A Love Song for Dreamers Read online

  “I got this for you.”

  She holds up a little souvenir Statue of Liberty figurine on a short chain.

  I take in Lady Liberty’s resolute expression. “Is this a reminder I’ll always be a tourist?”

  “No. It’s a reminder that New York welcomes people, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. And that grace and strength aren’t opposites. Sometimes, having both is the only way to survive.”

  Touched, I take the tiny figure and throw my arms around Rae before she can protest.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” she mumbles back, squirming. “It was five dollars.”

  I think about the way Tyler acted after the showcase. He went inside himself and came out with the performance Beck recorded that ended up scoring him the contract with Zeke.

  Maybe he needs a reminder of who he is, what he does.

  “You guys want to go to Leo’s tonight? I know we’re all studying, but only for an hour. Two, tops,” I ask as we catch up to Elle and Pen by the bench.

  Elle cocks her head, intrigued. “You have something special lined up?”

  “Not yet.” Conviction surges through me. “But I will.”

  “You came!” Elle calls from where she’s perched next to Beck on a stool at Leo’s.

  She hugs Tyler, and he wraps his good arm around her for a second.

  “I heard that due to your condition, you got an extension until January to write your exams,” Elle says.

  “The gifts never end,” he drawls, but his mouth lifts at the corner when he looks back at me, and my heart lifts with it.

  It’s not the only reason to be in a good mood. I emerged from the library after skating to find two calls about interviews for serving jobs. Plus, I’ve started investigating both student loans and scholarships to help cover tuition and living expenses next semester.

  Rae orders drinks for the crew—alcohol for all of us except Tyler, who’s still on medication and gets a Coke—and we catch up through a few of the open mic acts.

  Some Vanier students stop by to talk, and the tightness in my chest eases every time Tyler lets them draw him into conversation. I’m thrilled to see him talking and laughing with our friends.

  Beck said Tyler would need time, and he was right.

  I catch Beck’s eye and he lifts his glass almost imperceptibly. I smile, sighing out a big breath I’ve been holding for ages.

  It almost feels like old times.

  Almost.

  “Come on, I have a surprise for you.” Excitement bubbles through me as I take Tyler’s good hand and lead him backstage.

  “A surprise. Are we going to have sex backstage?“

  “Better.”

  “No such thing.”

  I nod to the woman who does the bookings, and she smiles.

  “Heard you had a little setback,” she calls to Tyler. “Nice to see you back in action.”

  “You call this action?” he tosses, lifting his arm.

  “Chicks dig scars.”

  The current performer finishes, and I jerk my head toward the stage. “Let’s go.”

  He balks. “Go where?”

  I head out to the stage and pull a guitar over my head, nodding to the other mic. A cheer goes up—not for me but from the people who spot Tyler in the wings.

  I lean into the mic. “So, this is the performance that’s been delayed a few weeks. But it’s the one we planned.”

  I play the first few chords of our showcase song, and a new round of hoots goes up.

  Tyler doesn’t move.

  I step back from the mic, continuing to play as I cross to him in the shadowy wings. “Come on! I’ve never had to drag you onto a stage before.”

  But whatever’s going on behind those shuttered eyes is dark and private.

  “You want me to sing,” he says at last.

  “Yes. You sang at the showcase. You were amazing.”

  His expression grows darker. “I’m not a singer, Annie. I’m a guitarist. So, give me the damn guitar.”

  My fingers still on it. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  I lift it over my head.

  The crowd’s gone silent.

  He takes it with his good hand, shifts it over his head. He tries to hold the strings with his bandaged hand, his face contorting from the effort or the result.

  I suck in a breath. Tyler’s pain is mine, and it’s awful. “It’ll take time—”

  “It’ll take a fucking miracle.”

  He shoves the guitar into my arms and walks off stage.

  I chase him into the wings, grabbing his shoulder to make him turn back.

  “All I wanted was to be a studio musician, Six. I didn’t used to believe in dreams, but you made me. And I wish to hell you hadn’t.”

  It could be worse.

  That’s my mantra right now as I curl up in the stacks of the library at Vanier studying.

  Yes, my boyfriend got stabbed and he hates music, and maybe me. After last night at Leo’s, he went back to his hotel and I didn’t follow him, staying in my dorm room for the first time in over a week.

  But hey. I survived my first exam this morning and in another forty-eight hours, I can apply myself with renewed energy to the cause of finding money to stay in school.

  I’m setting down the notes for my Entertainment Management exam tomorrow when my phone vibrates in my bag.

  The number has me stiffening.

  “Hello,” I answer under my breath.

  “Hi.” My dad’s voice is rough. “You called.”

  “Nine days ago.”

  I pack up my things and head outside so I don’t disturb the other students taking up study cubes and lounging in comfy chairs.

  There are a few students out here, too, but not any close enough to listen, if they’d even care. The hype around my dad has all but evaporated. Something else to be grateful for.

  He huffs out a breath. “I needed time to think about what happened. Haley said I might have overreacted in New York.”

  “You think?”

  My voice is sharp enough a girl halfway down the hall lifts her head, and I turn away.

  “You lied to me, Annie. To both of us.” I can hear him trying to get control of himself.

  But as I lean against a wall, I can’t bring myself to care.

  “Tyler got hurt. We were walking home at night. Someone jumped him.” I take a breath. “He’s going to be okay.”

  “Jesus. Annie, what about you?”

  “I’m taking care of him.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He curses. “Come home. We’ll deal with all of this once you’re back.”

  I want to. If he’d answered last week when I called and told me he’d fix it all, I would’ve taken him up on it in a heartbeat.

  My fingers find the little Statue of Liberty keychain and I turn it in my hand.

  “You told me life in this industry never goes the way you plan, and you’re right. I came to New York to pursue my dreams. You may not agree with them, but you don’t have to. I’m not giving up.”

  I think he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t.

  “Haley and I will pay your tuition if that’s what you want.”

  My chest expands in relief. I don’t need to get a job, don’t need to struggle to figure out how I’m going to stay here.

  But my gaze plays over the students in the hall. They’re from all walks of life, all of them here because they can’t imagine being anywhere else. What they all have in common is they’re here on their terms.

  The realization that hits me is sobering and freeing at once.

  “You taught me how to swim. You taught me how to love music. But there’s one thing you taught me without meaning to, and it’s how to make it without giving a fuck what anyone thinks. I don’t need your approval or your money. You started out in this industry when you were my age, and you made it on your own. I will too.”

  There’s silence on the line, punctu
ated only by hoarse breathing.

  “When are your exams finished?” he asks at last.

  “Next week.”

  “Come home. Bring Tyler.”

  I run a finger over the ridges of the tiny figurine’s torch, her gown, her pedestal. “I am home, Dad.”

  4

  “There’s a problem with your writing,” Ms. Talbot informs me, looking up from the computer in her office.

  It’s quiet at Vanier since exams finished yesterday. Only a handful of students staying for the holidays remain, plus a number of the faculty.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “It’s better than any other student’s I’ve seen. These lyrics you wrote are meaningful and specific.”

  My shoulders relax. I didn’t realize how much tension I was holding until she said those words. “Thank you.”

  “I’d like you to help me finish the book for this show. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s a good learning experience. And you should consider auditioning, at the right time.”

  Excitement surges through me. “I’d love to.”

  I could be in an off-Broadway show. One I helped write.

  “But,” she goes on, “I need your commitment. You pulling out of the showcase was shortsighted and foolish.”

  “I understand. This is my dream. I’ll do whatever it takes to see it through.”

  “Good.” Her gaze narrows. “On another front, I heard about Mr. Adams’ injury. I’m sorry. He was a tremendous talent.”

  “Is,” I correct. “He can’t play yet. But he’s still the same person he was.”

  In the days since Leo’s, I haven’t slept at Tyler’s hotel.

  I wanted to help him. Wanted him to open up.

  He did, didn’t he?

  He said he wished I hadn’t made him believe in something bigger.

  “Life changes us.” Talbot’s voice brings me back. “It can happen over years or in an instant. He may never be the same person. But there’s another risk, which is that you might lose yourself in trying to find him.”

  I want to reject her words, but my throat is too tight to produce sound.

  “How old are you?” she goes on.

  “Nineteen.”

  Her clear eyes crease at the corners. “Life will change you in more ways than you can imagine, good and bad. Now, you have an opportunity. Don’t let that go to waste.”

  I nod. “Thank you, Ms. Talbot.”

  “Annie.”

  I don’t realize the tear has streaked down my cheek until she holds out the tissue.

  “Call me Miranda.”

  On my way out, I make a decision.

  Tyler and I need to talk. Maybe he’s wrong and maybe I am, but we’re going to figure this out together.

  The whole subway ride over to Tyler’s hotel, I’m torn between thoughts of him and the opportunity I’ve been given.

  When I get up to street level at the other end of the line, there’s an incoming call on my phone.

  “Miss Jamieson, this is the financial aid office at Vanier. I know the last time we spoke there wasn’t anything available, but we have new funding that hadn’t been added to our online system. It would cover tuition, plus a stipend.”

  I pull up in the middle of the street, the backs of my eyes burning.

  “Miss Jamieson? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m still here.” I swallow.

  I could stay in school and have this huge opportunity.

  “Are you interested in applying?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  After hanging up, I bound to Tyler’s hotel.

  When I get to his suite, he’s gone. But a note scrawled on the hotel stationary on the counter says he went to a meeting at the studio.

  I hope they’re not kicking him out.

  Although, maybe it would be for the best if he went back to his apartment. He needs to get back into his routine, his life.

  If this is your last time here, you might as well take advantage.

  I write a note back to Tyler, then put on my bathing suit, which I’d brought over last week and hadn’t had a chance to use, and head down the elevator.

  The swimming and fitness area is quiet midafternoon. As I dive in the deep end, the feel of the water on my body is heaven. I front crawl the length of the space, then back. Again.

  I put in a dozen laps, then another dozen, until my muscles burn and my head is clear.

  When I finally lift my head and take off my goggles, pulling myself up with my forearms to rest on the edge of the pool, a pair of shoes fills my vision. I peer up those denim-clad legs, the dress shirt, the towel under one arm.

  There will never be a day when seeing Tyler Adams doesn’t make me happy.

  “Hi,” I say, smiling. “How was your meeting?”

  “Surprising.” He drops the towel on the deck and crouches down.

  I notice a slip of paper in his hands. “Are they kicking you out of the hotel? We knew it’d happen eventually. I can help you move your stuff home.”

  I shift forward to take the paper, my damp fingers leaving drops on its surface.

  “It’s a first-class ticket to London. Leaving tomorrow.” My brain struggles to do the math. When I put the pieces together, they leave me breathless. “He still wants you on the tour.”

  Tyler grimaces. “I can’t play guitar worth shit. But he wants to capitalize on my fifteen minutes of fame after the video from Beck’s vlog as the frontman of some manufactured band.”

  “By performing music,” I emphasize. “This is a good thing.”

  He turns away.

  I set the ticket carefully on a dry part of the deck before hoisting myself out. I wrap the towel around myself as I straighten, grabbing the ticket again. I follow him as he paces the length of the pool.

  “So, you’re okay with it?” he tosses over a shoulder. “You want me to live out of busses and planes with a bunch of dudes. To flirt with women who think more about what it’d be like to fuck me than the music I’m making.”

  Jealousy rises up, and I shove it back down. “That’s not what this is.”

  If he goes on tour, it won’t matter if he plays guitar or sings or juggles on stage with his feet. He’ll make it work. The audience will love him because his intensity, his seriousness, his capability, will shine through.

  He pulls up, still facing away. “With a guitar in my hands, I’m better than anyone at Vanier. Better than Jax. Or I was—two weeks ago. They took it from me.”

  The rawness in his voice guts me. I move in front of him, cupping his face and forcing him to look at me with angry eyes. “No one can make you less than you are. And there are plenty of ways to make music, Tyler.”

  But his cynical expression makes me sick.

  Talbot’s words come back to me. Am I the one who’s deluded?

  These last two weeks have been a nightmare.

  His hand is healing, but the rest of him is dying.

  I’ve tried everything to pull him out of it, to show him I’m here for him and we’ll get through this together.

  He still tells me he loves me, but if he turns down this tour and moves out of the hotel, is this what our new normal will be? His bitter accusations? Me walking on eggshells?

  The other night at Leo’s, the way he looked at me and at the guitar… That was not the man I love. If he doesn’t love music, I don’t know who he is.

  I press the ticket against Tyler’s chest, my eyes burning. “You should do it.”

  “What?”

  For the first time, the anger leaves his face and he’s my Tyler again. The curious, thoughtful boy with the fast hands and the slow smile.

  He looks past me, watching a family emerge from the changing room to get into the pool behind us.

  “You made me promise once to never leave you.”

  “I’m asking you to.”

  The words hang between us.

  My hands fist at my sides hard enough my nails dig into my palms.
“Miranda—Talbot,” I go on at his confusion, “wants my help with the musical. She says I should audition when it’s finished.”

  Tyler reaches up to tug on his hair. “Wow. Congrats. Your dreams are coming true when mine are going up in smoke.”

  “I know you’re going through something unimaginable, but don’t accuse me of holding my success over you.”

  His gaze works over mine as if he’s trying to see through my words, trying to understand.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says at last, gesturing toward the doors. “We should go upstairs.”

  We head up to his room, and I shower quickly and throw my clothes back on.

  He doesn’t try to join me.

  If I expected the tension to have dissipated by the time I’m back in the living area, it hasn’t.

  Tyler’s standing by the window. He cuts a look toward me when I emerge. “If I go on tour, what happens?”

  “You get to light up a stage.”

  “I meant to us.”

  I count the beats of my heart, the slow, steady rhythm reminding me the world is still turning, even though it feels as if everything’s stopped.

  I reach for the necklace I put back on after the swim, but it feels too much like a tell. So, I force my hand down to my side as I cross to him at the window, my gaze lingering on the ticket on the coffee table as I pass it.

  When I stop in front of him, he hooks a finger in my belt loop to fit my hips to his. That tiny gesture nearly breaks me, and when I look up to see Tyler’s handsome face full of frustration and confusion, that only makes it harder.

  Miranda’s words come back to me. There’s so much ahead for both of us. We’ve always been striving toward greatness, no matter how far away it feels and no matter what gets in the way.

  I want this chance for Tyler.

  I want it for me, too.

  “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” I start, “but it’s still an opportunity. And even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, you will hate yourself if you don’t try.”

  I will hate myself if I let you quit trying.

  The tears are threatening to spill over. For once, I shove the emotions down.

  Instead, I kiss him. It’s deep and hard, and every second that my lips move over his, I’m fighting the burning behind my eyes with everything in me.