A Love Song for Dreamers

by Piper Lawson

  A Love Song for Dreamers

  Rivals #3

  Piper Lawson

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  A LOVE SONG FOR DREAMERS

  (RIVALS #3)

  He said I taught him how to dream.

  Maybe he taught me, too.

  When fate brings the strongest man I know to his knees, dreams aren’t enough to save us.

  But Tyler and I have one last chance, and the power to decide how this ends.

  A tragedy for the ages.

  Or the perfect ending to the most beautiful song ever written...

  Ours.

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  A Love Song for Dreamers is Book 3 in the angsty new adult, academy-inspired Rivals trilogy and must be read following A Love Song for Liars (Rivals #1) and A Love Song for Rebels (Rivals #2).

  1

  I’ve never watched a ballet with blood before.

  But that’s what this is.

  The two EMTs move around Tyler in a dance they’ve rehearsed, one I’ve never seen and have no part in. He’s strapped to a stretcher and lifted into the back of an ambulance. One of the techs, a woman, asks me questions about what happened.

  I try to answer, but I can’t take my eyes from Tyler—not when they put a mask over his face that hides his shallow breathing or when the lights inside the vehicle make his pale face look yellow. After the stretcher is locked in place in the ambulance, the vehicle takes off.

  I want to hold him, but there’s so much blood. It covers his dark dress shirt, making it stick to his torso and his arm…

  My stomach lurches.

  They’ve got his shirtsleeve up and his arm lifted in the air.

  I perch on a stool near Tyler’s face, but his eyes are closed. I clutch my necklace hard enough my knuckles go numb, as if I can rewind time, can bring us back to the restaurant or the theater before a man I’ve never met ripped my reality in half.

  “Hey, you,” I murmur, brushing Tyler’s damp hair away from his forehead. “It’s going to be okay.”

  My heart’s in my throat. I used to hate how it raced for him. Now I’d give it to him if it would bring color back to his pale face.

  They hook him up to something, and a monitor beeps in slow intervals in the corner.

  The vehicle bumps every now and again, and every time, the gurney jumps with it. I want to tell them this should be easier on him, but they’re working away, one on each side, and the monitor continues to beep, and I can’t even watch them.

  In minutes or hours, the vehicle stops. The back doors swing wide, and a serious-looking man in scrubs eyes the scene inside the ambulance, his gaze finding me.

  “Miss, you need to move out of the way.”

  I stumble out of the ambulance and watch them lower Tyler to the ground, adjust the bed, and wheel him inside. I follow until they swing through a set of double doors, where I’m stopped by the same man from outside.

  “I need to stay with him,” I insist.

  “Are you family?”

  “He doesn’t have anyone else.”

  His eyes soften. “Can you help with medical history?”

  I follow him to chairs in the waiting room around the corner, answer his questions as best I can.

  Still, I don’t know if Tyler’s parents or grandparents had heart disease. If he’s ever had a reaction to medication.

  What I do know is that he’s strong and resilient and brave. That his smile fixes every problem I’ve ever known.

  I know I love him and if he’s not okay, I’m going to stop breathing.

  Finally, the man sets down the clipboard. “Thank you. We’ll let you know when we have more. If you need to leave, please see the administration desk first.” He nods toward a window on one side of the room.

  I pace the hallway. There are people in beds outside of rooms. Is that what’s going to happen to Tyler?

  I find my way to the desk. “I’m here with Tyler Adams. He’s in the emergency room.”

  “I don’t have any updates on Mr. Adams at this time.”

  “I know, but… he needs the best care available.”

  She pulls up a file on her computer. “Of course. All of our patients receive the best care our hospital can provide. Does he have insurance?”

  My throat works. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter what it costs.”

  This shouldn’t be happening. Everything was working out—with me, Tyler, our lives…

  “Miss, are you feeling light-headed? You look pale.”

  “I’m fine.” I force a smile and turn back down the hall, ignoring the people passing me.

  I want to call my dad. He’d know what to do. More than that, I’d give anything to see him and Haley and Sophie brush through those doors.

  A tear escapes down my cheek.

  I open the contacts on my phone and hit his number. Each ring has my stomach twisting tighter, ready for the next second when he’ll answer. I’ll tell him I’m sorry for everything, that I’ll make it up to him if only he’ll help me with this one thing.

  But there’s nothing.

  After four rings, I get his voicemail.

  I try to formulate words to leave on a message.

  Someone attacked Tyler with a knife.

  He’s bleeding like crazy.

  We’re at the hospital.

  I don’t know what the fuck to do.

  It’s all my fault.

  A girl younger than me walks down the hall with a cast on her arm. Her parents are with her, but when she gets closer, I notice the scratches along her face, the bruises. She meets my gaze, and her face is composed.

  Pull it together. For Tyler’s sake.

  The beep jerks me back, and I hang up without saying a word.

  I swipe at my cheeks before making another call.

  “Is he okay?” Beck demands as he stalks inside, Elle and Rae in tow. The clock on the wall says it’s two in the morning.

  I tell them what happened. As I’m finishing, a man in a suit enters the ER doors, searching the waiting room.

  I rise to meet Zeke, the record exec who signed Tyler less than two weeks ago. “I told them to spare no expense, but…”

  He understands immediately. “You don’t think they’ll take you seriously.”

  Zeke nods and goes to the desk, starts talking with the woman there.

  “You called him?” Beck demands, coming up behind me.

  “I need to know he’s going to be taken care of. Zeke’s interests and Tyler’s are aligned. At least right now.”

  Rae strips off her sweatshirt and holds it out to me.

  I stare at her, confused as to why she’s offering me clothes when I have my own.

  But when she keeps holding out the shirt, I look down at my dress and jacket, caked in blood.

  When I start shaking instead of reaching for Rae’s sweatshirt, Elle takes my hand and walks me to the bathroom. Rae’s close on our heels.

  Inside the clean six-stall ladies’ room, I strip off my jacket and shove it in the garbage, revulsion taking over. Then I wash the blood off my hands, from under my fingernails.

  The liquid soap doesn’t do the best job, and I wish I had one of those bar soaps or an old toothbrush or something.

  “It’ll come out later.” Rae’s voice is calm, and it takes the edge off as I meet her steady gaze in the mirror.

  I pull the sweatshirt over my dress, grateful it’s at least hiding the blood.

  Elle leans against one wall, looking paler than usual.

  “You okay?” I ask her.

  She lifts
a shoulder. “My dad died in a hospital. It took a long time.”

  I hug her, for both of us, and she hugs me back.

  Rae watches, and even though she’s not part of this impromptu group hug, it feels like it. She’s part of the moment, and their presence gives me strength.

  When we get back outside, the waiting room includes Beck, a handful of strangers, and Zeke.

  The ER doctor comes into the waiting room. “Miss Jamieson?”

  But we’re all on our feet as one while I say, “How is he?”

  “He lost a significant amount of blood through a deep laceration in his forearm and hand. We’ve cleaned them, stitched them up. Not life-threatening. Your quick thinking helped keep it from getting there.”

  If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have been there. We wouldn’t have been walking home. If I hadn’t worn his ring around my neck, hadn’t made him fight for it, we would be back at his place right now.

  “Miss Jamieson.”

  “What?” I blurt, shaking myself.

  “Is Tyler right hand dominant?”

  I nod.

  “That should make recovery easier. He won’t be doing anything with his left hand for some time.”

  A noise makes me realize I’ve dropped my bag on the floor.

  Zeke answers for me. “The kid’s a guitarist. He’s going on tour in two weeks. He needs to play.”

  The doctor stares down the executive. “We’ve moved him to a private room. In time, he’ll be able to look at options for reconstructive surgery. But playing guitar in two weeks is out of the question.”

  The reality of it settles around us, leaving the air heavy and cloying.

  “Aside from pain,” the doctor goes on, “there may be numbness in the arm and hand, limited to no mobility.” My stomach sinks further. “But you can see him now, if you like.”

  “Yes.” I look around at our friends, and they nod.

  “You go,” Beck says.

  I follow the doctor down the hall and pause outside the room.

  I listen through the door. There’s the beeping of a machine. His heart rate.

  No other sounds. No raging or groaning. Just silence.

  I square my shoulders before heading inside. Tyler fills the bed with his broad frame, and it’s shocking to see him so still. He’s always full of life. Even when he’s contained, there’s a latent energy. Tonight—this morning—there’s nothing. And that terrifies me.

  I stop beside the bed, peering down at his pale face. They’ve taken off the mask, and there are traces of lines on his face from where it sat. A thick white bandage covers from mid-forearm to his hand. His pale fingers stick out the end.

  I lean over him. “Hey, handsome. How’re you feeling?”

  His eyes open half an inch, and his mouth moves a moment before producing a raspy sound. “Good as I look.”

  A breath whooshes out of me to hear him speak, as if I thought I might not again. “Beck and Elle and Rae are here. And Zeke. Do you need something else for the pain?”

  Tyler shakes his head. “I can’t feel my hand. It won’t move. I can’t…” His eyes close.

  My gaze drags to his hand again. There’s no hint of a rusty red stain through the white gauze, but my stomach turns anyway.

  I can’t imagine what he’s going through. Not only physically, but the shock and hearing the doctor relay any part of what he told us.

  The idea of him not being able to pick up his guitar tomorrow, to do what he’s always done, washes over me in a wave of grief.

  I want to hug him, or kiss him, or even cry. Instead, I force myself to be strong for him. For us.

  “I’m glad you’re okay. You’re going to be okay,” I amend. I start to reach for his good hand, then see a spot of blood I missed on my wrist and tug Rae’s sweater down to hide it.

  “Am I?”

  He says it so quietly I almost miss it.

  2

  When my eyes crack open, the world is black and empty.

  Maybe I’m not awake after all. Maybe I’m dead.

  But as I turn my head, something cool and soft glides across my cheek. Satiny sheets. They’re over me and under me, and my head is cushioned by a fat, fluffy pillow.

  The green numbers on the digital clock next to my bed read 11:51.

  I’ve woken up plenty and not known where I was, but as the hotel room comes back to me, I realize I’ve done it two mornings in a row. The blackness from the heavy curtains doesn’t help.

  My arm is numb. It’s an improvement over the first time I woke up this morning, when it felt as if each muscle was being peeled from my fingers to my elbow.

  Once when I was a kid, a brick from a construction site my friends and I were screwing around at fell on my hand from a stack a few feet high.

  I couldn’t feel my fingers for a couple hours. It sucked.

  I’d give anything for that feeling now. What I have instead alternates between pain and numbness. Hell’s see-saw.

  I shift out of bed, the rest of my muscles aching. I can’t shower because of the bandages, but I drag my body to the en-suite bathroom to take a bath.

  When the doctor told me what happened two nights ago, the mess of painkillers kept me in a dizzy state of denial.

  Lacerations. Severed tendons. Long-term damage.

  All of it means I can’t play guitar.

  The emotions blur together like the sensations. There’s panic, clawing at my throat. Disbelief, hammering in my head. And underneath it all, a grief I can’t look at too closely yet because it means something I’m not ready to accept...

  That no matter how long I sleep, in no world will I wake up and have everything be okay.

  When I get out of the bath, I go to the drawer of clothes Beck brought over yesterday from our apartment. I grab boxer briefs and sweatpants and tug them on before heading out to the living room of the hotel suite. The smell of coffee is a small mercy, as is the shape of the girl in the kitchenette.

  “You’re back,” I croak.

  Annie turns and smiles, and the awful knot in my chest loosens a bit. “I went to class and picked up some supplies. Saw the nurse was here to change your bandage while I was gone.”

  I glance toward the table where a note the nurse left says just that. Without asking, Zeke hired her to check on me once a day in the hotel room he insisted on paying for “as long as I need.”

  The fact that he’s keeping such a close eye is unsettling, but calling Zeke to demand why he’s still treating me like an investment given how far my stock has plummeted in the last two days feels low on my priority list.

  Annie looks at home in tight jeans and bare feet, a sweater zipped up over her tank top because I cranked the air conditioning. Her hair is twisted up in a knot on her head, Annie’s method of keeping it out of her way when she’s got bigger things to worry about.

  She crosses to me, searching my face for signs of… I don’t know. Trauma. Depression. General fucked-up-ness.

  I wish she’d stop.

  “Nurse wanted to give me a sponge bath too.” I try for a joke.

  Annie’s gaze drags down my bare chest to where my sweatpants hang low on my hips.

  “I told you I’d change the bandages for you.” There’s concern in her voice but also a note of something that makes my dick twitch.

  “Nah. Then my girlfriend wouldn’t get all jealous.”

  “Do I look jealous?” She tilts her head, lips curving.

  “Yeah. You do.” I reach for her with my good hand. It still takes conscious effort not to move the other one, but I grab her waist and tug her against me.

  Her cool palms flatten against my chest. She’s a reminder not everything in this world is upside down.

  Annie tips her face up for a kiss, but I turn away at the last second. “Ah. Forgot to brush my teeth. Be right back.”

  I head into the bathroom and reach for my toothbrush.

  Last night was my first full night out of the hospital, and Annie refused to sleep n
ext to me, afraid to risk grabbing my arm.

  But she wouldn’t sleep at the dorms, either, instead opting for the pull-out couch in my hotel room.

  She’s been glued to my side since I got out of the hospital, but I haven’t told her everything.

  Like the fact that I can’t stop thinking about that night.

  It happened so fast, but when I replay it, it’s slow. All the things I could’ve done. Should’ve done.

  All the different ways we could’ve gotten home.

  Shoving it away doesn’t work, so I’ve tried starting the memory earlier, at the musical I took her to or in the bar when I gave her that ring.

  The problem is it feels as if those memories are getting fuzzier and further away and the ones in the dark alley are getting sharper and closer.

  A knock on the suite door outside as I finish brushing my teeth has my ears perking up.

  “I’m here with reinforcements.” Beck’s cheerful voice echoes from the other room, and I step toward the barely open bathroom door to listen. “Male strippers.”

  Annie laughs, the first time I’ve heard her laugh since the hospital. It makes my chest hurt.

  “How is he?”

  “The pain seems more manageable.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “I can hear you,” I taunt as I head back in to find Beck seated on the couch.

  “Dammit. Even the part where I made out with your girl?”

  I narrow my gaze on him. “Try it and you’ll lose more than a hand.”

  He chuckles. “I talked to your profs about getting extensions on your term projects.” He runs me through the list of accommodations they’ve made for me. “Even printed out your study notes for finals.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and mean it. “I’ll get to it eventually.”

  I rise and go to the kitchen, where Annie’s looking over her shoulder at me.

  “You don’t want to take a look today?” she says. “You must be getting sick of watching Netflix.”