A Love Song for Dreamers Page 4

  When he pulls back, my panicked thought is that it’s too soon. I need more of him, need his lips on me and his comfort in me, and even if he’s not quite my Tyler, he’s here and that’s enough.

  “I’ll go.”

  His words make my stomach drop. The relief I was expecting never comes, but I nod anyway.

  “It’ll be good,” I promise. I press up on my toes to wrap my arms around him in a fierce hug. “I’m so proud of you. Call me from London, okay? I don’t care what time you get in.”

  Tyler exhales hard, and when I force myself to pull back, the beautiful gaze I know better than my own moves between my lips and my eyes.

  “Six...Why does this feel like goodbye?”

  The nickname makes my heart swell and shatter at once.

  I force my mouth to smile, and every muscle hurts. “It’s not.”

  But I know the truth.

  Deep down, I know it is goodbye.

  5

  Two and a Half Years Later

  * * *

  “Why is it always prodigal sons and never prodigal daughters?” Elle’s voice comes over the phone as I shift into the limo outside the terminal at DFW.

  “Maybe women are smart enough not to go back.”

  “Or they didn’t leave it so long in the first place.”

  As the car pulls away, I slide my sunglasses up my nose. “Going home might be the worst idea you’ve had since becoming my roommate.”

  “It wasn’t my idea. Haley invited you on behalf of her and your dad. I just played the dead dad card and reminded you that it sucks not to have a dad in the first place.”

  “You’re right. And I’ll be back in New York first thing Monday. You won’t even notice I’m gone,” I say as we wind our way through the mass of ramps and overpasses.

  “Well, someone noticed. He’s been knocking on the door again.”

  Just what I need. “I’ll handle him.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about that. But I think he’s upset you’re not handling him.”

  Silence grabs the line for a beat, two.

  “It’s only been a month,” Elle goes on, softer this time. “You okay?”

  “Emotionally, yes. Ian and I are over. But dating someone you work with—someone you can’t stop working with even after you split—is like getting bangs. It seems like a great idea and then three months later, you’re crying into a bucket.”

  Elle’s delighted laughter makes me smile. “You’ve been living with me too long.”

  We hang up, and I settle into the drive, unsure of whether I want it to go faster or slower as we pass familiar buildings and streets.

  I have a career in entertainment I’ve built myself. Playbills with my name on them, even if I was only onstage twenty minutes a night. An actual apartment in New York. Friends I can count on.

  But life is about to ask me a question.

  I feel it in the air.

  And right now, the air has me tingling.

  Too soon, the car pulls up the driveway, and I punch in the gate code. The winding drive is the same as I remember, but now there’s a second laneway that runs parallel on the other side of the fence. It runs up the property and around the house.

  Interesting.

  On that loop, a valet is parking cars, and there are at least fifty—mostly expensive late-model, with a few classics thrown in.

  “Go to the front,” I instruct my driver.

  By the time I’m out of the car, Haley’s already emerging from the double doors. She’s wearing a yellow dress that’s feminine and no-nonsense at once and looks gorgeous with her dark hair. I can’t help but grin.

  But my gaze lands on her round stomach, and I suck in a breath. “You look ready to pop.”

  “And you look great.” She beams and folds me in a hug.

  It feels good to hug her. These past couple of years, we’ve gotten closer even though I’ve been away. Strange how you can feel close to someone you never see except on occasional video calls.

  “Annie!”

  I pull back to see a tiny human in the doorway in a green dress, pigtails in her dark hair and fists on her waist.

  “You came for my party,” she states.

  The air vanishes from my lungs. My half sister isn’t a toddler anymore. She’s got Haley’s bow mouth and amber eyes like mine and the last time I saw Sophie in person, she couldn’t say a complete sentence.

  All of which makes it hard to respond in kind.

  “Sure did. But I heard it was Dad’s party.”

  She shakes her head vigorously. “It’s for me. Those are my friends.” She points back over her shoulder and I swallow the laugh.

  Her eyes brighten as she inspects me. “What’s in there?” She points to the weekender bag the limo driver set by the door.

  “A party dress. You want to see?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Then she turns on her heel and takes off back into the house.

  Haley rolls her eyes. “Well, that’s Sophie. She broods like your dad and laughs like me but we still don’t know where the energy comes from.”

  “I’m sure we’ll have time to hang out later. Anyway, sorry I’m late. We sat on the tarmac two hours because of a baggage issue. Looks like the party’s started,” I say as I nod toward the cars.

  “It has, but the path to your room is clear if you’d like to get changed.”

  Haley starts to grab my bag, but I step in. “Don’t you dare.”

  She leads the way through the house. Sounds of the party drift through the hallways, but aside from glimpses of stylish figures wearing casual suits and chic summer dresses in the kitchen and living room and patio beyond, there’s no one in our path as we head upstairs.

  “We’re so glad you came,” Haley starts. “I know you’ve been busy working on your new show.”

  “It’s not every day Dad launches a music label. I never thought he’d go through with it.”

  “Me either. He’s talked about it long enough, but I figured it was his way of complaining about his former label when he sees Mace and the guys from the band.”

  When I push open the door of my old bedroom, I freeze.

  It’s exactly the way I remember.

  My music boxes line the shelves, the same duvet covers the bed.

  I set my bag down and swallow the emotion that rises up.

  I had been expecting it to hit when I saw the house, but for some reason, it’s coming now with my stepmom watching me, one hand on her swollen stomach and her lips softly curved.

  “This will always be your home,” she says firmly. “No matter what.”

  “Thank you,” I say and mean it.

  Haley leaves, and I turn back to my suitcase, pulling out the backless purple dress with a deep V neckline and the strappy sandals that show off my legs, toned from dancing.

  Thanks to being on stage eight times a week, I have makeup and hair down to a science. Once my eyeliner is done, my lips are slicked a coral pink in honor of summer, and my hair waves down my back, I step into the dress.

  This place may not have changed, but I have. Now that the run of my show is over, my hair’s back to its natural dark red and starting to grow out, still a couple of inches past my shoulders. My body was always lean, but now it’s strong from dance and long hours of rehearsing. I don’t have ready access to a pool since the building Elle and I live in doesn’t have one, but I do try to hit the gym three days a week and eat well in order to sustain the pace of my lifestyle.

  Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about being in this industry?

  You have to want it—more than anything.

  Even then, your dreams find ways to mess with you.

  When I head downstairs, there are a ton of people in the great room and spilling out to the patio. I scan the room, but most faces are only vaguely familiar at best. I don’t see my dad or Haley or even Sophie.

  At the bar, I accept the offered glass of champagne from the attractive bartender who checks me ou
t with a grin as he passes me the glass, but I’m thrown when two strong arms band around me from behind.

  I spin around and delight surges through me. “Uncle Ryan!”

  I fold him in a hug.

  “Good to see you, kid. How long are you staying?”

  “Just for the weekend. I couldn’t miss the party.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Surprise works through me, but before I can comment, there’s a light clinking of glasses and we follow the crowd through the open doors to the patio.

  My dad is standing in the center of the crowd, a polite circle formed around him.

  My hand tightens on the stem of the champagne flute.

  He’s wearing a dark jacket over his jeans, his hair casually styled without any hint of gray. The hard cut of his jaw and nose haven’t changed, but I swear there’re more lines when his eyes crinkle against the sun.

  I haven’t been home since first semester at Vanier, though I talk to Haley on video or audio calls at least once a month. Sophie makes appearances almost every time, but my dad does drive-bys only on occasion—as if he, like me, knows things between us aren’t okay.

  I know he offered to meet me halfway after Tyler got hurt, but it felt as if he saw what happened to Tyler as proof I fucked up by moving to New York, by straying from his protection.

  So I focused on achieving my dreams on my own. I’ve survived months I didn’t know if I’d make enough money to keep the lights on, weeks of ice baths after endless dance rehearsals until my limbs ached. All for the chance to be on stage.

  Even though I’m not yet sure what I want to say to him, he must have some idea what he wants to say to me since he invited me here.

  That he was wrong would be a good start.

  “Thank you for coming,” he says to the crowd. “The music industry is changing in ways it never has. The old labels have consolidated, adapted, but they’re not meant for this new world. They put money in the pockets of executives. This new label is going to change all of it. Put the music and the musicians back in the…” His gaze meets mine, and his words trail off as an expression of disbelief takes over his face.

  I suck in a slow breath as I connect the pieces.

  Haley’s emphatic words.

  Ryan’s surprise.

  My dad didn’t invite me. He didn’t even know I was coming.

  He clears his throat and continues. “Back in the middle, where they belong. Enjoy yourselves today and celebrate with us. Not only for the label, but for music.”

  Applause and cheers rise up, but I barely hear them.

  The patio is suddenly too loud, too stimulating.

  I need to get out of here.

  I turn away, taking a long, urgent drink of champagne as my gaze lands on the pool house.

  Except it’s not a pool house anymore.

  There’s a decorative iron gate—open, for now—between the patio and the structure, and the building itself has been renovated, expanded to twice its original size.

  I head toward the building, winding through the crowd, and a parking lot on the other side comes into view through the hedge of shrubs angled to afford privacy and separate the two areas. The main entrance to the building is off the parking lot, meaning the door by the pool is a side entrance, likely intended for family only and accessible solely from this direction.

  My dad would never want someone else’s business in his backyard. But his business, with a literal door he can close, a way to access it anytime and close it just as easily…

  That he’d like.

  The door is etched glass, and I turn the handle, expecting it to be locked, but it gives.

  For all the noise outside, it’s quiet inside. I step inside to find sleek off-white carpet with geometric designs.

  I follow the short hallway that opens into the old pool house bedroom, which is now a lobby unlike any I’ve ever seen. Display cases line the walls, but instead of rows of hard seats, there’s a couch and comfy chairs, plus two more hot-desk workstations on the far side.

  A more permanent-looking desk—probably for reception—is where the bed used to be.

  Feelings slam into me, the scent of sun and cedar I must be making up from memory.

  It takes a second for me to notice a curvy, dark-haired woman younger than me behind the desk. Her hair is in braids, her smile wide. “I know you. You’re Annie Jamieson. I recognize you from photos,” she says, her voice vibrating with excitement. “I’m Shay.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You must’ve come to look around. Good idea to wait until after the rush.” She gestures toward the desks. “These are for visiting artists and staff. On each side of the hall there’s a studio, an office, and a meeting room. It’s for music, not luxury. Function, not form. But I think it’s beautiful.” She says the last part under her breath, as if she’s rebelling by merely voicing the words.

  “You saw it before the renovations,” Shay goes on. “Do you miss what it was?”

  Feelings slam into me—nostalgia, longing, regret. “Sometimes. But things are meant to change.”

  I walk down the hall and try the handle of the first studio door. It’s locked.

  When I look across at the second studio, I see movement on the other side of the door. I try the handle, and it gives, opening soundlessly. Laughter fills my ears.

  There’s a man standing straight, a woman pressed close to him. I clear my throat.

  They both turn toward me.

  The woman’s beautiful, but it’s not her I’m looking at.

  It’s him.

  Strong legs are encased in indigo jeans. Broad shoulders stretch the black jacket, which is rolled up at the sleeves to reveal swirls of inky tattoos. The top two buttons of the matching shirt are undone. And above that…

  There’s a face so familiar it hits me in the gut.

  Not because it’s impossible to scan an entertainment newsfeed without seeing him.

  No, the gut punch is because I’ve kissed that face. Dreamed about it.

  I’ve felt it between my thighs.

  He was a man when he left on tour, but he’s more than that now. I see it in every hard line of his body, every shadow on his face.

  “You surprised us.” The woman laughs, reminding me we’re not alone. She keeps talking, but I don’t get any of it.

  Tyler’s dark eyes intensify as he takes me in. His chin drops as he starts a slow survey at my heels, drags up my legs, lingering at the top as if he can see what’s beneath my dress.

  Or he’s remembering it.

  There shouldn’t be so many feelings colliding in my chest.

  “And you are?” the woman asks me, jerking me back.

  I should’ve had something to eat on the plane. That feeling in the air, that sense of unease lifting the hairs on my neck…

  He’s standing in front of me wearing black and an unreadable expression.

  Tyler Adams might’ve changed in two years, but so have I. I’m better at hiding my heart instead of wearing it on my sleeve.

  But that doesn’t stop me from draining my champagne before answering.

  “Too old for this shit.”

  6

  There are different kinds of famous.

  There’s the famous that puts asses in seats at your latest show and fan pages in your results when you type your name into an internet search bar.

  Then, there’s the famous where you can’t cross a street without being ambushed. Even industry insiders rush you, only they do it with air kisses and stories rather than with selfie requests.

  After a year of touring and an EP, I’m still closer to the first camp. But the man hosting this party will always rule the second.

  The patio’s decked out with high-end décor and higher-end guests. The king of rock has come out of retirement to start a label, and everyone wants a front-row seat.

  It’s not Jax I’m looking for.

  I search the crowd for Annie, and I finally spot her
at the bar. It takes a few minutes for me to get to her, as I’m slowed by industry types who try to suck me into conversations.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you,” I comment once I fight my way through.

  At the sound of my voice, Annie turns.

  I’ve played big stages, but the moment those golden eyes fringed in dark lashes find me, I’m a fucking newb.

  At being a musician.

  At being a man.

  Her dark-purple dress hugs her figure, and I can’t stop staring. Not because she looks fantastic, though she does, but because it’s been so long since I’ve seen her in person.

  “I didn’t think I’d walk in on you in the pool house with a girl. Again.” Her voice is low and smooth, with a hint of self-mocking. “Somehow, that wasn’t the most awkward encounter I’ve had this afternoon.”

  Annie looks past me at the crowd.

  I follow her gaze but don’t see where it’s landed. “In that case, I owe you a drink.”

  “It’s an open bar.”

  “Fine, I’ll buy you two.”

  That earns me a reluctant smile as Annie orders a sparkling water and I get a ginger ale.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be here, either,” she admits as she takes the drink from the bartender. “Heard you were in the studio in LA.”

  “I’m on a break.”

  “For?” She sidesteps to let a man brush past her heading toward the bar.

  I turn it over before answering. “Sanity.”

  The fabric of my dark jacket absorbs the sun, and I’m heated from that and her attention.

  She lifts her glass. “To sanity, then.”

  “Amen.”

  We both drink.

  I swore if I saw the first woman I ever loved again—when I saw her again—it would be like seeing an old friend.

  But as my gaze runs over her pale skin and slick lips, it doesn’t feel like that at all.

  It feels like every scar I’ve ever had is new again.

  “Ooof,” comes a noise from knee height as something slams into my legs.

  Sophie peers up with bright eyes from under dark bangs. Her little elbows try their best to clamp around my knees. “I got you, Uncle Tyler.”