat.
We didn’t talk much as we walked through the crowded streets other than to point out some of the things we saw, like cops pretending to make arrests for charity so people could take photos to send to friends or post online. Or the hundreds of ads and billboards for movies, TV shows, and video games that covered everything from the sides of buildings to the pedicabs and taxis in the street. Or the restaurants that had been completely taken over and transformed for the week, such as a café that had been redone for an upcoming zombie TV show, complete with undead servers and food made to look like brains and other mangled body parts. The menu alone made me want to gag. Needless to say, we decided not to eat there.
Every time I glanced at Hector, he met my gaze and his lips twitched into a small grin. Nope, we’d definitely had nothing to be nervous about. Being with him in person, even if we weren’t saying a word, was just as easy as being with him online.
“How about here?” he asked, stopping outside a restaurant that looked fairly empty, possibly because it hadn’t bothered with a fun theme. “Thai food is your favorite, right?”
“It is. How did you know?”
“You always eat it when we’re on deadline and all stressed out, so I figured….” He shrugged.
“Huh. I never realized that, but you’re right. It is my go-to comfort food.” I tilted my head, smiling at him. “I’m impressed. But hey, I know you’re allergic to seafood and you hate bananas and coconut. Oh, and your favorite food is your grandmother’s tres leches cake.”
His eyebrows shot up. “That’s true. But I know you’re addicted to Diet Coke.”
“That’s an easy one. Everyone knows that.”
“Okay, how about this: you love chocolate but hate chocolate-flavored things. Chocolate cake, ice cream, milkshakes—all of those are out. The one exception is hot chocolate. Oh, and brownies. Can’t forget those either.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, I admit that you know me pretty well, too.”
“Damn straight I do.”
We got a table and ordered some food to share—he let me pick, since it was my favorite—and then launched right into easy conversation. He told me all about being on The Sound, since we hadn’t been able to talk much while he was on it. It had only ended a week ago, and now he gave me all the behind-the-scenes scoop—how the producers had manipulated the results so Villain Complex couldn’t win, how Jared and Maddie had carried on a secret relationship that nearly broke up the band, and how even though they hadn’t won the show they’d gotten offers from multiple record labels for their second album.
“Dan is handling the negotiations now,” he said, referring to the band’s manager, who had been their mentor on The Sound. “But we’ve basically locked in a two-album deal with one of the labels. We plan to start working on new songs as soon as we get back from the tour.”
“Wow, that’s wonderful. It happened so fast!” I took a sip of my Diet Coke. “I’m dying to see you perform live. I watched the show on TV, of course, but it’s not the same.”
He picked up a chopstick and twirled it like one of his drumsticks. “So you’re coming tonight?”
“Definitely.”
“You probably need another ticket, huh? For Andy?”
I played with my napkin, avoiding Hector’s gaze. “No, just one. I’m flying solo for a change.”
“No? I thought you’d be here with him.”
“He’s at Comic-Con somewhere, I think, but not with me…” I’d been hoping to avoid talking about Andy. Or thinking about Andy. The wound was still so raw. But Hector deserved to know the truth. “We broke up a few days ago.”
The chopstick hit the table with a soft clatter. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” I sucked in a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “It was a mutual thing. We both figured it was time to end it now that we’ve graduated. He’s moving to Dallas and I’m moving to New York, so it’s for the best, really.”
Hector was silent for a moment, and I couldn’t read his expression. “You were together for a year. That must be rough.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “It’s weird not talking to him anymore. I know we both have to move on with our lives, but it’s hard saying goodbye to someone who was such an important part of mine for the last year.”
I dropped my gaze to the table, wishing I hadn’t said so much. I’d always been pretty open with Hector about my personal life, but now it felt wrong, like I shouldn’t be discussing my ex with him. “Anyway, it’s over and I’m ready to move on. What about you? You are single, right? Or did I mislead your fans at the panel?”
“No, I’m not seeing anyone.”
Of course not. Hector had been single for the entire time I’d known him. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew it had something to do with his past. If he hadn’t told me by now then I figured it wasn’t any of my business. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder…
The food arrived, steaming plates of pad thai and prik king. We changed the subject back to work, to discuss ideas for a fourth Misfit Squad book. Miguel wanted a proposal with the first few pages and an outline for the rest, which I’d already written up and sent to Hector so he could start on the artwork.
“I put a few rough sketches together,” he said. “If you like them, I’ll get to work on them ASAP.”
“Do you have time? You’re on tour for the next month...”
“I’ll make time.”
He pulled his sketchbook from where he always kept it—tucked under his shirt in the back of his jeans—and flipped it open. He angled the page toward me, careful not to get it too close to the food.
“Wow, this is perfect.” I slid the sketchbook closer to me. Hector always brought my scripts to life in ways I never expected, that were even better than I had imagined. He took my ideas, my story, and infused himself into them with his artwork, so the final version was truly a collaboration between us. Each book of Misfit Squad had both of our souls in it.
A waiter carrying a tray of food bumped my elbow and I dropped the sketchbook on the floor. Hector and I both reached for it but I managed to grab it first. Except now it was open to a different page.
This one had a drawing of a beautiful girl. It was in black and white and more realistic than his comic book art, and you could see the care Hector had taken with it. The girl was smiling, her head slightly tilted, her long blond hair (or I assumed it was blond, from the shading) flowing around her shoulders. Pieces like this reminded me just how remarkable of an artist Hector was. How he could capture someone so perfectly with just a charcoal pencil and infuse so much emotion and beauty into a simple drawing.
And then I realized the girl was me.
Hector reached across the table and snatched the sketchbook out of my hands. My eyes jumped to his face, and he looked pained. Like someone had just punched him in the gut. Was he worried I wouldn’t like it? How could he possibly think that?
“Hector, that…that was stunning.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, shoving the sketchbook back in his jeans.
“I didn’t know…” I stopped, taking a breath. “I mean, I never realized you’d drawn me before.”
He shrugged and took a long chug of his water. “I draw everyone,” he finally said.
Maybe that was true, but I knew Hector’s artwork. I’d seen hundreds of his drawings, both art for Misfit Squad and random sketches he did for fun. There had been something different about that picture of me. Something special. Something more…intimate.
“Hector, do you…” I faltered, trying to come up with a better way to ask the questions threatening to burst out of me. “Is this…” No, that wasn’t right. I tried a new approach. “Why didn’t you ever show me?”
He still wouldn’t look at me. “It’s not a big deal.”
That didn’t answer the question at all. My fingers tightened around the chain at my neck, the metal biting into my skin a welcome distraction from how uncomfortable this moment was. “Are there others of me in there? Can I see?”
“No!”
His harsh response made me jump. I banged my knee against the table, causing the silverware and plates to rattle, and he cringed at the sound. The ease of our conversation had vanished and tension had built a brick wall between us. But the more he evaded my questions the more my curiosity grew, and the more I needed to know the answers. Why wouldn’t he just tell me?
“It’s just, I know your art,” I said, before I could stop myself. “And that drawing seemed like it meant something.”
He visibly tensed and one of his chopsticks snapped in his hand. “Jesus, it’s just a fucking drawing. You’re reading way too much into it.”
“Am I?”
He tossed the broken chopstick on the table and pushed his plate away. “It doesn’t mean anything. I draw lots of people. Friends. Family. Random people on the street. That’s all.”
God, this had all gone horribly wrong. Hector was closed off about his emotions on even the best days, but I’d never seen him like this before. I had to back off. I didn’t want to—I wanted to get something out of him. But I cared about Hector as a friend before anything else, and I could tell he desperately wanted me to drop this.
I plastered on a smile and made my voice light. “In that case, you should draw that guy over there in the Halo helmet and pink tutu and nothing else.”
Hector laughed. I could tell it was forced, but at least things returned to some semblance of normality between us. Even if I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been lying.
FOUR
Hector
In our dressing room, Jared bounced up and down on his heels and shook his hands out while doing his vocal exercises. I wanted to yell at him to sit down and shut up because he was making me crazy, but I couldn’t mess with his pre-show ritual. That would only fuck things up for the entire band, and we were already on edge as it was.
Tonight was the first concert on The Sound tour, featuring the top four bands from the show. Our first performance in a giant stadium in front of over ten thousand people. We’d been rehearsing for the past week, from the minute The Sound had ended, but we’d had a lot to practice. Not just the songs either, but things like the order we played them in, the transitions between them, where Maddie and Jared stood on stage, even what Jared said to the audience—it was all scripted down to the second. We had so much to learn in a very short period of time, and that had resulted in some serious growing pains. We were used to that after the whirlwind that was The Sound, but I didn’t think anything could really prepare a band for something as massive as this.
I wasn’t nervous about tonight’s show, not exactly. The waiting was what killed me. I wanted to get out there and play already, not sit around on my ass while two other bands went on before us.
Knowing Tara might be in the audience only made it worse.
I stretched my arms and neck, forcing myself not to check my phone again. It was almost time for our set and, as far as I knew, Tara still hadn’t arrived. I had to accept that she wasn’t coming. Not after what had happened at lunch.
After our fight—or whatever the hell that had been—I’d insisted on paying the bill, despite her protests, and told her I had to head to the stadium for the sound check. She’d promised she was coming to the concert, but I hadn’t heard a single thing from her since then.
Thank god she’d only seen the one drawing. If she’d flicked through the rest of my sketchbook she’d think I was a stalker or something. I did have pictures of my other friends in there, too. Hell, I’d just done one yesterday of Maddie playing the guitar that Jared wanted to keep. But I had more drawings of Tara than anyone else. And like she’d said, they were different.
Whenever I missed her, or after we video chatted and her smile was still fresh in my mind, I had the urge to sketch her. Any strong emotion made me want to draw, to let it out through my art. Jared told me it was the same for him when he wrote music. And Tara always made me feel more than anyone else—no matter how hard I tried not to let her in.
But I’d never shown the drawings of Tara to anyone. There was something more…private about them. They were for me and no one else. She wasn’t supposed to ever find out about them.
I broke down and checked my phone again. Nothing. Dammit.
“You okay?” Maddie asked from her spot on one of the couches, where she idly strummed her acoustic guitar. With her low-cut red top, black leather pants, and geeky glasses, she looked smoking hot, like some kind of sexy librarian.
