Guarded Dreams

by L. J. Evans

  She ignored me—another thing that Ava had been good at. We gathered our things and headed out the door. The noise of NYC assaulted us just as the cold did. The night air had dropped to somewhere close to freezing, our breaths heavy in the streetlights.

  Mac Truck exchanged a look that I couldn’t quite read. It was Mac who spoke first. “I gotta catch an early train tomorrow, so I’m heading back. Truck?”

  Truck nodded.

  Mac wrapped me in a hug—tight, hard, like we weren’t going to see each other again. In our jobs, you never knew if that was going to be true. “If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll see you in June?”

  I nodded and hugged him back before stepping away and shoving a fist into his shoulder. “Don’t blow us up, asswipe.”

  Mac laughed. “I’ll do my best not to hit the shiny red button.”

  Mac and Truck took turns hugging Ava, and she seemed uncomfortable for the first time since the Pink Poodle, as if hugs weren’t part of her normal life. I still hadn’t been able to hug her, though, and it was now making my hands and body itch. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to go before I scratched it.

  Truck said quietly, “Thank you.”

  Ava looked at him in surprise. “What?”

  “Thank you for reminding me of who I was really mad at.” He let her go and looked at me. “Make sure she gets home safe, oh Captain, my Captain.”

  It had been a long time since Truck had called me that. Mac had continued, but Truck had been sullen and unhappy. My heart tugged. If nothing else came out of seeing Ava again, the fact that she’d kicked Truck into a direction that was his old self was a gift. I swallowed hard and nodded.

  When they took off down to the corner of the street to wait for a Lyft, I turned back to Ava. “Which way is home?”

  She fidgeted with the strap of her bag and pointed in the opposite direction of Mac Truck. She started walking, and I followed. I was overwhelmed with a feeling that this was what I’d always wanted to do. Follow. Wherever she led.

  We were quiet while we walked. Eventually, she stopped outside a building, and when I looked up, I could see the words Juilliard shining down on us.

  “This is me. Dorms.”

  I was a little surprised that she was still living in the dorms as a senior, even though, as a cadet, that was where I’d spent all four years of college. The dorms weren’t the home I was hoping for her—a quiet living room, a place to ease next to her on a couch. To touch her. To figure out what was going on inside the haunted looks she gave.

  I looked down into her face, searching for something that showed she wanted me as much as I wanted her. That she’d missed the thought of me as much as I’d missed the thought of her. I stared for a long time. Like she used to stare. I saw emotions in her eyes: uncertainty, more regret, and other feelings I couldn’t name.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly, adding my thanks to Truck’s. Her eyes flashed with sorrow before she turned away.

  “I don’t think any of you should be thanking me.” She pulled a keycard attached to a lanyard out of her bag.

  “You don’t understand what it’s been like. Truck…he hasn’t been himself since it all went down, but with one hug and a few words, you’ve sent him back on the path to finding himself.”

  She snorted in disbelief. I grabbed her arm and pulled her so that she was looking at me. So that I could stare down into her face and continue my examination, looking for the scars that I knew she was wearing, but that I couldn’t see.

  “You freed him tonight…of so much anger…with a hug. A hug that I was so jealous he got.” The words came out of me before I could stop them, surprise registering in her eyes.

  “You-you want to hug me?”

  “Do you even have to ask?” I was pretty sure my desire for her rippled off of me. “But I’m afraid if I do, I won’t be able to stop with a hug.”

  She didn’t move. It was almost as if she didn’t breathe at all. “If that shiny guy that you’re dating and singing with is ever dumb enough to let you go, I’ll be the first one to call him crazy. I’ll be the first one in line, demanding that you keep that promise you gave me.”

  Her breath stuttered. “Promise?”

  “You promised me a date.”

  “Four years ago. You can hardly hold me to that now.”

  “I can. I will. A promise is a promise.”

  I was deadly serious, no laughter in my voice, but she still smiled.

  “You that desperate to get your ass whipped? I’m sure there are plenty of places in New York you could get that, if it’s your thing.”

  Four years ago, it had been part of the promise: a date and an ass whipping. It made me happy that she remembered all of our conversations just as I did.

  “I don’t need a place. I just need you.”

  That had the smile fading some, and I needed to kick my own ass for making it fade, afraid that my words had been too much.

  “Eli,” she breathed out, the night air taking her breath and turning it white as it came toward me, caressing me in her sweetness before evaporating. “He isn’t my boyfriend.”

  Shock had me letting go of her arm. My stunned expression turned her smile back on. Full blown. Old Ava full of sass and harassment.

  “He really is stupid,” I said. My own grin took over my face as something that I was pretty sure was joy filled my entire being. Joy that she wasn’t his. That she could be mine—if I didn’t blow it. If I didn’t make some lame mistake that caused her to run away.

  “I didn’t say he hadn’t tried to make the moves on me.” She grinned.

  “I’m sure he has,” I replied, closing the tiny distance that was between us, not wanting to think about the things Brady had tried so that he could get her in his life…in his bed.

  “We’re just partners. I write, he sings. We’re friends.”

  “I’m out to sea the next few days. I won’t be off until Sunday. It isn’t a typical date night, but I’m hoping you’ll say yes.” My hands were at her waist that was hidden by the puffy coat she wore and that I ached to remove so that I could feel her bones, and her skin, and the quiver that I saw more than felt go through her body.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  I pulled her to me, arms surrounding her tightly so that I could have my own damn hug, her scent filling me, taking me back to the warm sun and humidity of Rockport. Taking me back to a sunset where I’d given in and kissed her back.

  It took a few seconds before I felt her arms go around my waist, but then she was hugging me equally tight.

  Just like I’d told her I would, I didn’t want to stop with a hug. I wanted to tilt her head up and kiss those damn pink lips until they were red and scuffed from mine. I wanted to kiss every part of her, but it would have to wait, because I wasn’t kissing her like that on the street in the freezing cold. Nor would I be kissing her like that in a dorm room with girls waiting on the other side of the door.

  “Sunday. Seven?” I said with her still in my arms.

  “Sunday. Seven,” she agreed.

  “Ava?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really liked your song.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  She laughed, muffled by my coat and our hug.

  I let her go reluctantly. I pulled the keycard from her hand, swiped it against the keypad, opened the door for her, and handed the card back. She took it and looked up at me, happiness and confusion written in her eyes.

  “Go before I can’t stop myself,” I growled out.

  “Maybe I don’t want you to,” she said breathlessly.

  I groaned. “Don’t say that.”

  She stared at me then leaned up and kissed my cheek near the corner of my lips. If I’d turned, I could have had her lips on mine, but I didn’t. I just stared into her beautiful face instead.

  “Sunday it is,” she said with a gentle smile and then walked away.
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  I let the door shut with a clang behind her, locking me out, preventing me from doing anything more.

  She looked back through the glass at me, a smile on her face, and she waved.

  I nodded, shoved my hands into my pockets, and watched until she entered an elevator bank. Then I turned and walked away, heart zinging.

  I called for a car, and once I’d climbed into the back seat, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and brought up the contact that said “The One That Got Away.” For the first time in four years, I was tempted to change it. Change it to “Hope” or “Life” or “Everything,” but I didn’t want to jinx us. I didn’t want life and unrealized dreams to get in our way again.

  Instead, I hit “message.”

  ME: Where’s your favorite place in New York?

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: Battery Park, why?

  ME: I have a date to plan.

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: You planning on taking me to see the Statue of Liberty?

  ME: Is that what you want?

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: I want you.

  I groaned, my entire body reacting to that statement.

  ME: Good.

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: Cocky much?

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it, but my cock was definitely reacting to her comments even though that wasn’t what she meant. Male bodies can’t help but react to words like that from women they desire.

  ME: It’s only fair.

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: That you’re cocky?

  ME: Stop talking about cocks. And no, it’s only fair that you want me because I’ve never stopped wanting you.

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: I’m not sure I believe you.

  ME: I can think of a lot of ways I can prove it.

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: Promises, promises.

  Hell. I was going to have a really hard time getting out of the back seat of the Lyft. I was going to have a hard time getting into the apartment and was going to require a cold shower before I could get any sleep tonight.

  ME: Sunday. 7 pm.

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: Sunday.

  ME: Goodnight, Ava.

  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY: Goodnight, oh Captain, my Captain.

  I groaned again. Four days was going to feel like an eternity, but I was smiling. For the first time in probably four years. A real smile. Just like Truck had.

  Ava had saved us both tonight.

  Now it was my turn…to make sure she was saved, too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ava

  I COULD USE A LOVE SONG

  “That takes me back, just like that…

  To a time when I wouldn’t roll my eyes

  At a guy and a girl

  Who make it work in a world

  That for me so far just seems to go so wrong.”

  —Performed by Maren Morris

  —Written by Morris / Robbins / Veltz

  When I got up to the room, Brady was fiddling with his guitar on the couch. He looked up and then around me, expecting a large body to emerge in the doorway. He seemed slightly disappointed when there was none.

  “What did you do?” he asked, voice laced with accusatory humor.

  “Me?”

  “He’s not here. Did you send him scurrying away like all the others?”

  I chuckled, removing my coat and throwing my bag on the mess of papers on the coffee table. I sank down beside him on the couch.

  “No. We have a date set up for Sunday.”

  “You’ve waited years to jump the guy, and you sent him away for a date?”

  “He sent me away for a date.”

  He put the guitar down on the other side of the couch and pulled me up next to him.

  “He’s a stupid ass.”

  I laughed. “He said the same about you.”

  “Me? Why the hell am I a stupid ass?”

  “Evidently, because you aren’t my boyfriend.”

  “Did you tell him how hard I tried that first year? And isn’t he glad I’m not your boyfriend?”

  “Oh, he’s glad all right.”

  “Like hot kiss glad?”

  “You’re as bad as Jenna. Besides, I don’t kiss and tell; you know that. I’m not like you.”

  Brady sighed. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a kiss to talk about?”

  “You just slept with that black-haired dynamo from the bar last weekend!”

  “But that wasn’t talk worthy,” Brady said with a smile.

  I hit him in the abs. “You’re cruel. And you wonder why I never let you in my pants. I can’t imagine the nasty things you’d have said about me.”

  “We both know that there would have been fireworks, trumpets, and heavenly serenades. No nasty talk.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” I tossed at him.

  “I’m glad we never hooked up,” Brady said, leaning his head onto mine.

  “Yeah, why’s that?”

  “Because then I wouldn’t be able to sing all your amazing songs. We wouldn’t even be able to be in the same room without you being all jealous and bitchy.”

  “Your ego has no limits.” I pushed him off of me and stood as my phone dinged.

  I looked down at a text from Eli.

  “Lover boy?” Brady asked. I looked up, a smile on my face, and nodded. “If he hurts you, I’m going to hire Torrance from the Italian place to use his brass knuckles on him.”

  “You wouldn’t rough him up yourself, huh?”

  He rose to stand beside me, holding up his hands. “And ruin these guitar-playing babies, no way. Especially not with a contract finally coming our way.”

  I was lost in a sea of texts from Eli.

  Brady patted me on the head. “Night, babe.”

  I didn’t even reply, still lost in Eli. The fact that he was texting me. The fact that I’d agreed to go on a date with him. That he was here. Wanting me.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  After our little stream of text messages on Tuesday, I’d hoped to hear from Eli again, but I didn’t. I knew he was on duty, out to sea. He probably didn’t even have a signal most days. I wondered what it was like for him when he was on the boat. I wondered if he was in danger. That made my stomach flip. How did people do it? With their loved ones going into harm’s way every day? That made me think of his mom.

  I wondered what she must feel with him out on the water like her husband had been. Like the husband who had come home in a body bag. It wasn’t a thought I could stomach for long, so I pushed it aside.

  Instead, I threw myself into the songs that were filling me and focused on my classes and our time in the studio.

  On Thursday, Brady got a call from Blake Abbott that was followed shortly afterwards by a call from Nick Jackson, a producer through one of Sony’s many offshoots. Brady put it on speaker, and we were both silently dancing and smiling like idiots while we were talking to him. I’m sure he could hear it in the breathlessness of our voices.

  We told him about the album we were finishing up. He said to send him a copy when we were done and gave us his personal email address so it wouldn’t get lost in the deluge of unsolicited crap they received.

  “Blake said something about it being a duo?” Nick questioned.

  “No. It’s really just Brady. I’m just the songwriter.”

  “Blake said he really dug your voice. Deep. Husky,” Nick said on the other end. I felt a stab in my gut at that, the old longing resurging before I carefully pushed it aside. I knew that Brady’s best chance was solo.

  “She’ll be a part of it, if that’s what you want,” Brady spoke, and I hit him in the stomach. He grimaced, but I also loved that Brady wasn’t stepping over me to get where he wanted. I hadn’t really given him enough credit. I thought he’d abandon ship without even looking back.

  “I’d really rather you find someone else to sing any of the duets with him, but it’s my voice on the album as of now,” I replied honestly.
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  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone tell me they don’t want to be part of a recording gig,” Nick said, a chuckle following his comments. I liked him. Even though we couldn’t see him. He seemed down to earth. Reliable. Knowledgeable.

  “I just know my limits, and I don’t want to hold Brady back. You can find someone fantastic to sing with him.”

  “Send me the album, and we’ll go from there,” he said.

  We hung up, and Brady and I screamed, danced, held on to each other. “This is really going to happen for you,” I said, muffled in his flannel shirt that he only wore when we were in the studio or our dorm room.

  “It could happen for you too, if you weren’t so stubborn,” he said, squeezing me so hard I choked. I pushed him away.

  “I don’t want it.” It was true and not true.

  “That’s not what you said when you arrived at Juilliard.”

  I shrugged. “You get older, you get wiser, you get real.”

  “I hate that you think you aren’t good enough. You have the best female voice in our whole class.”

  “You realize you just said female and our whole class in the same sentence?” I asked, grimacing and going into the kitchen to find the beers we had in the refrigerator.

  “Only because no one can argue that Shayla has the best voice anyone has heard—ever—even if she’s not in our class,” Brady said, following me. “And, well, you are in the same class with me.”

  I skipped over his ego comment and dove for the comment about Shayla instead. “If you hadn’t screwed Shayla and then left her, she would be recording with you, and then you’d have a platinum album on your hands instead of just a regular old chart-topping one.” I handed him the beer.

  We uncapped them, clanked them together in silent cheers, and drank. “She would have outsung even me,” Brady said. “Plus, she was a shag who was worth talking about.”

  I laughed. “What? You trying to be a British country singer now?”

  He smiled at me and then turned serious. “Really, Ava, I’d like you to do this with me. We work well together. Your voice is killer. Just like Blake told Nick.”

  It was a solace to my old self that Brady thought I was good enough to be on his album for real. To be a part of a band. A duo. Whatever. The girl who had left Rockport, Texas for Nashville, Tennessee would have jumped all over that. Would have been swinging from the chandeliers at the thought.