by Piper Lawson
The same man I spoke to earlier sighs.
“My fiancé wants his friend at the wedding, and if I have to fly to London and pack Harrison’s bags myself? I will do it.”
9
After I perform the anthem for a sold-out crowd of rowdy playoff Lakers fans, security helps me back up to the box we have for the night. The second I see all the people I care about, I relax a few notches.
I make my way toward the front, where Annie, Rae, Elle, and Beck are sitting, drinks in their hands.
“You were a little flat at the end,” Elle says.
I rub a hand through my hair, leaning against the back of Annie’s seat. “Blame the sound engineers.”
“Never blame the sound engineers,” Haley calls from where she’s grabbing food.
Beck leans over the front, eagerly scanning the home and visitors’ benches.
“You been to a game before, Beck?” I ask.
He snorts. “I’ve been courtside twice this season. The network started offering me seats, and I accepted.”
“Can’t remember you watching any sports when we roomed together,” I say.
“We didn’t have time, hustling it out. I had to be efficient with my sports consumption.”
“So, you got off to a lot of jock porn,” Rae supplies, and we all laugh.
“What about when you went to school, Haley?” Beck calls. “Who’d you date?”
She joins us, sinking into a seat next to him, her eyes dancing. Even though she’s only a decade older than us, I know she’s seen a lot. “For a while, I had this guy Dale asking me out. He played at the open mic nights I ran on campus. In fact, he was asking me out right up until I left for Jax’s tour the summer after junior year and was ready to pick it up after I got back.”
“What happened?” Rae leans across to grab some popcorn from the bin Beck’s holding.
“Jax showed up.”
Annie’s jaw drops. “Dad went to a campus open mic night?”
“He wasn’t there for the music,” she admits, cutting a look toward her husband.
Jax approaches, looming over us in a dark button-down and jeans. An Astros hat shields his face from any fans looking too closely from nearby seats. “The hell you talking about, Hales?” He folds tatted arms over his chest. “You make it sound as if I chased your ass all over town.”
“You chased me over a lot of towns,” she replies, deadpan.
We all crack up, except Jax, who’s left shaking his head, a look of adoration on his face.
Until he turns to me, motions me aside. “We need to talk.”
Annie glances between us, her smile freezing before she returns to her friends, who’re talking about Beck’s show.
I follow Jax to the bar at the back.
After ordering a bourbon, he says, “We have a problem.”
When the bartender nods to me, I shake my head. “I thought we had a revised estimate on the debt. Lawyers said we’re in the right ballpark now.”
“We are. It’s not Wicked. It’s the artists. Ones with contracts coming up. They’re saying they won’t stick around if the company sells.”
I frown. “But they’re the ones who subsidize the up-and-coming talent.”
He nods. “The label won’t be solvent if we don’t have those existing artists producing hit albums.”
The bartender returns with Jax’s bourbon, and we step away for some privacy, staring out over our friends who’re watching the game.
He’s right. Jax has been involved in the music industry for twenty years—since he was still a teenager. He might be judgmental and brusque, but he knows the industry inside and out. He’s made his fortune there, and taken his share of beatings there too.
“I know.” For once, he’s reading my mind. “This is the last thing either of us want to be doing this week. We can offload more to the lawyers—”
“No. If we do this deal, I want to know we’re doing it right.”
I’m not sacrificing a second of this week for some half-assed attempt.
I watch our friends and family talking and laughing. Nearly all of them have a career in the spotlight, but here, with each other, they can let their guard down.
An idea scratches at the back of my brain. “If the artists are the last hurdle to getting this deal done, we need to get their trust. Show them we have their backs.”
“Might work. But we’re leaving for an island in a day and a half. Unless…”
I cock my head.
“We invite a few. A show of good faith,” Jax says.
“Hell no.” The answer is immediate. “We’re not inviting them to our wedding, Jax.”
“They don’t have to come to the wedding. They’re not going to show at the ceremony. It’s a gesture. Invite them to the island, we spend half a day talking with them. That’s it.”
Annie comes over. “Enough business. I thought you had good news today.”
“We did, but there was a complication,” I say, searching her face. “You said a couple of rooms were left in our hotel booking. How many?”
She sends a text to the wedding planner, and a response comes immediately. “We have three.”
“We were thinking of inviting a couple of artists from Wicked.”
Annie’s mouth parts. With each second it takes her to respond, the worry in my gut expands.
“To our wedding?” Her voice is deathly quiet.
Heads turn from the front of the box as if they can sense the intensity shift, and even Jax flinches.
“To the island,” I amend. “And only if we have the space. We’d handpick people you’re comfortable with, but it would go a long way to show them we look after our own.”
My fiancée looks between us as if we’ve each grown a second head before she returns to Haley and our friends without a word.
Jax claps me on the back. “That went better than I expected.”
10
Four days until the wedding
“How many people did Beck invite?” Tyler asks as I shift out of the car.
“Knowing Beck, probably everyone.” The music emanating from our friend’s house has blood pumping through our veins as Tyler shuts the car door behind me, his smile mysterious as he threads his fingers through mine.
My heels match my silver cocktail dress, a vintage number with mesh lace detailing along the curved neck and hem that hits halfway down my thighs. Tyler looks breathtakingly handsome in a button-down open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves over dark pants.
There’s no point knocking. It’s clearly a party from the buzz and the music. But before I can head inside, Tyler holds me back.
His gaze skims over my outfit, lingering on my legs in a way that makes my entire body tingle before coming back to my face. “What I wouldn’t give to have you to myself right now.”
“A house full of tour merch?”
He grins. “You’re funny.”
“I try.”
When I glance down at our linked hands, my skin is pale against the dark swirls of ink that cover his forearm and every inch of his hand. A little rush runs through me, the same one I feel every time.
“Hey. Where’s your rose necklace?” he asks.
I press a hand to my throat. “It didn’t really go with this dress.”
It’s a lie by omission as I think about the broken pieces. But I don’t want to say it’s broken, as if admitting means there’s something broken with us.
I’m trying not to think about agreeing to invite three Wicked artists to our wedding weekend, two of whom I realized I’d met before and one whom Tyler could vouch for. They probably won’t even come, but if they do, my fiancé promised it won’t take more than a few hours of meetings and will be concluded long before the rehearsal.
All I want to think about is the wedding, but even when Tyler and I fall into bed at night, every second he’s not worshipping me, it feels as if part of him is somewhere else.
It’s probably in my head, nerves about the wed
ding, and I’m trying to find justifications for them. I resolve to focus on tonight.
On the other side of the door is a wonderland. It’s a beautiful house filled with beautiful people. Beck’s friends with everyone, and the man of the hour is holding a captive audience in the cavernous kitchen.
He looks over their heads, flashing the easy grin that’s brought men and women to their knees. “You guys are here!”
Beck cuts through the crowd, and every head turns to follow him. He gives us each a one-armed hug, steering us toward the kitchen, where a bartender is hard at work.
“Don’t tell me what you want to drink. I had this made for you.” Beck gestures to a bottle of champagne, and Tyler and I exchange a look. “It was a joke! Fuck, you guys. I know you hate bubbles.” He nods to the bartender. “But top me up.”
Tyler gets a soda while I ask for white wine.
I recognize Elle in a black dress, her blond hair in waves that end right below her jawline. Her face is split into a wry grin at something another partier said as I rush to embrace her.
Dad and Haley are on the other side of the doors open to the patio walled in by high trees for privacy.
Beck takes us outside to low lounge couches surrounding a coffee table with a fire in the middle. My arms prickle from the contrast between the cool evening air and the heat.
“You know everyone, right?” Beck asks casually, pointing out person after person he works with.
“Oh, one more introduction. Incoming.”
I look up from my phone in time to see a furry shape bounding toward me. At the last minute, it heads for Tyler instead, humping his pant leg.
My jaw drops. “You got a dog?!”
“Fostering,” Beck corrects. “And my new roommate here has issues with my former roommate.” Beck cackles. “Down, Ernie,” he says, mock sternly.
I stroke the furry creature, a black mop that comes to my knees. “Ernie?”
“Named for Ernest Hemingway,” Beck confirms. “A man’s man.”
I laugh as the dog amps up its attempts at my fiancé.
“At least he has good taste,” I comment, and Tyler shoots me a pained look.
Out of nowhere, the bartender cuts through the crowd with a tray of shots glowing dully emerald in the light.
“It’s a little late for juicing,” Elle chides, but Beck ignores her and goes to stand on the back of the couch like some emerging A-list god.
“Hollywood has a rule. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
There’s no glass-clinking or throat-clearing required for his smooth, warm voice to carry over the chatter. Every head turns toward him, every conversation dying under the force of his magnetism.
“I say who needs friends when you have rivals? People who keep you sharp and have your back at once.”
I look around, the faces familiar in the dark, and my chest tightens in gratitude.
“Each person here wants something and wants it bad enough to put everything on the line.” Beck gestures to the valley below. “Every light you see is a dream. We all have them, and we come here until they go out or they come true.”
Tyler stands tall next to me in the dark, his presence warm and sure.
“It’s easy to feel alone, but if you find people to dream with and still make it on your own?” He shakes his head. “That’s something fucking special. So, congrats to my favorite friends and eternal rivals.” Beck lifts his shot. “May the light of your dreams always shine together.”
The scene surrounding me blurs, and I swallow, lifting my drink. Next to me, Tyler does the same. We all toss back the shot together, and the green drink tastes tart on my tongue before the alcohol seeps in, warmth spreading through my stomach and chest, leaving my arms tingling.
Beck drops off the couch and we hug him.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Motion by the front door catches my eye, and I wave Rae over.
Elle approaches too, and Beck wraps an arm around her neck and takes in the five of us.
“You ever think we’d be here?” she asks.
Tyler’s a massive success. Elle and Rae are both hustling it out and doing well enough to land jobs across the country. I’ve produced and starred in a show running on Broadway. Beck has a hit TV show.
“Fuck yeah,” Beck says. “How was I supposed to pay for this house?”
Elle snorts. “How are you paying for this house? You got enough for season two of your show?”
“And I’m pitching a reality show. Being Beck.”
Rae shakes her head. “You couldn’t pay me enough to have people follow me around with cameras.”
“That’s because you don’t like the spotlight.” Beck says it fondly, and Rae lifts her glass, her bracelets shifting up her wrists.
Underneath are dark marks that have me frowning.
I pull Rae aside. “Did something happen to you?”
Her dark-lined eyes don’t flicker. “I’m taking care of it. The one place I’m untouchable is in the booth. Someone thinks they can touch me there? They’re gonna have a problem.”
Protectiveness rises up, and I vow to follow up with her later, away from prying eyes.
People come over and congratulate us, wave after wave. Some of them want to talk about the wedding, but most want to know about Tyler’s tour.
I wind my way into the kitchen, fielding congratulations with every step, and order water from the bartender.
A man already at the bar turns to take me in. “Congratulations, Annie.”
“Zeke,” I say in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
The exec responsible for Tyler’s big break leans in to air kiss both my cheeks.
“How could I miss celebrating my favorite talent?” he says when he pulls back. “I’ve barely seen Tyler at the label the past two weeks. I was starting to wonder if getting married meant we’d never see him again.”
Zeke’s always been out to control Tyler. Now that he’s a star in his own right, Tyler’s bought himself some breathing room, allowing him to record with my dad and in New York. Returning to LA this past month was a compromise.
“If you don’t see him again, it’ll be your fault, not mine. He’s drowning in enough merch to sink a warship.”
“There’s more coming.”
“There better not be. He’s been working nonstop. It’s going to be busy with the tour, and that was before he and Dad started on…” I trail off as I realize my mistake, but Zeke’s hand tightens on his drink.
“Working on what?”
“Nothing.”
He tosses back the last of his drink, eyes narrowing on me. “There are rumors swirling about a shake-up in the industry. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Dammit.
I force a bland smile. “I do eight shows a week on Broadway. I can barely keep up with my own job.”
I can’t find Tyler.
I’ve been telling myself everything will be fine after my conversation with Zeke, but the nerves won’t go away.
At first, I was drawn into conversations with friends and strangers as Beck introduced me around, deciding I should screen-test for his show. Now I wander through the house, looking for the bathroom.
One door I find is closed with a light under it. There must be another on this floor.
On the other side of the kitchen and down a hall, I spot a second closed door. A yapping at my feet has me looking down to find Ernie, who paws at the door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, bending to pat him, hoping his smooth fur will ease the knot in my stomach. It doesn’t. “Where’s Beck?”
He trots off with a sigh, and I straighten, reaching for the handle and turning it slowly.
I pull it open to reveal a surprisingly occupied coat closet.
“Tyler?!”
“Shut the door.” He reaches past me to do it for me, pulling me into the closet with him and drowning us in darkness except for the light from his phone screen
.
He’s hunched so his head doesn’t hit the bar in the middle, and I have to duck a little in my heels too.
“Wait for it,” he says, his face still handsome in the ghostly light.
Then the dog is back, scratching at the door.
My lips twitch. “You’re hiding from Ernie?”
“Not hiding. Avoiding.” But Tyler smiles too, and the tightness in my stomach eases. I can’t help laughing, and he leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “It’s not that funny.”
“Yeah, it is.”
We’re close, our breaths mingling in the tiny closet. Tyler looms over me, his strong body filling the width of the space, his subtle scent flooding my nostrils.
“How are you enjoying the party?”
“I hate it,” he says under his breath.
My mouth parts in surprise. “Beck did a great job.”
“I don’t want Beck and our friends right now.” He threads his tattoo-covered hand through my hair, and I swallow.
“I thought you wanted three musicians from your future label.” Even though we agreed to invite them, I can’t resist prodding him.
Tyler shifts closer, and my heart picks up as it always does when he’s near me, as if there’s no other option but to sync up with his rhythm.
Our rhythm.
“Does it feel like I want them?” He presses my hand against the ridge in his pants, and I suck in a startled breath.
I meant to tell him what happened with Zeke, but I don’t want to worry him. Plus, in Tyler’s presence, everything beyond that door melts away.
The distance between us narrows as he bends closer, my pulse skittering.
“If you haven’t noticed,” I toss back in a whisper, “we’re in a—”
He cuts off the word “closet” with his firm lips.
His kiss is claiming, and I grab his shoulders for balance as he presses me back against the end of the closet. The phone falls to the floor, the light extinguishing and leaving us in blackness. Coats and fabric tangle around me, and he shoves at them, impatient.
Since I returned to LA, the sex has been insane, but I’m still hungry for more. The scorching physical connection isn’t enough to fill the emotional ache inside me. I need the kind of closeness we’ve always had, the kind that’s eluding us now.