A Love Song for Liars (Rivals #1) - Piper Lawson Page 0,14

wish I could shove out of this too-low leather chair and stalk the hell out of this “look how rich we are” office. Instead, I force my gaze to the blotter in on the headmaster’s desk.

“Mr. Adams assaulted another member of the senior class. Mr. Albright is a member of the lacrosse team,” the headmaster drones as if that matters.

“What’d he do to you?” Jax demands.

I don’t answer, but my knuckles grip the arm of the chair.

Since moving to Dallas, I’ve gotten a read on everyone at school.

Kellan Albright? The blond douche talks a big game, and we moved in the same circles, went to the same parties the times I bothered to attend them, but he always seemed harmless.

Until this weekend.

“You tell him about Kellan, I’ll tell him I woke up in your bed.”

I rub my good hand over my jaw. They’re still waiting on an answer.

“Nothing.”

The headmaster sighs. “Mr. Jamieson, we accommodated your… charge for his final semester. It’s highly unorthodox to admit new students mid-year, particularly for seniors. We can’t let this kind of behavior slide. It’s for Mr. Adams’ benefit, but also for the other students and their parents.”

“Then suspend him if you need to.”

The headmaster’s brows rise. “Fine. Thursday’s a PA day, but you’re suspended from school for the rest of the week.”

That’s less than ideal. I’m not a stellar student, which means I’ll need some extra studying time so I don’t fall behind more than I have before exams.

I’m going to graduate high school if it kills me. Everyone else in my family did, and if they can, I sure as hell can.

The parking lot is almost empty at this hour, and Jax doesn’t say a word until he’s at his car and I’m at my bike.

“You’re not here to fuck around. You’re here to work.”

I hate that he’s the one to remind me. “I know.”

Most musicians would kill for the chance to work with Jax Jamieson. Every time he picks up his guitar, or lays down a phrase, or picks up the headphones to listen with a critic’s ear, I’m reminded.

Music’s my path forward. It’s how I’m gonna be independent, distance myself from my upbringing and my dad’s reach.

After eighteen years of shitty luck, when I’d practically tossed in my chips and given up for good, life dealt me a straight flush: the biggest rock songwriter and performer of the last two decades not only invited me into his studio—he invited me into his home.

Jax is more than a boss or a mentor. He’s the father I could’ve had.

Except I couldn’t have. He made sure of that.

I shake off the dark thoughts and flex my hand.

His gaze narrows. “You’re a musician. You know better than to fuck up your hands.” Jax prods at my palm, and pain spikes up my arm. “Now you’re home from school, and you can’t even play. Was it worth it?”

I remember the look on Kellan’s face when I slammed my knuckles into his entitled jaw.

“It was my best work all week.”

I shift over my bike and reach for my helmet, but Jax hasn’t moved.

“Tyler, I care about your future, but I don’t want this shit happening anywhere near my kid.” I could laugh at the irony. “If anything else happens under my roof, you’re out. We clear?”

I nod.

The world isn’t a just place. Some people, like Jax, try to make it fair. They’re only soothing their guilty consciences.

What about the ones who want to make the world better?

They’re deluded. Admirable, beautiful, and deluded.

I take the long way home so Jax’s Bentley is parked when I pull into the garage and cut my engine.

I walk around the house and through the gardens.

Rose petals cover the ground in one spot, and I stop, thinking of what put them there Saturday night.

I pick up a rose that’s broken off its bush and lying on the path. The petals are intact, the purple rich and royal and defiant in the twilight.

My hand squeezes into a fist, and I clench my jaw at the pain before setting the rose carefully on the flagstone wall bordering the garden and continuing on my way.

The hum from the pool drifts into my brain, and it takes me a second to notice the splashing as I emerge onto the open patio.

Through the pool’s electric-blue water, her body is just visible. Her hair billows behind her like a cloud, her dark-blue bathing suit has me remembering the red one that made her legs look miles long Saturday night.

I