Guarded Dreams

by L. J. Evans

  Tonight, Georgie’s hair was purple and full of curls on the top with the sides shaved. It was hard to keep up with her styles. Sometimes, she’d switch out contacts to match the color, and tonight, the lilac made her eyes a little ghostly.

  Because we were her favorites and helped out for free, she usually put us as the third set to go on. It was like Goldilocks, the perfect place to be—not early, not late. You didn’t have to be the first up to bat when no one had showed up yet, but you were on before the industry people gave up and left.

  I wasn’t looking for the industry folks as I scanned the crowd while we waited for our turn. I was looking for an almost shaved head standing out above the crowd and its accompanying muscled chest that would encourage a natural barrier between him and the other guests. Intimidating and sexy, but not sexy enough for women to cross his invisible line.

  What I hadn’t expected, when I did find him, was for Mac Truck to be with him—not after everything he’d told me. I’d thought they’d never want to be in the same room with me again. Instead of being nervous, I now wanted to throw up, and I never wanted to throw up onstage, even with the little amount of time I spent on it these days.

  Georgie announced Brady, and he sang his normal one-two combination, and then he asked me to come up and join him for “Scrabble Tiles” again. I did, and tonight I could see Eli while I sang like I hadn’t last week. His eyes never removed themselves from my body, especially when Brady and I sang like lovestruck fools. It was all part of the gig. The act. I wasn’t sure if Eli knew that.

  We moved from “Scrabble Tiles” into one of my new songs. It was called “Second Chances.” It was about a girl running into a boy at the boardwalk, kissing him under the Fourth of July fireworks, and then not seeing him again until chance brought them together on a subway train.

  It wasn’t quite Eli and me, but it was enough for him to hear the truth. To hear that the girl’s beating heart and longing were part of my own feelings toward him.

  When we were done, the applause was loud and hearty. I looked to Eli’s group, and Mac Truck seemed like they were ready to leave, but Eli was all stone, as hard to read now as he had been back then.

  When we stepped offstage to allow the next group to come on, we were approached by a tall blond in a suit that didn’t seem to be his comfort zone. He had cowboy boots on, but he looked like he should have been on a surfboard in California somewhere, his shaggy blond hair an echo of Brady’s.

  He stuck out his hand to me first and then Brady.

  “I’m Blake Abbott. I’m an entertainment lawyer from Nashville.”

  Brady and I shared a look that said, Don’t get too excited. We’d heard this before. Even though it was exhilarating, truth was, an entertainment lawyer wasn’t an agent or a producer. Those were the best kinds of walkups. We’d had a couple of those in the last year, but nothing that had panned out. Nothing that hadn’t seemed more scam than actual production offer.

  “Ava Abrams, Brady O’Neil,” I told him as we returned his handshake.

  “You write your own stuff?” It was said as a partial question because Brady had announced me as his favorite songwriter when he’d pulled me onstage again.

  We both nodded.

  “Look, I’m only here for another day, because I have to get home before Cam—my wife—kicks my butt for being gone too long, but I’d like to have you talk to a producer I know. Can I call you and set something up?”

  I was excited for Brady but trying not to show it. I could tell Brady was thrilled too, because his hand shook a little as he fished his wallet out. He pulled out one of the business cards he’d had made up as soon as he started singing.

  The Blake guy took a look at it and then back up at us. “This doesn’t have Ava’s name on it?”

  Brady tossed me a smirk and a look that said, See?

  “I’m just the songwriter. Brady’s the singer. If he gets a deal, I’ll get credit that way,” I said with a nonchalant shrug.

  “Those songs you sang together, they were damn good,” Blake responded with a confused look.

  “Damn good is different from sensational,” I told him. Brady dropped an arm around my shoulder.

  “If it’s a deal breaker, Ava will join in. She’s way more talented than she gives herself credit for,” Brady assured him. I scowled at him. I wasn’t part of the deal. No way. I was done being the person onstage. I’d given up that dream for reality. I wasn’t the most talented person in the room, and I wasn’t going to let the music industry control my every move.

  Blake ran a hand through his shaggy hair in a way that reminded me of Eli, , as if he could read my thoughts, Eli appeared behind the blond in the suit, his eyes flicking between me and all the men surrounding me.

  “Ava?” Eli said my name in that way that caused my whole skin to break out in goosebumps, that commandeered my body to turn toward him.

  Brady and the blond, Blake, made room to include him in our little circle.

  Blake looked him over as if eyeing the competition, but he caught sight of the USCG logo that was on Eli’s T-shirt and relaxed. Blake turned back to Brady and me. “I’m serious about this. You’re both really good. The songs are good. The looks are good. And Brady’s voice will have the ladies throwing themselves at the stage. I’ve worked with a lot of people and got them agents and deals. I’m interested in you. Both of you. Do you know Watery Reflection?”

  We both nodded because, hello, who hadn’t heard of the soulful voice of Derek Waters and his band?

  “The guy’s basically my brother-in-law, and we have lots of connections. So, don’t blow me off when I call,” Blake said with a look that said he was trying to be stern but just turned into one huge grin.

  “We won’t. And thank you,” Brady said, shaking the guy’s hand again. Blake stuck his hand out for mine as well, and I shook it again before he left, fading into the crowd.

  Brady and I exchanged a smile and a high five. “Let’s not get our hopes up, but shit, that was awesome.”

  I nodded. I was excited for him and at the thought that this might kick-start the career he’d earned.

  Brady stuck his hand out to Eli. “Eli.”

  Eli eyed it for a moment as if he didn’t want to take it, but he did. They held each other’s hands for a little too long, eyeing each other in that stupid way that guys do.

  “Okay, lover boys, you can let go now. Unless you want to take it to a room?” I threw out.

  Brady laughed and let go, but Eli just tucked his hand back into the pockets of his jeans that clung to every tight muscle on his body.

  “I’m gonna go help Georgie. You good?” Brady asked, looking down into my face.

  I couldn’t help but shove his shoulder and then push him away. “Go, asswipe, before I have to do something to your guitar while you sleep.”

  He put his hand to his heart as he stepped away. “After I just got us a record deal? You wouldn’t.”

  “Got you a record deal,” I snarked back.

  He walked away but not before tossing over his shoulder, “We’ll talk about it back at the apartment.”

  When I turned back to Eli, his eyes were smoldering. That look that I’d named way back in Rockport because of Jenna’s sexy romance novels. I wondered what it would be like if he was smoldering at me in a quiet room with just the two of us. Would the smolder burst into flames? Would I? More importantly, would I ever survive the fire?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eli

  SINGLES YOU UP

  “If he ever singles you up, if he's ever stupid enough

  I'ma be the first one calling you baby.

  If he ain't holding you tight, if he ain't treating you right

  I'ma be the first one calling him crazy.”

  —Performed by Jordan Davis

  —Written by Davis / Ebach / Jones

  I’d walked away from Mac Truck as soon as the tall blond in the suit joined Ava and Brad
y near the stage. I could feel Truck’s eyes boring into the back of my head with a glare that would have burst it apart if he’d had laser vision.

  When I approached, the guy was talking about getting them a production deal. It didn’t surprise me, and yet it also made my heart skip about ten beats. Would this mean that Ava was on her way? That she would have the dream she’d wished for actually become a reality? Although, I’d also heard her put herself down as she propped Brady up. Either way, her life was going to be much more about a blond singer who held her like he’d never let her go than an enforcement officer in the USCG.

  When Brady stuck his hand out for me to shake, I reluctantly took it, confused that he didn’t seem threatened by me at all. In fact, he just teased her and left her with me.

  She looked up at me, and she seemed nervous. Another emotion that I’d never associated with Ava back in Rockport. I had to keep reminding myself that four years was a long time. It changed people. Truck was a perfect example. He’d gone from a happy, laidback kid to a grouchy, sour man.

  “Does that happen a lot?” I finally found my voice.

  “That Blake guy? No. Brady’s had a couple nibbles but nothing that panned out. But Watery Reflection…that’s huge.” Excitement lit her eyes as she spoke.

  I didn’t know what to say. What I wanted to do was pull her from the room and take her someplace where it would just be her and me and the rest of the world didn’t matter.

  The pleasure in her eyes faded as she connected with something behind me. “I’m surprised they even came,” she said quietly.

  I half turned to where Mac and Truck were still standing at the back of the room. Mac was drinking his coffee, checking out the people, as always. Truck was still glowering.

  Before I could think to stop her, she was pushing her way through the crowd toward them, and I could barely keep up. Truck saw us coming, his frown deepening.

  When Ava got close, it seemed like she flew the last few steps until she’d surrounded him in a hug, the impulsive Ava that I knew from Texas taking back over the reserved Ava that she’d been since I’d first seen her in New York.

  I loved Truck, and I loved that she was hugging him, but I also hated it. I’d barely been able to touch her, let alone be held in her arms. It made me want to demand my own hug.

  Truck’s scowl turned to surprise as he looked over her shoulder at me. I heard her say, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I screwed up your life.”

  It made my stomach clench and drop to my knees for the hundredth time since I’d entered the stupid Pink Poodle. I saw Truck’s arms, that had been tight with fists clenched at his sides, move to wrap around her. He hugged her back. Then, he said the thing that Mac and I had been telling him but that he’d never agreed to before.

  “It was your asshole father, not you.” His voice was gruff with emotion.

  They hugged each other, squeezing harder before she withdrew, bringing a hand to his face. I swear the big schmuck was crying. She wiped at his cheeks, her expression full of sorrow.

  “I should have left the day I got there,” she said, voice full of pain and regret.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered how long you stayed. He was angry. He would have found someone to land it on, no matter what,” Truck said gruffly.

  “I’m sorry it was you,” Ava told him, the honesty in her voice so sincere that it would be impossible for anyone to stay mad at her, and Truck didn’t.

  “I’m pretty sure he took it out on you, too,” he responded.

  She nodded but didn’t elaborate. She turned to Mac, starting to lift her arms to hug him too, but then awkwardly stopping for no reason that I could understand. Instead, she just said, “I really am sorry, Mac.”

  “I landed just fine. We all did. Truck just got a later flight, that’s all,” Mac assured her with his big smile that usually won him a few bras and panties.

  Ava didn’t seem to notice. She pulled herself away from him and turned so that she could look at me. “Pizza?”

  She was including all of us.

  “Won’t the boyfriend mind?” I asked.

  She didn’t respond as a tall woman in black and white approached with the bag that I’d seen Ava with the other day at the coffee shop. It looked like the same bag she’d had four years ago, except it was softer, more scuffed and worn. The woman was easily five foot eleven, and the curls that topped her head almost like spikes made her seem taller. The curls had purple tips, and when she got close enough to us, I was surprised to see her eyes almost the same color as the hair.

  “Brady said you needed these,” she told Ava.

  “Thanks, Georgie,” Ava replied, taking the bag and a coat from her.

  Georgie took us all in. Three giant men that didn’t seem to dwarf her at all. “You going to introduce me to your friends?” she asked Ava with a smile in her voice.

  Ava rolled her eyes. “Georgie, this is Eli and Mac Truck. Guys, Georgie.”

  Georgie laughed, a tinkle that seemed small for her overall height and the personality that was pouring from her. “Mac Truck, huh?”

  “It’s Macauley,” Mac said, sticking out a hand. I had to bite back my own laugh. I’d never, in the entire time I’d known Mac, heard him introduce himself to anyone by his full name. He hated it. With a passion.

  The way he was taking in Georgie made me wonder if he’d been hit with a wave of girl power like the one that Ava had been hitting me with ever since we’d first met.

  Georgie took the hand Mac offered, flipping it over to look at the palm.

  “Says here I should stay the hell away from you, Mac—Macauley.” She glanced up at him with laughter in her eyes. “Should I?”

  Mac grinned at her and then surprised her by turning her own hand over. “Says here that you will never be the same again now that you’ve met me.”

  She laughed back at him, pulled her hand away, and looked to Ava. “You okay? Seems like an awful lot of testosterone for one woman to have to deal with.”

  Ava smiled at her. “Nah, they’re a bunch of cubs. Not a devouring lion in sight.”

  Truck and Mac took objection to that. I just continued to take it all in, Ava being just a little more like the Ava we’d known. I wondered if she’d needed the forgiveness from Truck as much as he had needed to hear the apology.

  “Call me if you need me,” Georgie said as she walked away, looking back over her shoulder to wink at Mac.

  Mac seemed like he wanted to follow her.

  Truck slammed a playful fist into Mac’s shoulder. “Dude, did you just go all Macauley on us?”

  Mac shook his head. “What the fuck just happened?”

  Ava laughed, a full laugh that always made me feel like we’d won the prize in the Cracker Jack box. “I believe you were just Georgie-fied. Come on, I’ll treat you all to some real New York pizza.”

  She headed toward the front doors, and I followed. Truck did too, but Mac seemed to hesitate, searching the crowd for purple hair and purple eyes. When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, he joined us.

  Ava shrugged into the jacket Georgie had handed her and led the way down the street. “It’s not far; do you mind walking?”

  We all just shook our heads and let Ava lead us through a tangle of streets and alleys till we ended up outside an Italian restaurant. It was busy but not so crowded that we wouldn’t find a seat.

  “Ava!” the hostess said with a smile. “It’s been a while.”

  “Hey, Kay,” Ava said. “Been busy. Not long till we’re done. Brady and I have been writing and recording like crazy, so it’s been hard to poke our heads out for anything else.”

  Kay looked behind Ava as if searching out Brady. “He’s not here,” Ava said, laughter in her voice. “But these three hooligans are. Can we have a table for four?”

  “Sure, let me go get something set up.” Kay looked disheartened as she left us to prep a table.

  “She’s always disappoi
nted when Brady isn’t with me,” Ava said.

  The conversation with the waitress had me slightly hopeful. Maybe Brady wasn’t her boyfriend? She didn’t seem to care that the hostess was drooling all over him, and she hadn’t brought him along with us to pizza. Yet, the way they moved together onstage—the way he wrapped himself around her as if owning her—it seemed like so much more than friendship.

  The hostess seated us at a booth in a far corner. Ava ordered beer and pizza without once conferring with us on what we wanted, but none of us stopped her, like we’d never stopped Ava from doing anything she wanted when she’d whirled into our lives and then back out four years ago.

  “So, Mac, where are you stationed?” Ava asked.

  “D.C. At the Pentagon.” Mac said with pride.

  “No way, they’re actually trusting you with our country’s secrets?” she teased.

  “I’m completely trustworthy.” He smiled, taking a swig of his beer.

  “My dad must be kicking himself in the ass that he didn’t include you in his collection,” Ava said, grimacing at the mention of her dad.

  “We were never interested in being collected, especially by a dickwad like him,” Truck growled.

  Ava nodded, the smile gone at the mention of her dad. “I’m glad you weren’t.”

  The pizza came, and we bullshitted about the Coast Guard and the Navy, and Ava told us some stories about her crazy artistic friends at Juilliard. It was meaningless conversation, but after the mention of her father, Ava had lost some of the lightness she’d earned by her moment with Truck at the Pink Poodle.

  When the check came, the waitress handed it to Ava as if it was something she did all the time. We all pulled for our wallets, but Ava stopped us. “No way. This one is on me. I feel like I owe you meals for the rest of our lives.”

  “Ava,” I groused, reaching for the check, but she just shoved her credit card at the woman, who took it and walked away. I continued my protest. “You don’t owe us anything.”