by Piper Lawson
A Love Song for Rebels
Rivals #2
Piper Lawson
A LOVE SONG FOR REBELS
(RIVALS #2)
Tyler didn’t set out to break my heart…
But life doesn’t give marks for good intentions.
Now, I’ll stop at nothing to achieve my dreams. I’m done playing by anyone else’s rules.
But when Tyler shows up in the last place I expect, with secrets and a confession…
There will be a reckoning.
Because the naive girl he shattered is gone.
And the woman in her place is ready for a fight.
A Love Song for Rebels is Book 2 in the angsty new adult, academy-inspired Rivals trilogy and should be read following A Love Song for Liars (Rivals #1).
1
September
A seventeen-year-old girl once told me I don't feel enough.
She was wrong.
Am I walking around with a flashing neon sign pointing at my heart saying, “Fuck me over. Here’s how”? No.
But heading into the grand auditorium at Vanier with a crowd of students my first day of second year, I feel plenty.
“The demo was great, and you know it,” I state into my phone, talking loudly to be heard above the noise of the crowd.
“Ty, it’s not the right time,” Zeke answers flatly.
I rub a hand over my neck. It still feels strange not to have hair curling over a collar, but the black Henley suits me better than Oakwood’s tailored shirts.
“Is it ever gonna be the right time?”
“Some people wait a lifetime for a chance. You had a golden opportunity, and you fucked up.”
My stomach clenches, but the record exec continues. “I could use you Thursday. The studio’ll reach out. You’re on my radar, kid. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”
He clicks off, and I barely resist chucking my phone into the throng of students.
“Smile, Ty. This is for posterity.” My roommate’s drawl shakes me back to the room.
Beck wedges himself next to me, his phone screen trained on us as we make our way toward some seats midway back.
“I’m Beck, and thank you for following my adventures at Vanier. We’re at twenty thousand subscribers, and I appreciate you. Today’s the first day of second year. For you math nerds, yes, that means final year for those of us in a two-year program, and it’s gonna be epic.”
He flips the camera outward to survey the scene. The auditorium’s a vast, sweeping space with a thousand upholstered seats. When you see it empty, it’s like a field waiting for battle.
The stage could be mistaken for part of that battlefield, but it isn’t.
It’s the prize.
Beck’s narrative continues. “First day of a new year means assembly, which is a chance to remind us how lucky we are to live in dorms or rodent-overrun apartments with barely enough time to practice for the survival jobs we’re gonna need when we graduate.”
His easy deadpan has me lifting a brow. Usually Beck’s a hundred percent optimism even when I’m not.
“You’re cheery after the long weekend,” I note.
“Came out to my parents. For future reference, Labor Day party in Southampton is a bold choice for announcing you’re bi.” He looks between the camera and me. “On the plus side, everything I own from home will be in our apartment by tomorrow. Including a kickass Bluetooth speaker. The bass will blow your mind… and almost make up for the fact that our fridge broke this morning.”
I want to ask him about the coming out part, but the recording light’s still on.
We turn down a row of seats partway back, moving past second years like us and the wide-eyed freshmen.
I refuse to believe we were that naïve a year ago.
“Even if I gave a shit what my parents think, there’s no going back. Guys give better head,” my roommate goes on, tripping over classmates as we pass. “Girls are enthusiastic, but a dude knows how to treat a dick.”
In the middle of the row, I grab his phone, hit the Stop button, and hand it back amidst his protests. “Beck. Seriously. Tell me you’re okay.”
His grin is lightning quick, but it takes a moment for him to respond. “I will be,” he says at last, clapping me on the shoulder.
I drop into a seat. He takes the one next to me.
“What’s new with Cap’n Z?” He nods in the general direction of the cell phone stuck in my pocket.
“Still won’t offer me a new deal.”
I could be cutting albums right now instead of busting my ass on etudes for class.
Beck frowns. “You should’ve told him what happened with your dad after you moved to New York.”
My entire body stiffens, and I flex my hand on the arm of my seat. It’s been months, but mentioning those events still affects me. Maybe it always will.
“Zeke is business. Last year was personal.”
When I left Dallas and moved to New York last summer, I’d thought there was nothing left in me to break.
I was wrong. Less than a month later, life brought me to my knees.
The one silver lining is that I poured all my feelings into music. I’m better than I’ve ever been, and I want to get the hell out of this place. I’ve had enough of school, enough of people telling me what to do and how to be.
“So, I signed up to be a peer mentor this year,” Beck announces. “Got any tips on educating the next generation?”
I shift back in my seat, scanning the rows of students. “Don’t fuck whoever’s assigned to you.”
“Appreciate the input. I’m gonna play that one by ear. You got some nerves to burn off yourself, roomie,” he continues. “You keep way too low a profile. And you’re gonna have to start paying me to keep out all the dreamy-eyed people showing up at our door. ‘Tyler around? I need to talk to him about class, the state of the Middle East, the state of my bikini wax…’”
His exaggeration makes me laugh.
Yes, I’ve had my share of offers, but it’s been a while since I took a girl up on one.
It’s ironic because with all the pent-up energy that’s been building lately, I could fuck someone.
God, could I fuck someone.
For an hour, a day, a month, until I forget the resentment and frustration and emptiness.
Most of the people around here would get that I don’t want a relationship.
It’s like the Olympic Village, an entire community of hot, young, ambitious men and women who need to burn off steam. But at the end of the day, they’re here for one reason—to build a career, a future that’s brighter than what we came from.
The lights dim, and we train our gazes on the stage.
Vanier is nothing if not theatrical. The college has a rolling slate of A-list guest faculty including musicians, actors, and dancers.
Today, several of them perform, and Beck’s phone peeks up between the heads. I wonder what he’s going to edit this into later for mass consumption.
Finally, the dean—herself a former principle ballerina with a national company—clears the stage for her remarks. “Vanier has the nation’s most prestigious performing arts programs. We are steeped in tradition, a history of commitment and discipline.
“Some would say technology holds the key to the future, but we believe the arts are more important than ever in these troubled times. Where there is dark, there is also light, and we are seeking to reinterpret this world of struggle, of inequality, of burgeoning possibility and hope, through the lens of the arts.”
I’m not here to reinterpret the world.
I’m going to find a way to get my contract back if it kills me. Starting today, I won’t
rest until I do.
The decision fills me with resolve.
My gaze locks on two girls a few rows up, and I tune out the dean’s words.
They’re both pretty from the back—whatever the hell that means—but it’s the dark-haired girl who has me straightening.
Her hair falls in waves, a shiny river that ends somewhere below her seatback. The glimpse of profile when she turns to listen to something the blonde whispers shows full lips, a pointy nose.
I lean forward as if doing so will let me see more of her.
She’s wearing some kind of tight, dark sweater that makes me want to check the rest of her out.
Every part of my body tingles, the frustration transmuting smoothly into attraction.
I haven’t felt this way since I saw a ghost nearly four months ago.
Hallucinations—another reason I need to get the hell out of here.
“Apparently, my roommate, Tyler, has taken up crack over the summer.”
I blink at Beck’s phone in my face, and I realize the assembly’s done and everyone’s getting up to head for class or their dorms or apartments.
As we file out of our row, I scan the bodies ahead of us for the girl I was watching.
I can’t find her. The disappointment is stupid because I’ve never even met her, but there was something magnetic about her.
Classmates stop us to say hi or ask about our summers. Neither Beck nor I have class for half an hour, so we catch up.
I think I’ve lost track of my roomie when Beck grabs my arm, his face lighting up. “Hey, Ty! I got someone you gotta meet.”
He tugs on me. “I told you I was a mentor,” he says, pulling to a stop near the doors. “Here’s my mentee.”
I stop next to him, and my entire body stiffens.
The girl I was checking out is wearing black boots and painted-on jeans that make my abs clench. The sweatshirt’s short enough to show a tantalizing sliver of her waist.
Her hair is longer than I thought, and I’m suddenly deciding how many times I could wrap it around my hand.
But when I see her face, every muscle in me tightens.
Full lips, small nose, bright-amber eyes fringed with dark lashes. She’s brand new and so familiar I ache.
If there’s one small mercy?
It’s that Annie Jamieson, the girl I was mentally jerking off to all assembly, looks as stunned as I feel.
2
“How many of the guys here eat pussy?” Elle, the blonde girl in the room next to mine who introduced herself when I moved in last night, asks from the seat next to me when the assembly concludes.
“Half,” I decide.
“Then of the three hotties I spotted while the dean was waxing poetic about tradition, one-point-five might go down on me.”
I laugh as the house lights go up.
“I’ll even share with you,” she says generously as we rise from our seats.
“Do I get the point-five or the whole one every other weekend?”
“Depends how interesting you wind up being.”
The theater is huge and full, and I try not to be intimidated as I follow her out of our row. “So, no boyfriend you left behind in Nebraska,” I say, remembering our conversation from last night.
“Nope. I do comedy, so everything in my life gets put on display. Guys say they’re cool with it, but the first time you tell a room of people about how you found him jerking off to Meryl Streep, it gets strained fast. You want to be a musician, right?” she goes on without pausing for breath.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me you’re not waiting to get ‘discovered.’” She uses air quotes. “Because unless you have contacts or crazy-rich parents, that shit does not work.”
My stomach flips over, the excitement I’ve been feeling tinged with dread.
“My parents don’t know I’m at Vanier,” I admit. Without meaning to, I feel for the phone wedged into the front pocket of my skinny jeans tucked into black suede ankle boots.
Elle holds a hand in front of her mouth, mock aghast. “Well, now you’re getting interesting.”
I shake my head as she links arms with me, and we flow toward the door.
When I got admitted to Vanier, I decided not to tell anyone here that I’m Jax Jamieson’s daughter.
I’m in a new city with a fresh start I desperately need. I’ve built my skills and my confidence. This is my chance to prove it to myself and the world.
But this morning’s assembly in the huge auditorium is a reminder that there are a thousand other students who want exactly the same thing, and we’re competing for mentorship and attention and funding.
On top of which… I lied to my dad and Haley about where I was going to school. The fact that he’d transferred the money for tuition directly to me, like I’d asked, made it easier.
It also made me feel guiltier.
A familiar face near the doors is a lifeline.
“Hey, Beck!” I call, and the dark-haired guy I met at orientation yesterday turns toward my voice.
He has a few inches on me, a broad and infectious grin, and sparkling eyes. He knows he’s good looking, and he wants the world to enjoy it as much as he does.
“Hey, Annie. You survived assembly. That’s the first hurdle. The next is to keep your mouth shut while these people brag about how epic they are.”
I laugh. “Be deferent. Got it.”
“Hold on a sec. Don’t move.”
He disappears, and Elle makes a noise at my side. “Who’s that?”
“My mentor. You didn’t sign up for one?”
“No. Clearly I should’ve.”
Beck returns to us through the crowd. “Annie, this is my roommate, Tyler.”
It takes a moment to notice the guy at Beck’s side. Once I do, my feet root to the floor.
Beck’s tall; he’s taller. Beck’s dark; he’s darker. Handsome. Built for sleepless nights and unhealthy obsessions.
There’s no blue in Tyler’s hair anymore. It’s raven black and spiked at the front.
He’s wearing fitted jeans, a faded black Henley rolled up at the sleeves. Same tan skin, stubborn chin, but a chest made broader by the years. Ink peeks out from under his shirt sleeve.
This spring, I walked in for auditions and spotted Tyler in a rehearsal room.
The second we locked gazes, my number was called and I took off. Somehow, I got through my audition and even made it in.
I reminded myself Vanier was a big school. We’d probably never even cross paths.
So much for that.
Tyler at twenty is different from Tyler at eighteen. If he was handsome before, he’s devastating now. It’s as if the boy I knew walked off the earth, fought countless battles, and returned a man, vowing never to tell a soul except for the shadows flitting behind his eyes.
He ripped out my heart more than a year ago, but it healed. Maybe it’s not the same shape it was, or the same size, but I patched it up with ambition and resolve. There are no cracks in it anymore.
Now…
My chest twinges hard.
Apparently, I missed stitching a spot.
“Hi, Tyler,” I say at last.
With a moment’s hesitation, he holds out a hand. “Annie.”
His voice. I haven’t heard his voice in over a year, and it rumbles through me like thunder at a distance, a soft promise of inevitable destruction that will leave no part of me untouched.
I force myself to take his hand.
Beck and Elle have no idea we’ve met before, and nothing in our greeting would make them suspect.
The heat of him is familiar, but the electricity traveling from my hand up my arm to my breasts, between my thighs, has me exhaling hard.
His gaze darkens as if he feels it too.
“What are you doing here?” he asks roughly.
“Weird question, bro,” Beck says, laughing, but I lift my chin.
“Pursuing the finest arts education money can buy in this beautiful free nation
,” I say, dropping his hand. “You?”
His gaze narrows. “Same.”
“I’m Elle,” my new friend volunteers cheerfully. They shake hands, then she turns to my mentor. “You’re only second year. Do you really know that much?”
Beck flashes an easy grin. “You know how to score practice rooms during midterms? Get bottomless soda from the vending machine in the library? Hack the staff and faculty meet-and-greet invite list so you can get free booze and mingle with famous alumni?”
She blinks. Even I’m impressed.
“Unofficially, you can be my mentee too,” Beck offers generously, stopping to scratch his head. “Wait, isn’t that an animal?”
“That’s a manatee,” Elle says.
His eyes light up. “Right. You can be my manatees. You manatees need anything, you let me know.”
“You live in the dorms?” I ask, avoiding Tyler’s gaze.
“Nah. They’re mostly for first years. We live about a dozen blocks from here, and only the last four are sketchy. Just a booty call away.”
“Presumptuous, but I like your style,” Elle says. “She’s six-oh-six. I’m six-oh-four,” she volunteers before I can stop her.
“Six. Got it,” Beck continues, and my gut twists sharply as I remember what Tyler used to call me.
“We should get going,” I say. “But I’m sure we’ll see you around.”
“No doubt.”
I meet Tyler’s gaze again, and reality slams into me.
Of all the issues I thought I’d have in a new city at a new school starting a new part of my life, he wasn’t one of them.
But the guy who destroyed me a year and a half ago… he’s here. Judging by the fact that he’s my mentor’s roommate, I’m going to be seeing him.
And judging from the look on Tyler’s face, he’s as pissed about it as I am.
3
After the assembly, I head to my room to grab my bag for class.
But as I get to the top of the stairs and glance down the hall, I realize my door is ajar. What the…?
