A Love Song for Dreamers - Piper Lawson Page 0,15

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.”

“And what will you do with me?”

Sophie’s round face scrunches. “Cheese.”

“You’re going to turn me into cheese.”

“No.” Giggles rack her little body, vibrating through my legs. “There’s cheese up there.” She points to a high top table a few feet from the bar, lowering her voice as if we’re conspiring together.

Then she shrieks, delighted, as I boost her up on my hip.

“Does Annie like cheese?” Sophie asks as I walk us to the table.

“I have watched your sister inhale her body weight in cheese fries.”

I let Sophie pick out a few chunks of cheese with a toothpick before setting her back down.

“Want anything?” When I start to pass Annie a plate, her fingers brush mine.

“Be careful. Tyler has an ouchie,” Sophie intervenes from around a bite of Manchego.

Annie takes the plate but stares at the black rose on my hand, the vines winding down over my knuckles. “I heard it was three months before you started playing.”

When she saw my hand last, it was a mess of still-red gashes. Now, it’s covered in white lines, but the ink is all most people see.

“I was reduced to singing for eighty-six days. The guys I toured with mocked me endlessly. Got my first surgery when we came back to the States.”

There was still pain, but at least I had more control of my fingers. I remember the hope that came from the surgery, thinking