A Love Song for Always Page 3

  “When we came here before, it was packed,” I say as security inconspicuously walks us to the elevator, where we’re escorted by a bellman to the top floor. “I’m so glad you got a table.”

  We step out and take a short hallway with contemporary art on the walls before it opens onto a breathtaking rooftop patio that looks as if it could hold a dozen tables with crisp white tablecloths. But tonight, it features only one.

  “I did better than a table. It’s all ours,” Tyler says.

  Awe fills me, stretching my chest like a balloon.

  “I was thinking how we were apart on New Year’s. You wanted somewhere with a view of the stars.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the edge that overlooks the view below. He gestures to the sprawling acres of West Hollywood. “How’s this?”

  I laugh. “Star-studded.”

  His grin tells me he’s happy that I’m happy. There’s no better feeling than seeing this man happy, knowing I had a hand in it.

  “It’s really beautiful,” I say, “but I can’t wait to head to the island. Where we can see real stars at night. I want to sit out under them with you.”

  Our waitress comes over with a bottle of wine.

  The label has memories lighting up my brain. “This is what we drank when you followed me to New York.”

  When the waitress disappears, he lifts his glass. “To us. Then. Now. Always.”

  The simple toast is perfect, and I clink my rim to his. “Always.”

  I take a long sip, the red wine thrumming in my veins the second it hits my stomach.

  “What’re you getting?” I ask him after we glance at the menus.

  “Steak. You?”

  “A salad. Haley and I are going to see my dress in the morning, and I need to fit into it.”

  He leans in, his expression filling with blatant interest. “Tell me about this dress.”

  My lips twitch. “No.”

  “One hint.” His impatient exhale reminds me he’s not used to people denying him.

  “No hints.”

  “You’ll tell me anything I want when those heels are locked around my waist in a couple of hours.”

  Heat floods me.

  “I guess we’ll find out.” I pick up my wine again, twirling the stem. “I can’t believe Dad and Haley get here tomorrow morning. Or that Sophie’s going into first grade next year. I still remember when Haley was pregnant with…”

  His gaze drops to my stomach, and I stop mid-sip of wine.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I keep thinking about what you’ll look like when you’re pregnant.”

  The way he says it, warm and sexy, tells me exactly what he thinks I’ll look like.

  It’s something we’ve talked about but not in a few months.

  “My childhood wasn’t the greatest, but whose was? You said I needed something bigger than myself to believe in. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I do now.” His gaze searches mine, and the hope I see affects me every bit as much as his words.

  “You told me once you want children who glare at us with my eyes and scream at us with your mouth.” My heart is kicking so hard it might escape my ribs.

  “I’ll be a musician forever, Annie. We both will because it’s in us. But I don’t need to have a career like your dad, selling out stadiums for over a decade. I get why he did it though. For you.

  “That’s why I want to do this deal. Artists flame out all the time, and the next person to burn out could be me. Your dad is the exception, not the rule. This label, run right, will provide for us after I stop being on stage. If you ever decide to stop, for kids or any other reason, you won’t have to worry. Nor will our kids, or their kids, or their kids’ kids.”

  His commitment makes my heart ache. He grew up with nothing, and I know how important security has always been to him. There’s no amount of money in the world that would shake loose that fear in him.

  “If it’s only an investment, why not leave it in the hands of the lawyers and financial managers? You’ve worked hard for this time off. We both have,” I remind him.

  Tyler’s brows pull together. “I don’t think I realized how big an investment it was when I signed on. But once I started looking through the paperwork, I found something I didn’t expect. Memories. We met at Wicked. I got to know you there, in Philly all those years ago. It’s a piece of our past, and it could be a piece of our future. Only if we want it,” he finishes, sensing my uncertainty.

  The tiny lights tucked into the trees leave his face mostly in darkness, and I itch to trace my hands over those planes.

  It’s hard to argue with a sentimental Tyler Adams. There are few things he holds precious, and the idea that he treasures those times when we first hung out... My romantic heart can’t find it in me to deny him.

  Still, I hate the thought of sharing him this week for a second longer than necessary. I feel as if I’ve always been forced to share him, and I promised myself now would be different.

  “Most women wish their husbands got along better with their in-laws,” I say at last. “But you and my dad have this whole other relationship.”

  He shifts forward, bracing both elbows on the table. “Before I proposed to you in New York, I went to see him.”

  Surprise works through me. “To ask permission?”

  Tyler shakes his head. “To tell him that I respect him and appreciate what he’s done for me but that I would choose you. Every time.”

  My heart melts even before he produces the small purple giftbag he brought with him. “Open it.”

  I peer inside to see a small, brown box like a takeout container. Unfolding it, I laugh out loud. “Rice Krispies squares? I’m not sure a nice restaurant like this will let you bring your own dessert from some café,” I tease.

  “They’re not from a café. I made them this afternoon.”

  Pinpricks sting my eyes as I realize while I was with Beck and Rae, Tyler was thinking of me, wanting to make tonight our own brand of perfect.

  “I love you,” I whisper, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

  “I love you too. But you said you were worried about fitting into your dress,” he drawls, mischief on his face as he moves the squares away from me.

  I grab his arm before he can. “One won’t hurt.”

  When we finally get back to the house, it’s almost eleven.

  “Just saw Haley’s text,” he says as we head into the house and I hit the lights. “Family meeting sounds ominous.”

  “She’s right. We should get everything out in the open before the wedding. But right now…” I turn to step out of my shoes before lifting my face to his. “I want my husband.”

  Tyler pulls the door closed behind us. “You have him.”

  His lips claim mine, warm and coaxing. He tastes like wine and a bit like sugar, and all of it blends with the masculinity that’s always been him.

  I step between his legs, letting him pull me close. His low growl of approval has the hairs lifting on my neck even before he traces a finger down my back above the dress.

  My fingers reach for his belt, and this time he doesn’t stop me until I work it off. He lifts me and carries me across the living room and up the stairs.

  “Pretty sure your contract forbids you from carrying women up stairs,” I say, genuine fear in my throat as we ascend even though his strong arms don’t shake once.

  “You gonna tell on me?” he teases as we reach the top.

  He doesn’t stop but walks me right into the master bedroom where I brought my suitcases earlier and sets me on the massive bed.

  He kneels over me, lifting my hand to press a kiss to the back. “I’ve been thinking about how I want to do this all month. Take my time with you. Remind you how good we are together.” Then he drags my dress up and presses two fingers between my thighs. “But I’ve spent my life waiting for you. I can’t wait anymore.”

  He strips the dress off me, and I work his clothes off until he’s glorious and naked in front of me. A
savage god, but one who knows his own weaknesses.

  I want to kiss and touch every inch of him. To take him in my mouth until he groans in approval, opens those impossibly dark, familiar eyes to slits from above me, and says I’m it for him.

  “Wait.” I scramble out from under him to get my birth control pills. “You meant what you said about wanting kids, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He watches, curious, as I hold the half-used package of pills over the garbage.

  “Do it.” His voice is a rasp.

  I let them drop, and the second I do, he’s on me.

  He drags me to the bed and pins me beneath him. I’m already so turned on before he shifts between my thighs, nudging me wider so he fits at my opening. The feel of him pressing inside is unreal.

  I hope I never get used to him.

  “New. Every fucking time, you feel new,” he murmurs against my hair.

  He builds me up, finding a punishing rhythm.

  “I’m probably not getting pregnant tonight,” I pant.

  “Gotta practice like we mean it.”

  Once we both come, he holds me against him, our hearts racing together, before he goes to the bathroom.

  A light comes on—his phone on the table. I reach to flip it over but catch sight of the notifications.

  Dozens of notifications. Emails from lawyers.

  I feel sick.

  Even if he doesn’t have to address all of these, the entire world is demanding his attention.

  I set the phone back on the nightstand, but the gnawing in my gut hasn’t gone away by the time Tyler returns to bed.

  “You okay?” he murmurs as he shifts in next to me, sensing my stiffness.

  “Yeah.” I nod.

  He wraps his arm around me and falls asleep.

  As much as I want him, there’s been distance between us since I arrived. It won’t be eliminated tonight.

  I reach for my necklace with the promise ring and the rose pendant.

  It’s not there.

  The piece of jewelry I’ve had since my first summer with Tyler that’s been with me even when he wasn’t. It gave me hope when I had no reason to hope, and clutching it in my fist has always renewed my faith—in the world and in us.

  I run a hand over the bedside table, then check the bathroom.

  Without turning on a light, I pull on a robe and head outside to the yard. I had the necklace in the pool.

  I’m fifteen minutes into my frantic search when the gate sounds.

  Startled, I bolt around the house to find a woman in a blond wig and sunglasses smoking a joint.

  “Rae, you scared the shit out of me. How was your set?” I manage once I recover from the surprise.

  She pulls off her sunglasses but doesn’t answer.

  I frown. “That bad?”

  “The set was good.” Her voice is unusually tight. “Why’re you up by yourself?”

  “I was looking for my necklace. I must’ve lost it in the yard today.”

  She follows me to grab flashlights. We split up in the bushes, her taking one end and me starting at the other.

  “Guys are assholes.” The night air carries her voice.

  I stiffen, not crossing to her because I don’t want to shut her down but working my way closer, my hands skimming the grass. “Maybe it would help to talk about it.”

  “I said I’d play another night, and I will. But whoever owns that place needs a wake-up call.”

  I’ve learned pressing with Rae is like pressing against a concrete wall, but I’m concerned. We all have to deal with hurdles working in this industry, some of which range from gray issues to things that would turn your stomach.

  “Gotta remind myself if you have your own back, you never need to worry about who else does.”

  The earnestness from my friend makes my chest twinge.

  We find nothing in this half of the yard, and eventually I meet her back at the patio.

  Rae nods toward the pool chairs. I kneel down, peering under one chair, then another.

  I eventually find the necklace caught in the pool filter, the clasp broken. Somehow, the ring is still on it and the pendant. I dry it on my outfit and fold it in my hand, heaving a sigh of relief.

  But when I stroke a finger over the pendant, my stomach sinks.

  “It’s broken. I’ve had it for seven years.” I fold it in my fist as if I can squeeze it back together. The feel of the broken pieces against my palm has tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

  The spark of light behind me has me turning. Rae’s parked herself in one of the chairs.

  I drop into the other chair, stretching my legs out and surveying the city lights that twinkle like defiant man-made stars.

  Rae holds out the joint. “That’s why you’re still out here. Because it’s not a big deal.”

  I take it, and Rae shifts back, tugging off the wig and unpinning her hair until it falls around her shoulders. We sit there smoking, the cool breeze prickling along my skin.

  “It is only a necklace,” she says after a minute. “He’d buy you another one in a heartbeat.”

  I sigh. “I know it’s stupid. But it’s kind of irreplaceable.” The night breeze lifts the hairs on my arms. “You don’t think you’ll ever meet someone who makes you cry over a necklace?”

  Rae lets out a low chuckle before shifting forward to stare at the city.

  “No such guy.”

  6

  Six days until the wedding

  It’s hollowly familiar, the feeling of being under the cool sheets in silence. The beating of my heart is a quiet reprieve from the world of chaos where people scream my name when I never asked them to, where executives in cars worth more than the house I grew up in want my time.

  But for a few months, I grew accustomed to waking up next to the woman I fell for before I knew what love meant.

  We went to bed together last night, and the next time I woke, it was still dark and her side was empty. Thankfully, this morning, light is streaming around the edge of the curtains, and I know without looking that I’m not alone.

  Annie’s on her side, facing me. Her face is relaxed in sleep, her lips parted, her red hair a silky mess strewn across the white pillow. Lashes a few shades darker than her hair kiss her cheeks, the faintest dots of a few freckles from the scant sun in New York across her tiny nose. Her shoulder, bare above the blankets except for a skinny purple strap, rises and falls with her slow breath.

  I want this wedding. I want my fiancée in a dress designed to rob me of my soul. Want her swearing herself to me.

  But the world has grown bigger since we were teenagers. We’ve both changed too.

  I went from not wanting children to wanting them with her. And it’s important for me to provide for them, to be more than my parents were. Pulling in crowds is fleeting, and it’s not the life I want to live forever even if I could.

  Still, those concerns feel miles away as I skim the back of my hand over that pale shoulder. The callouses on my fingers mean I don’t feel her the same, but they’re part of me. Part of us.

  My palm slips beneath the sheets to find her waist between her panties and tank top, skimming up her ribcage. “Morning, Six.”

  The words are a whisper across her skin. My hand finds her hip as I brush my lips over her cheek.

  She shivers. After a moment’s hesitation, she moves closer, not away. My arousal presses against her, and she rubs softly on my shaft.

  I brush the hair from her face, dropping kisses along her jaw and her throat while she sighs.

  The clock on the nightstand says it’s after eight. Normally, she’d have been up long since given she’s on New York time.

  And that reminds me Jax and Haley will be here soon.

  Ignoring that reality, I move over her and slide a finger between her thighs, beneath the panel of her thong that’s already damp.

  Annie blinks up at me, sleepy. Her breathing goes shallow, as if even half-awake, she
knows my touch and what I’m going to do to her, and she spreads her thighs. It’s humbling, the way she wants me.

  “Don’t move,” I murmur. “Don’t change a damn thing.”

  I memorize the look of half-woken desire in her eyes before I drag the fabric to the side and sink into her. She’s tight and slick. Just like the rest of her, her body is the perfect combination to bring me to my knees.

  Her back arches, her nails digging into my forearms. I thrust into her again and again, building a rhythm she chases with her hips in slow, languid moves.

  Annie’s close—I know from the little sounds I’ve heard her make in every corner of our New York apartment, once or twice backstage at her show, and everywhere in between.

  She comes first. I make sure of it.

  I brush my lips across her temple. “Go back to sleep.”

  I pad to the shower.

  We have a big day ahead of us.

  I clean up, dress, and head to the gourmet kitchen. While coffee brews, I check in on work things for the tour. There’s a gig beneath the gig that no one talks about, and that’s what takes the sweat and blood and tears. It’s not the thousands of hours slaving for your craft, it’s the next thousands traveling, working with studios and venues and marketing, connecting with fans.

  I look through some of the merch they studio sent—T-shirts, a tour poster with a rose superimposed on part of the image.

  Fans love my tattoos, but they don’t know what they’re all for. The compass, the ship, the rose. Maybe they can guess. But when anyone asks in interviews, I need to have some privacy.

  The vine roses curling down my left hand, for instance. The hand that got fucked up when we were mugged one night in New York. I’ve made my peace with it. I used to think it was my tour that did that, and in part, it was.

  But the tour was only the backdrop for me learning to live with it. She helped me—her presence, her absence. It always comes back to her.

  Annie’s the rose overtop, bridging the scars.

  The one that holds me together.

  The doorbell has me jogging to the front door. I open it to reveal Jax Jamieson, irritated half musician and half soccer dad, in jeans and a black T-shirt, baby Mason stirring in the carrier lifted by one tatted arm. His wife capably fixes a stray pigtail on Sophie, a miniature of her mom who nearly reaches Haley’s waist now.