A Love Song for Dreamers (Rivals Book 3)

by Piper Lawson

“Because she lives somewhere else. I haven’t really talked to her.” Not since the letter she sent me.

  “Why not?”

  I lift my feet from the shallow bottom, sculling with my hands. “Because she’s not really part of my life right now.”

  “Do you think she gets things done or makes messes?”

  “I don’t know, Soph. I guess I always picture her getting things done. Like your Mommy.” I shake my head. “Come on. We should get out, or we’ll turn into prunes.”

  We get out, and I help her get the water wings off.

  She tosses them on the patio with a scrunched-up face. “I hate those.”

  “Then why’d you want to swim?”

  Sophie peers up at me, squinting against the sun as she grins. “Because you like it.”

  She says it like it’s obvious, and my heart melts.

  “You will always mean more to me than anything in this world has a right to mean.”

  I swallow as I think of my dad’s words.

  I can’t pretend I know how hard it would be to have kids, how they test your patience. But the way she’s looking at me, I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

  “Stay put,” I tell Sophie, “I need to get towels.”

  She heads for her trucks under one of the patio chairs while I go to the cabana on the other side of the patio.

  The top shelf is empty, but there should be extras below. I’m rummaging around inside and finally spot a stash tucked behind some other supplies when I hear a splash behind me.

  “Sophie?” I call over my shoulder, grabbing two towels.

  No answer.

  My veins turn to ice.

  I whirl and bolt from the cabana, my gaze scanning the patio where she was a moment ago.

  No sign of her.

  Until I spot her form beneath the surface of the pool.

  “Sophie!” I scream.

  I need to get to her. I know it in my mind, but my legs won’t cooperate.

  My throat tightens, every part of me numb.

  Go. Go. Fucking go.

  Suddenly I do, springing toward the pool.

  But in the same moment, a form leaps over the fence from the direction of the studio and dives into the pool headfirst.

  My head thuds dully and my nails dig into my palms as Tyler cuts through the water.

  It feels like a lifetime before he emerges with Sophie, who’s coughing. He lifts her out and sets her on the side of the pool before hefting himself out, his jeans, T-shirt, and jacket soaked and his hair black and dripping.

  I race toward them, my arms wrapping around her wet form. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

  I pull back to look in her pale face. She’s breathing, though blinking and disoriented.

  When her coughing relents, she mumbles. “My red sister truck was in the pool.”

  I look over the edge to see the red truck on the bottom. My stomach plummets as I wrap one of the towels still clutched in my hands around her.

  Tyler’s voice is low, shaken. “I’ll get her toy.”

  He wrenches off his drenched jacket, but before he can shift away, I clamp a hand around his wrist. I can’t stand the thought of him going anywhere right now. “No.”

  “Annie, I’m soaked,” he protests.

  After a moment, his arms go around both of us. I don’t give a shit about his wet clothes. I need him here.

  “Are you okay?” Tyler murmurs.

  I shake my head. “I couldn’t move,” I whisper. “I panicked, and I couldn’t do anything and…”

  The backs of my eyes burn as my gaze drops to his hand, scarred and tattooed.

  His face fills with understanding and an emotion I can’t name.

  “It’s okay, Six. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Sophie squirms, and I shudder out a breath. “Let’s go inside and make a snack. How do Rice Krispies squares sound?”

  “I don’t like squares. Can we make them circles?”

  Tyler’s face is pale, but his lips curve up in a ghost of a smile.

  “Yeah, we can make them circles,” I hear myself say before dropping Tyler’s hand and rising. “You come inside too,” I tell him.

  “It’s so sticky.” Sophie’s digging into her first circle with fascination—I used a cookie cutter to make them—when Tyler comes in, his hair damp from the shower in the guest bathroom.

  He’s dressed in a black T-shirt of my dad’s and jeans an inch too short, but he still looks handsome as ever.

  “I bet this is what you came back from LA for,” I tease, trying to keep it light. “Lifeguard duty.”

  He steps closer, scanning my form. I’m still in my bathing suit, a towel wrapped over it. “You must be cold. I can watch Sophie if you want to shower.”

  “Thanks. But I don’t want to let her out of my sight.”

  I wrap my arms around myself and cut a look towards my sister.

  She’s turning the pages of a picture book, happily dressed in pajamas in the middle of the day.

  A week ago, I was barely part of this family. Now, it’s all I can think about.

  This family and him. The boy who’s always been in me, with me.

  Suddenly, I can’t hold the feelings in anymore.

  “Tyler.” The moment I look back toward him, those dark eyes are on me. “How do you know when something’s over? Is it when the world tells you it is? When you decide it?”

  He’s silent, but I can see the wheels turn behind his eyes.

  “I know when you went on tour,” I go on, “things were messed up. But there was never a time I didn’t want you,” I tell him. “You didn’t seem to think you were whole anymore, and I hated that I had contributed to that.”

  His expression fills with anguish as he steps closer, his body a breath away. “Annie, none of it was your fault. You have to know that.”

  Despite my vows to keep my distance, I can’t keep from reaching my arms around his neck to play with the damp hair that curls at his collar. My gaze runs over his chest, the hard lines under his shirt—not because I’m checking him out, though his closeness is making me ache for his touch, but because I can’t meet his gaze.

  “In acting class my final term at Vanier, we had to prep monologues about our heroes. Elle talked about her mom. Some people chose public figures. I chose you.”

  He stiffens under me, and I force my eyes up to his because I need to see his face. His expression is filled with longing and something I’m afraid to name.

  I’m trapped in his stare, the tension twisting me, wringing me out like one of the wet towels by the pool.

  “You will always be my hero, Tyler Adams. The way you try, the way you fight no matter what life sends your way… you are everything I want to be, and it has nothing to do with your music and everything to do with who you are in here.”

  My hand covers his heart, his chest warm through the borrowed T-shirt.

  “Everyone okay?” Haley asks as she and my dad enter the room.

  We step apart, but not before Haley’s gaze turns knowing and my dad eyes us suspiciously. “Yeah. Everyone’s good.”

  A distinctive ringtone from my phone on the coffee table has me stiffening in his arms.

  “What is it?” Tyler asks.

  I know before I answer. “Real life.”

  12

  “You’re not going back to New York for your ex,” Tyler states from behind me as I throw my makeup and toiletries into the tiny suitcase on my bed.

  “It’s work,” I insist. “I’ve been here a week, and even though I told my collaborators what’s going on, they need assurances. Especially Ian, because he’s central to the funding of this entire venture.”

  The past two days, we’ve been hanging out around the house and the studio. I think he’s worried about me since Sophie fell into the pool, waiting for me to fall apart.

  I won’t, but I like having an excuse to spend time with him.

  Once I’ve got my essentials into my bag, I zip the thing clo
sed and drop onto the bed.

  Tyler crosses to the edge of the bed, leaning over to stare down at me with broody eyes.

  “I don’t trust him. He’s an asshole.”

  “Ian?” I laugh. “How do you know?”

  “Beck—”

  “Beck told you?” I shift up on my elbows. “When did you talk to Beck about me?”

  I think he’s going to deny it, but he only tugs on his hair. “In LA. I hate that someone hurt you.”

  My chest twinges. “You’re a grown man now. You going to beat him up for me?”

  “If you want.”

  The earnestness in his voice makes me ache.

  I shut my eyes, not against him, but against the feelings.

  I can’t have them. Not because I don’t think he feels something too, but because giving into them is dangerous.

  I nearly lost myself when I had to let Tyler go the last time. It would break me if I had to do it again.

  I feel him shift over me, the bed denting under his weight.

  I blink my eyes open to see him hovering inches away, studying me from under his thick, dark lashes. Every nerve in me tingles with anticipation.

  Not only between my thighs, but everywhere.

  “I need to get to the airport,” I say, my voice breathy.

  Neither of us moves.

  The past few days with him, the familiarity creeps in everywhere—the inside jokes, the teasing. He’ll smile or say something so classic deadpan Tyler that I have to remind myself we’re not dating.

  Sometimes, I’m not sure I want to remind myself we’re not dating.

  He always made me feel things no other guy could, but now he’s making me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of.

  Physically. Emotionally.

  And that’s the problem.

  I care about Tyler more than I should, more than it’s safe to care.

  But I shove that aside because even if he feels it too, I can’t give in.

  We’re ships passing, him and me. Even if we can find common ground, how long can it last—a day? A week?

  The only thing we have in common is that neither of us belongs here, and neither of us can stay.

  Even if we could, we’ve never been able to stay together for an extended period of time without spinning out. Tyler won’t let me in—truly, deeply let me in—to see his hurt. I can’t be with someone who’d choose to bear his wounds alone.

  “You can leave after you kiss me,” he says.

  My fingers find his forearms, digging in. His firm lips are inches away.

  I want them on me.

  “No,” I whisper. “Because if I kiss you, I can’t pretend we’re friends right now.”

  “As opposed to what?”

  We stare each other down.

  That I never stopped loving you.

  That I’m falling for you again.

  Tyler shifts back, his face unreadable.

  I get out from beneath him before I change my mind.

  “When’d you get the ink on your hand?” I ask over my shoulder as I grab the hair dryer I nearly forgot from my bathroom.

  “In between shows on tour. I wanted to cover up something ugly with something beautiful.”

  When I return from the bathroom, he’s reclined on the bed.

  I tuck the dryer in the front pocket of my bag before straightening.

  “You’re beautiful, Tyler. You will always be beautiful.”

  I reach for his scarred hand and lift it to my lips.

  His skin is rough and warm, and I want more of him—all of him.

  “Whatever’s between us now…” I take a long breath. “It can’t stop me from going to New York. And neither can you.”

  He pulls his hand back and rises from the bed, his clothes tugging across the strong, deliberate lines of his body. “I know. I’ll take your bag down to the car.”

  After my flight arrives at La Guardia, I stop by my apartment to drop my things and change. It feels strange to be back after only a week away. It’s my space, filled with things Elle and I love, but suddenly I’m noticing what isn’t here—big, bright windows everywhere letting in natural light, the sound of Sophie’s feet thudding on the carpet as she tears into a room or out of it.

  Elle texted to say she’s working all weekend, hustling out some gigs with a new agent, and might not be back tonight.

  In my tiny room, I change into a fitted red dress that ends partway down my thighs. The neck is a V, and I open my jewelry box to search for a chain to wear with it.

  My gaze lands on one in particular, and my stomach knots.

  It’s still there, curled into one of the compartments, the rings preserved in time like the rose.

  My fingers itch, and I think how easy it would be to slip it over my head.

  In the end, I can’t decide on another necklace, so I go without one.

  Ian wanted to meet at my apartment, but I told him we’d meet at a restaurant. I should’ve known something was up when he gave me the location. It’s the hottest place in town, inside a shiny, recently reopened Midtown hotel. It’s glass and minimalist elegance. The sky-high ceilings and white space scream money, as they’re meant to.

  Ian’s waiting at a prime table when I arrive.

  My ex is the opposite of Tyler, though I never realized it until now. He’s quick with a smile, the life of a party, grew up with everything handed to him. His father’s in real estate; his mother in the arts. He did a combination of things, running galleries, but his real interest is in performance arts.

  Ian wears a suit like a skin, as if he fell out of bed and slid effortlessly into the tailored wool.

  “Annie. You look gorgeous,” Ian says easily as I cross to him.

  I smooth a hand down my dress. The nude open-toe heels were the perfect addition for a business dinner somewhere fancy.

  I put the outfit on feeling as if I was going into a negotiation, but the way he’s looking at me, he’s not thinking of fighting.

  Ian steps close, hands resting on my bare arms. I turn my cheek so his kiss lands there, and I step out of his arms smoothly as the waiter holds my chair.

  “Thank you for booking the restaurant. I’m glad we have an opportunity to talk business.”

  “Thank you for coming. Let’s order first.” He gets steak, and I order salmon. Once the waiter disappears, Ian grins. “Tell me what you’ve been up to with your family in Dallas. I hope I didn’t drag you away.”

  A glass of wine appears without my ordering it, and I take a sip, grateful. “My family is fine, thank you. I hope yours is too.”

  “You know my mom. It’s the middle of fundraising season, so she’s in her element.”

  I smile tightly. “The show’s nearly completed. As you know, I’m working on the lyrics for the last couple of songs. Honestly, I hoped it’d come faster. But they’re the most important.”

  Ian’s smile doesn’t waver. “Annie, I know we planned to more formally discuss my involvement in funding after the reading next month.” The event is a tradition, taking place at Ian’s apartment, involving half a dozen actors plus the writing team and a host of prospective funders from Manhattan’s elite circles. “But I think we can move sooner.”

  My heart kicks in my chest. “Really? You never sign on to a project until all the pieces are in place and you have a chance to discuss it with people you trust.”

  “But this is your project.” He lifts his glass in a toast. “If I commit first, getting the rest of the funders lined up will be simple. We can get this where it needs to be. Together.”

  Suspicion crawls up my spine. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means we’ll meet every few days while you’re finishing the book. In New York, obviously. I’d like to be on top of my investment.”

  “With Miranda.”

  Ian hesitates. “I don’t see the need to use her unnecessarily.“

  There it is. I shift in my seat as he continues.

  “I know how sho
ws are developed. I’m experienced, and you’re talented. Together, we make a good team.”

  I shiver as I feel his leg brush mine under the table.

  Our meals come, and he digs in immediately, but I can’t.

  “We’re not getting back together, Ian.”

  He stops chewing halfway through a bite, brows lifting on his handsome face. After he swallows, he plasters on a smile I’ve seen a thousand times. “You’re getting emotional. Reading something into this that isn’t there.”

  “I didn’t read into the part where I walked in on you fucking an eighteen-year-old actress on your couch.”

  When I rise, he’s out of his seat too, reaching for me. “Hey. Come on.”

  His hand grips my arm. I stare at that hand until he releases me.

  “This isn’t about me,” he bites out. “It’s about him.”

  “I’m not seeing anyone.” Except as I say the words, they don’t feel entirely true.

  “Maybe you never touched another man while we were together. But you held back. It’s my job to see the beauty in things. That’s what attracted me to you. On stage, you’re this wild thing. Full of emotion and passion, unrestrained. But you were never that woman with me.”

  I’m shaking my head, but he continues.

  “At first I thought I wasn’t doing the right things to bring it out of you.” He cocks his head, studying me in a way I can’t deny him. “But that was a lie. Which meant you were saving it for something else. Someone else.”

  His words trip me because he’s never said them before, not while we were together or after we broke up.

  “There’s always a silver lining to these situations,” he continues. “I believe in your voice, and I have all the connections in the Manhattan arts community. I can make it easy for you to get this show produced. Or”—he adjusts the cuffs on his jacket—“I can make it difficult.”

  Cold washes over me at his barely veiled threat.

  I know I could work with him, turn away his advances. I trust myself, and I know he has the money and connections to make my dream a reality.

  I fold my napkin and set it on the table next to my plate.

  “You’re right, Ian. There is a silver lining.”

  His eyes soften, as if he knows I’m seeing reason.