A Love Song for Liars (Rivals #1) - Piper Lawson Page 0,29

to be anything but close. I’m starting to see what I couldn’t before—that the more she tries to let him in, the more he holds her away. She acts as if it’s fine, but it’s not. She’s hurting. I can feel it across the damned patio every night of the week.

“This life can build you up, but it can tear you down even faster,” he says at last. “She’s a good kid. I want her to have the things she wants.”

“You want her to have the things you want her to have,” I correct. “You can’t fill a prison with diamonds and expect her to forget the door’s still locked.”

I think about the letter she’s been sitting on, what she told me about her childhood.

Yeah, Jax asked me to keep an eye out for her, but that’s not why I hung out with her yesterday.

It’s not even why I kept her home.

Somewhere between literally carrying her ass up the driveway and watching her walk away from me, I started to think about how she puts herself out there. She invites the world to reject her, practically demands it, and when it does, she hurts.

But it never occurred to me she did it by choice, that she was aware of it.

Maybe there is something to putting your heart on the line.

We pull up to the gates at Jax’s house, the familiar rows of trees, and the gates swing wide automatically at the sensor in his car. “You’re here because you’re capable,” he says. “But more than that, you fit in. I knew it since the first time I saw you with your damned blue hair and your swagger sitting on my couch with my kid.“

My chest aches. This place is starting to feel like home. More than Philly ever did.

I reach into my pocket, fingering the card in my jacket.

“Call Zeke,” Jax intones, palming the steering wheel as we cruise up the long driveway, the gates closing silently once we’re through. “Not after graduation. Now.”

I’m changing out of my uniform into a jean skirt and a tank top after school when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

Tyler’s on the other side in jeans and a T-shirt that clings to his body. His hair’s freshly dyed blue, probably something he did to kill time during his suspension, and his expression is determined.

“There weren’t any notes for English today,” I inform him, but he just holds out a music box.

“That broke,” I say, frowning. “It hit a light in the garden and cracked. I heard it.”

“And I fixed it.”

I inspect the case, noticing tiny cracks where the wood split. I open the lid, and the ballerina dog inside starts to dance.

It’s almost as good as new.

“Where’s the music?” I ask.

He rubs a hand over his neck, the most fleeting and un-Tyler-like display of uncertainty I almost miss it. “I figured you’d rather make your own.”

My chest expands so much I can’t breathe, can’t even speak.

Yes, I’d rather make my own. The fact that it even occurred to him has my heart thudding in my chest.

“If that’s too cheesy,” he goes on, “I can—“

“No. It’s perfect.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” It must be my imagination that has his voice sounding rougher than before as he jerks his chin down the hall. “You said you want to kill the musical. You said the problem’s Carly, but if you get more confident in your own craft, rehearsal will go smoother no matter what she does. You’re getting better, but there’re some things we can work on.”

I trail him down the hall and out the side door of the house, stopping to grab flip-flops in the hall. “You’ve been listening.”

“Can’t help it when your window’s open. Sometimes I see you too.”

He turns back to look at me in the garage to see if I’m coming, but I’m frozen in the doorway.

“Come on, Annie. I won’t tell Brandon you get off to him every night if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Tyler cocks his head, grinning, and that spurs me into motion.

I chase after him, shove him with every inch of strength I possess. “You’re full of shit.”

His laughter should be annoying, but I love the sound of it as I follow him down to the renovated tour bus in the driveway.

Inside, a glass door separates the studio from the couches in the lounge area, and Tyler lifts the guitar over his head as he drops onto one of the couches.

“Ryan’s right. You do need a new guitar.” I drop