A Love Song for Dreamers

by Piper Lawson

  “Anyway,” Annie goes on at last, a flush crawling up her cheeks that makes me want to drag her to the nearest room or closet or front-fucking-lawn and devour her. “These funders like to go in on things together. But, I’ve learned that a few of Ian’s friends have invested independently in the last ten years. So I’m going to focus on them.”

  After dinner, Annie crooks a finger at me and I follow her down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” Jax asks.

  Annie tosses him a look. “Tyler and I are going to hang out, Dad,” she says in a mock-whiny-teenager voice.

  He grumbles something inaudible before heading back toward the kitchen, and I laugh under my breath.

  “He wants to make sure we’re not having sex in the shower,” I tell her as we ascend the stairs.

  At the top, she turns, peering up at me. “You don’t want to have sex in the shower?”

  Her innocent voice sends every ounce of blood to my dick.

  “Fucking yes, I do.”

  She laughs as we get to her room and shut the door behind us.

  As I strip off her clothes and make her mine, one slow drugging kiss at a time, I wish I could shut the door on LA and my fears just as easily.

  After dinner, we meet Rae at the venue where Shay’s playing.

  Thanks to a delicious dinner and the fact that I made Annie come twice in the shower and once more in her bed, tonight’s already feeling like a solid win. Now, I try to push the email from Zeke from my mind as I get ready to share the night with the woman I love and her friend, watching an artist that I found and nurtured.

  As we crowd around a high top table, Annie pries stories from Rae her life on the road as a DJ trying to make it. The woman’s always been hard to get a read on, but I’m fascinated hearing her experiences.

  Unlike me, she sounds like she could travel forever.

  “You okay?” Annie asks, leaning over.

  I slide a hand over her knee, resting my fingers on the inside of her thigh as I brush my lips across her jaw. “Yeah.”

  I look up as the band starts, and Shay takes the mic, but she’s not looking at the crowd—she’s looking at the floor.

  Alarm stirs low in my gut. I can’t put my finger on the warning feeling, but I know something’s off.

  “What is she doing?” Rae asks.

  She misses her cue, and the band keeps playing. Eventually, they stop. Annie and I exchange a look, but we both know.

  Shay’s frozen up.

  I’m cursing her for it even as I weave through the crowd to the foot of the stage. I shoot security a look as they spring into action, but they stop when they recognize me.

  Shay’s eyes widen as she sees me leap onto the stage. “I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely when I stop in front of her.

  “It’s fine. You got this,” I say.

  “I know. I thought I did, but… Just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  I nod to the confused band, and they restart.

  I step back into the wings and nod at her.

  Her gaze is locked on mine as she sings the first line. It’s tentative.

  The guitarist is eyeing us warily, so I grab his unused mic and join in.

  Shay’s smile lights up the entire place.

  I keep going, and she finds her stride.

  By the time we hit the chorus together, the audience is loving it.

  It feels good to be up there, better still to help her.

  My hand might be fucked but the way Shay’s looking at me from the stage and Annie’s looking at me from the audience, it’s hard to believe anything is missing in this moment.

  After, I head back down the stairs, surprised to see Annie and even Rae holler and applaud as I rejoin them.

  “Well, that was a disaster.”

  “It was averted, and you made something even better together,” Annie corrects.

  I search her gaze, my chest expanding. “You’re good for my soul,” I say simply.

  She grabs my arms, her hands digging into my biceps. “I know you don’t like thinking of yourself as depending on other people or having them depend on you…” she goes on, “But you matter. To your friends. To me. To Shay. You can make a difference here. With my dad and in people like Shay’s lives.”

  My chest tightens. Not her life.

  I tuck her hair behind her ear. “When I was on tour, I realized I couldn’t blame what happened to me for how I felt. But I also promised myself I’d do whatever it took to be as good as I was before. And while I was at it,” I go on, my mouth tugging up at the corner, “I’d get a house on the beach. Somewhere warm. Somewhere I’d wake up every day and make music I love and not owe anyone anything.

  “It’s the security I’ve always wanted, Annie. The freedom. And you helped me get it.”

  She stiffens, love and sadness competing on her face. “I’m glad.”

  “Before I left for tour, I told you I wished you’d never made me dream. That’s not true, and I never should have said it.”

  “Tyler…it’s okay.”

  “It’s not. Because I need you to know that I still dream. And when I dream, I dream of us.

  “You telling me about your work on the couch while we watch the sun set after a long day. Me getting you roses because you love them even when you have no earthly reason to. You swimming naked in our pool until I’m so turned on I have to take you right there.”

  Her eyes darken, and I wish we weren’t in public so I could show her how fucking good it could be.

  “Is that all?” she murmurs at last, looking understandably overwhelmed.

  No.

  I want kids who glare at us with your eyes and scream at us with my mouth.

  I want you and me forever.

  I want you to want it as badly as I do.

  But I can’t ask because there’s a huge hole in my chest even with her standing right in front of me, one that’ll get bigger the moment she says that’s not what she wants.

  “Yeah,” I say instead. “That’s all.”

  16

  There’s nothing like the morning after a night that doesn’t end.

  Last night I rewrote the final song for the musical completely while staring at the studio before falling asleep in my chaise lounge, my notebook on my lap.

  The fog I’ve been wrestling with cleared and I accomplished what I’ve been trying to for months.

  I was so sure of it, I took a screenshot and sent it off to Miranda last night.

  When the sun comes up, a slice of vibrant orange on the horizon, the paper is on the patio next to my chair. My phone buzzes with a message from my writing partner.

  It’s short and sweet.

  * * *

  Miranda: That’s it.

  * * *

  Satisfaction and pride settle in me as I shift out of the chair, rubbing a hand through my hair.

  The tile cool under my bare feet, I stretch my sore muscles, thinking of the routine I’ve established since I returned from New York.

  Helping with Sophie in the morning, taking her to school.

  Hanging with Haley when my dad’s working, half to keep an eye on her and half because she’s fun and super smart and the kind of woman I want to be.

  Dropping in on Tyler around lunch—midafternoon if I can wait that long—to hang out, which often ends with us sweaty and naked.

  But yesterday he played me Shay’s track, which is sounding freaking awesome, plus a couple of new bands he’s thinking about sending to my dad. I teased him about being a wannabe A&R guy.

  “When I dream, I dream of us.”

  When he said the words, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let him go.

  Because I love spending time with him. I love how he is with Shay, how she’s slowly dragging him out of his own head where his music is concerned.

  He’s so different than he was when we broke up, and better still for having spent these weeks here.

  And so am I.

  I’m more comfortable w
ith myself. I don’t have every answer, and I’m okay with that. I’m not afraid someone will accuse me of not being capable enough to write a musical, or star in a show, or be unreasonable because I want to be in the spotlight and be part of a family.

  Dad and I can have a conversation one-on-one, not just be civil for a meal, I like helping Haley and Sophie, and most of all I love that the only guy who’s ever owned my heart is right here.

  I considered walking away from my dreams to run after Tyler two years ago, and it would’ve been a mistake. He needed the space to figure out a new normal, and I needed to prove to myself I could hack it in the city.

  So what if this time is different?

  I head upstairs and take a shower, luxuriating in the hot steam for a few minutes before I pull on jean shorts and a tank top and head to Sophie’s room. I crack the pink curtains before dropping to my knees next to the bed.

  I tickle her face. “Good morning. Time for daycare, Soph.”

  She wrinkles her nose and swats my hand. “It’s not.”

  Her sleepy mumble has me laughing.

  “It is.”

  “Sing me a song.” I start to, and her eyes blink open. “I don’t know that one.”

  I brush the hair back from her face. “No one does yet. I wrote it.”

  “Sing more.”

  “When you get up.”

  She’s out of bed in a second. If my audiences are as receptive as Sophie, maybe this new show has a shot.

  She picks out her clothes, and I pull her hair back and braid it, the only part she’ll let me do.

  When we get downstairs, there’s a figure looming at the sliding doors.

  “Tyler!” Sophie runs over, pressing up on her toes to stubbornly work the lock until she can let him in.

  “Thanks, Sunshine Sophie.” His hands are full of a huge basket with fancy decaf and other treats, which he lifts. “For Haley.”

  “What about for me?” Sophie prompts.

  I’m about to tell her we’re making her cereal, but Tyler frowns and rummages in the basket, pulling out a purple plastic truck. “I don’t see anything for you.”

  She jumps on the toy.

  “I got it in LA, but it’s been living in my hotel room ever since,” he murmurs to me.

  My stomach twists, every part of me tingling.

  “I love you,” I blurt.

  Tyler’s smile freezes. He squares to face me, his handsome face surprised and pleased. “I love you too.”

  The words sink into my skin, my bones, my soul.

  I want to hear him say it again.

  “I love you both,” Sophie says solemnly, and I can’t help laughing as Tyler ruffles her hair.

  “All right, time for cereal,” I say, heading for the cupboards.

  Sophie runs toward the front door before I can argue, comes back a moment later with shoes, and drops them at Tyler’s feet. “Shoes first.”

  Apparently, she’s decided she wants him at her beck and call.

  Can’t say I blame her.

  “Shoes at the same time,” Tyler counters.

  She hops into her chair and puts on her bib.

  “Sing your song for Tyler,” she commands as she starts to munch.

  I sing, pouring a black coffee for me and one with cream for Tyler. When I turn back to him, mug in hand, he’s watching with fascination.

  “That’s it,” Tyler murmurs when I finish.

  “Funny. Miranda said the same thing.”

  As Tyler and I drink our coffees and Sophie finishes her cereal, my dad comes down the steps and takes in the scene.

  “Daddy!” She scoots out of her chair and into his arms. “Annie wrote a song. It’s the best song.”

  “Annie writes all the best songs,” Dad responds.

  “How would you know?” I toss.

  “My favorite is this one.”

  He starts to sing one from my other musical and Sophie squeals in delight. “Let’s get you to school, kid,” he tells Sophie once he finishes.

  I’m still struggling with the emotion that comes from realizing he knows one of my songs.

  It never occurred to me that he did.

  But as my gaze finds Tyler’s, I know he can see it all on my face.

  “How’s Haley?” I ask Dad as Sophie finishes her breakfast and goes to grab her backpack.

  “Tired but in good spirits. I shouldn’t be going to this party in LA.”

  I cross to him and squeeze his arm. “It’ll be okay. Serena’s coming tomorrow to stay, so she, Haley, Sophie, and I can do a girls’ night. Besides, everyone’s going to this party, right?”

  “Yeah.” He nods in response, giving me a one-armed hug.

  “So, maybe Shay should go.”

  Dad looks between me and Tyler as I hold my breath.

  “Yes,” Dad decides. “Shay should go.”

  Tyler shoves both hands in his pockets. “I’ll let her know.”

  They leave, and I jump on Tyler. “I’m so glad Shay’s working out.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “No, thanks to you,” I point out. “You’re the one who pushed for her. I just helped move things along.”

  I plant a kiss on him, then take the treats he brought up to Haley, who thanks me.

  “No treats for you?” I ask Tyler when I’m back downstairs.

  He looks up from his phone before tucking it away. “I have very discriminating standards.”

  “Bullshit.” I grab a bowl and the box of Rice Krispies. “You’d fuck someone for Circle Krispies.”

  He groans as he crosses to me. “If that someone is you?” he murmurs against my neck, wrapping an arm around me to drag my hips against his, “I’d fuck you for dryer lint.”

  I laugh, but every part of me lights up. I reluctantly pull back and pass him the bowl of butter and marshmallows. “We should probably make some Circle Krispies for Sophie.”

  “The kid’s going to be a walking marshmallow.”

  “Didn’t hurt us.”

  He chuckles and melts the marshmallows.

  “Why don’t we get sick of these after so many years?” I ask. “I can’t decide if it’s the sweetness or the chewiness.”

  “It’s because we always made them together.”

  God, my aching heart.

  I cast a look over my shoulder, thinking about the email sitting in my inbox since yesterday, the one I’ve read a dozen times. “I emailed my mom. She’s in LA. She said she’d meet me.”

  Tyler closes the distance between us. “Wow. That’s huge. You could come to LA with us when we go for the party. You don’t even have to tell your dad the reason.”

  I turn that over. “Maybe I will. What kind of activity says, ‘We’ve never met, but let’s connect as grownups’?”

  “Fly fishing.”

  I laugh. “Or drinks. Somewhere quiet but not so quiet you can feel the awkwardness.”

  “I can suggest a few places.”

  “Thanks.” We share a smile.

  “You’re so good with Sophie,” I can’t help saying. “You want kids?”

  “Depends who with. I figured you and I’d have three. The first one to practice. The second would be the refined model. The third, just because we were so fucking good at making the first two.”

  I nearly drop the wooden spoon.

  The microwave beeps, and he removes the bowl before turning back to me. “We didn’t have great childhoods, but we wouldn’t put our kids through that. It doesn’t mean everything would go smoothly, but we’d love the hell of out of them.”

  Tyler sets the bowl on the counter and takes the spoon from between my fingers, as if he didn’t blow me apart a second ago with this wild and enthralling idea of us procreating.

  We’re too young to think about it, but I know Tyler would be a great dad. He’d be caring and patient and consistent. He’d always take an interest, have a sense of humor about things too.

  “Are you asking me to have your kids?” I try to make it a jok
e, to hide the longing in my voice.

  He traces the handle down my forehead, my nose, my lips. “I’m telling you I’ve thought about it. With you, I’ve thought about everything.”

  My heart squeezes and I try to make sense of the jumble of feelings and thoughts swirling inside me.

  “So you’ll come to LA when we go?” he asks abruptly before I can respond.

  “I don’t see why not. But aside from hitching a ride on the charter, what’s the rush?”

  He heaves out a breath. “Because after this party…I’m staying in LA. My hand surgery is next week and after that, I’m scheduled to go back into the studio.”

  “Oh.” The backs of my eyes burn.

  He threads the fingers of his good hand into my hair, pulling me against him.

  I want to tell him not to go, but that feels petty and childish. I know it’s not only the logistics that are keeping us apart. The last time I went all in on him, I lost him. We’re older now, smarter, but the possibility of him changing his mind, or of the lives we’re building coming between us, is the most awful thing I can imagine.

  He moves behind me, wraps his arms around my waist. “Sing me that song again.”

  I close my eyes and give in to the feeling and do as he asks.

  I pretend for a moment it could always be this way—him asking for things, me knowing I can give them to him, that I can make this man happy. This man who, by breathing, gives me so damned much.

  “It’s beautiful,” he says. “What happens when this pitch session goes well?”

  Needing to distance myself even a few inches, I mix the cereal into the bowl, then spread the mixture into a pan, pressing it down with a wooden spoon.

  “If it goes well,” I amend, “we get commitment to move forward.” I take the pan to the freezer and return to him. “Then, if we keep meeting stage gates and the reception is strong… we could be off-Broadway in one year. On Broadway in two or three.”

  “Years. In New York.”

  Hope swells inside me, but it’s bittersweet. “That’s the dream. And it is a dream, Tyler. For so long I’ve wanted to be in the spotlight. I thought it was about me, but after doing the first show, I learned it’s more than that. When you’re performing live, you get to be intimate with people. Whether it’s a few hundred or thousands, they’re not a crowd. You’re touching every person in that audience. People like us who are questioning if they’ve got it figured out, or who know they don’t and can’t see a way forward. People who need a flash of inspiration, something out of the ordinary. People who need to feel something real.”