Page 79 of A Love Song for Dreamers

I squeeze Tyler’s arm, and he frowns but nods as I duck toward a quietcorner.

I answer her call. “Hi. What’s up? It’s after midnight where youare.”

“Ian killed thereading.”

Ice settles into my veins, and I blink back my surprise. “Wait, what? It’s been scheduled formonths.”

“He just sent a private email around to tell the other funders to say he’s lost confidence in the direction of the show and won’t host thereading.”

Shock slams into me. “Shit. Can you reassurethem?”

I have all their contact information from the research I’ve beendoing.

“I can try, but my words will only go so far. I have other news. I didn’t want to worry you until we knew for sure, but I’ve gotten a breast cancerdiagnosis.”

I nearly drop the phone as fear seizes my gut. “Miranda, are you okay?” My eyes squeeze shut. “Of course you’re not okay. Tell meeverything.”

She explains how they found it, that they’re looking at options. All I hear is that my writing partner and mentor’s health is atrisk.

We may not be the kind of friends who braid each other’s hair, but since we began collaborating more than two years ago, I’ve learned so much from her. She’s never let me down, and I’m not about to let herdown.

And if we don’t get this show, it would be letting her down. She’s helped write others but this one is hers and mine. She never had children and this show is herbaby.

“I’ll come back,” I promise, though my chest feels as if it’s caving in. “This weekend. I’ll talk to the funders and find us a new host.” The business side isn’t my strength, but I’ll make it work. “I promise I won’t let youdown.”

When I go back to the party, I don’t see Tyler. Panic is rising up in my chest, mythroat.

I trip toward the exit, murmuring a quick “I’m fine” to the concerned security who asks if he can help on my way down thestairs.

At street level, I stagger outside and suck in air. The sounds of the music still drift down here, though aside from the soft lights of the house, it’s mostlydark.

Talbot’s news reverberates in the back of mymind.

I shove both hands in my hair and pace the road in front of the house, passing expensive cars parked along theway.

I have to finish the show—not for myself, but for Miranda, for the people who needit.

I haveto…

I pull up as a shadowy figure emerges from the same door I left through a minuteago.

“Dad.”

“I saw you come down and wanted to check on you.” His voice is gruff, but there’s an undercurrent ofworry.

“Someone’s trying to sink our show before it getsstarted.”

He closes the distance between us, and I swallow, a million feelings colliding in mychest.

Disappointment. Worry.Despair.

“Tell me how I canhelp.”

My exhale is shaky because those six words areeverything. It’s not like my dad to be so open without an agenda or without inserting hisopinion.

But he’sasking.

“Do you want todance?”

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