Page 20 of A Love Song for Dreamers

Thanks to being on stage eight times a week, I have makeup and hair down to a science. Once my eyeliner is done, my lips are slicked a coral pink in honor of summer, and my hair waves down my back, I step into thedress.

This place may not have changed, but I have. Now that the run of my show is over, my hair’s back to its natural dark red and starting to grow out, still a couple of inches past my shoulders. My body was always lean, but now it’s strong from dance and long hours of rehearsing. I don’t have ready access to a pool since the building Elle and I live in doesn’t have one, but I do try to hit the gym three days a week and eat well in order to sustain the pace of mylifestyle.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about being in thisindustry?

You have to want it—more thananything.

Even then, your dreams find ways to mess withyou.

When I head downstairs, there are a ton of people in the great room and spilling out to the patio. I scan the room, but most faces are only vaguely familiar at best. I don’t see my dad or Haley or evenSophie.

At the bar, I accept the offered glass of champagne from the attractive bartender who checks me out with a grin as he passes me the glass, but I’m thrown when two strong arms band around me frombehind.

I spin around and delight surges through me. “UncleRyan!”

I fold him in ahug.

“Good to see you, kid. How long are youstaying?”

“Just for the weekend. I couldn’t miss theparty.”

“I didn’t know you werecoming.”

Surprise works through me, but before I can comment, there’s a light clinking of glasses and we follow the crowd through the open doors to thepatio.

My dad is standing in the center of the crowd, a polite circle formed aroundhim.

My hand tightens on the stem of the champagneflute.

He’s wearing a dark jacket over his jeans, his hair casually styled without any hint of gray. The hard cut of his jaw and nose haven’t changed, but I swear there’re more lines when his eyes crinkle against thesun.

I haven’t been home since first semester at Vanier, though I talk to Haley on video or audio calls at least once a month. Sophie makes appearances almost every time, but my dad does drive-bys only on occasion—as if he, like me, knows things between us aren’tokay.

I know he offered to meet me halfway after Tyler got hurt, but it felt as if he saw what happened to Tyler as proof I fucked up by moving to New York, by straying from hisprotection.

So I focused on achieving my dreams on my own. I’ve survived months I didn’t know if I’d make enough money to keep the lights on, weeks of ice baths after endless dance rehearsals until my limbs ached. All for the chance to be onstage.

Even though I’m not yet sure what I want to say to him, he must have some idea what he wants to say to me since he invited mehere.

That he was wrong would be a goodstart.

“Thank you for coming,” he says to the crowd. “The music industry is changing in ways it never has. The old labels have consolidated, adapted, but they’re not meant for this new world. They put money in the pockets of executives. This new label is going to change all of it. Put the music and the musicians back in the…” His gaze meets mine, and his words trail off as an expression of disbelief takes over hisface.

I suck in a slow breath as I connect thepieces.

Haley’s emphaticwords.

Ryan’ssurprise.

My dad didn’t invite me. He didn’t even know I wascoming.

He clears his throat and continues. “Back in the middle, where they belong. Enjoy yourselves today and celebrate with us. Not only for the label, but formusic.”

Applause and cheers rise up, but I barely hearthem.

The patio is suddenly too loud, toostimulating.

I need to get out ofhere.

---