Love Notes: A Rivals Series Prequel Read online

  Pen: Have you talked to Tyler?

  My stomach lurches at the memory of what went down in the kitchen. I looked at him like I wanted to kiss him, and he shot me down without a damned word, in front of everyone, like the prince he is.

  Annie: I’m never facing him again.

  Pen: It was a fucked-up night

  Pen: Maybe he didn’t want to do it in front of all those people with you buzzed and polka-dotted.

  Doubtful.

  When the ride Pen and I called dropped me off, Tyler’s bike was in the garage, but the lights were out in the pool house.

  What if I pissed him off by kissing that guy whose name I can’t even remember?

  It’s not possible.

  Tyler isn’t into me.

  The moments I swore there was attraction between us had to have been imagined. The memory of his thumb stroking my cheek, his gorgeous body and fiery eyes so close, was an exaggeration of my booze-addled brain.

  I go downstairs to grab coffee and find Haley already there, one hand on her back as she pours coffee.

  “How was the party?” she asks, studying me. “You look like you had lots of… fun.”

  I blink up at her.

  “Tyler seemed to be looking forward to going, but I didn’t hear him come in. What did he go as?”

  I pop in a coffee pod, slide my mug under the nozzle on the fancy machine, and hit Start. “A prince. Tyler went as a prince.”

  When I lift my filled coffee mug, Haley’s watching me intently. “I know he appreciates you helping him fit in.”

  “He doesn’t need my help,” I murmur into my mug.

  “People don’t always show what they’re feeling. Especially when they’re trying to fit in somewhere new.” She shakes her head. “I remember the first weeks on tour with your dad. It was like a different universe. I tried to put on a brave face, but I didn’t know what to do or who to listen to or when to stand my ground. It can be overwhelming.”

  Her words linger in my mind as she goes to make cereal, and I drop onto a stool at the island and stare out the patio doors.

  Yes, Carly and every other girl at the party was trying to get close to Tyler last night. They don’t know him like I do.

  They haven’t shared hundreds of laughs, thousands of smiles, dozens of orders of cheese fries.

  So what if he didn’t look for me when Carly brought him his drink?

  Tyler came looking for me.

  What if all this popularity stuff is bullshit? Maybe what’s between me and Tyler is what’s real.

  The chance, however slim, has a wave of hope washing over me.

  “Ladies.” My dad pads into the kitchen, barefoot in his favorite jeans and T-shirt, Sophie swaddled in his arms. His hair sticks up in every direction, and scruff covers his jaw. When his gaze lands on me, he pulls up short. “You look…”

  Haley clears her throat, but my dad ignores her.

  “Were you drinking last night?”

  I could lie, but that won’t go over well.

  I cross to him and peer down at my baby sister, rubbing a fingertip along her soft cheek.

  Then I hold up my thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

  His expression clouds, jaw tightening. “Annie—“

  Haley steps deftly between us, smiling at the baby and my dad in turn. “Good morning to you, too.”

  For a second I think he’s going to protest, but as she tips her face up to his, of course he doesn’t.

  Haley knows my dad too well. The ick factor I have for seeing him shift the bundle in his arms so he can pull Haley into a hard kiss is counterbalanced by my gratitude for her bailing me out.

  I pull out a box of Rice Krispies cereal and the bag of marshmallows. I focus on making the squares and ignore whatever is or is not going on behind me until they both come up for air and resume talking about normal things, like Sophie’s sleeping schedule and an ad campaign my dad’s booking in LA and a project Haley’s been putting off since before the baby was born but wants to take on soon.

  Eventually, my dad appears at my elbow to make a coffee of his own, free of his tiny burden.

  “You’re going to eat all of those for breakfast?” he asks as I cut a row out of the pan before arranging the four squares on a little plate.

  “I’m taking them out for Tyler.”

  But before I do, I reach for a sticky note from the side of the fridge.

  Back in Philly, when we needed cheering up, we’d leave each other sticky notes with little sayings on them. Like Cheer up, Buttercup. They were more sarcastic than earnest, which only made it more fun.

  Now, I debate before scrawling something on the note and taking it and the squares to the pool house.

  When I get there, I knock on the door.

  No response.

  I press the sticky note to the door at eye level, then hesitate.

  If Haley’s right and Tyler’s just trying to figure all of this out, I want to check in with him after last night.

  Maybe even apologize for acting… however it was I acted.

  Decided, I push the door open.

  It’s still dark in the hallway. Someone clearly remembered to pull his blackout curtains.

  Point, Tyler.

  The crown from last night hangs on the hook by the door. My lips twitch until I notice what’s hanging under the crown.

  A green-and-orange lanyard.

  UT Dallas.

  What the hell?

  My gaze drops to the floor, where two stiletto-heeled boots lay on their sides.

  My fingers drop the plate, and it clunks against the laminate floor through the hall rug.

  “Did you hear something?” a female voice asks sleepily from the other room.

  There’s no response.

  “Who else lives here?” the same person asks a moment later.

  Don’t answer. Don’t fucking answer.

  “My boss, his wife. His daughter goes to my school.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut to block out Tyler’s low voice. I always thought he had the most beautiful voice, but right now, I hate every word.

  If I hadn’t just dropped to my knees to pick up the squares, my pulse pounding as I numbly peel each sticky treat off the carpet, the sound of blankets from the other room would’ve sent me there.

  “Should I be jealous?”

  My hands freeze on the plate after retrieving the squares. I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t bring myself to leave.

  “She’s nothing. Nobody.”

  The hurt that rips through me puts the pounding in my head to shame. It slices my chest, leaves me gasping and bewildered.

  When Tyler left the party last night, it never occurred to me he might be meeting up with someone else. Like someone from the frat party he played with Brandon on Wednesday.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  My eyes burn as I shove myself to standing.

  It takes all my effort not to trip over the shoes by the door as I stumble out.

  The whole time, my brain is shouting, He’s not yours. He was never yours. He never will be yours.

  6

  Annie

  After dumping the Rice Krispies squares in the garbage, I try unsuccessfully to fight the nausea.

  Once I’m done throwing up, I brush my teeth, wash my face, and grab a book.

  I go straight for my favorites. Austen. Dickens.

  I shut both within two chapters and go for the serious escapism.

  Harry Potter.

  But nothing helps. My entire body aches, and it’s not from drinking. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s not.

  So I head for the driveway.

  I haven’t been on the Big Leap bus in months, but now I head up the stairs.

  The front part has couches, a coffee table. Racks of guitars line one wall, and pictures hang on the other. My gaze runs over the images. Ones of my dad and his band on tour, from the kids who recorded here, of Dad and Haley. One of my dad and me and Aunt Grace, taken when I was eight o
r nine, with a gap in my front teeth.

  There’s one of Tyler and me. It’s a selfie, taken right here on this bus on my birthday two years ago.

  I trace the edge with a finger as the backs of my eyes burn.

  Another image is a quote from one of my dad’s interviews. One of the kids who came through this program had it printed, mounted and plaqued.

  Music saved my life.

  This morning, I could use saving.

  I turn away and lift a guitar off the wall and head to the recording studio at the back, on the other side of a soundproof glass door. There’s a big soundboard, a couch, a few stools, and more instruments and amps.

  I take a seat on one of the stools and settle the guitar in my lap.

  The strings bite into my skin when I start to play. It’s been a while since I have, and I can feel it in my fingertips, hear it in the sound.

  Still, I keep going.

  It feels good in the same way it feels to work your muscles when you haven’t in a long time.

  Through the small windows at the top of the walls, the cloudless sky peeks in.

  I let my fingers play over the strings, an easy chord that fills some of the space in my aching chest.

  Another. This time it shifts, swells inside me.

  Another.

  Before I know it, I’m playing “Part of your World.”

  I loved The Little Mermaid movie growing up. Loved her sense of adventure and independence, the way she made her own path.

  My second time through the song, I sing over top.

  Movement at the front of the bus has me straightening.

  I relax a bit when my dad appears at the top of the stairs, brows pulled together. “What are you doing here?”

  “Messing around.”

  He crosses to me. “I’m looking for Tyler. We’re supposed to go check out a studio.”

  A sound on the steps has both of us looking toward the door.

  Tyler fills the frame. He’s the same breadth as my dad, only taller. His face is leaner, his eyes soulful the way my dad’s are fiery.

  His hair’s damp, and I wonder whether he showered alone.

  “There you are. We gotta go.” My dad turns and claps him on the shoulder.

  But Tyler’s attention lingers on me as my father bounds down the stairs.

  He presses something to the side of the bus. “This was on my floor this morning.”

  The sticky note says, “This one’s for you”.

  The empty ache swells in my chest again, the one the music had been numbing since I left the pool house.

  “We’ll talk later,” Tyler states. It’s a promise, not a request.

  I watch him disappear down the stairs.

  But we don’t talk later.

  Instead of meeting up with Pen or reading or swimming, I turn off my phone, take the guitar, and drive off to a secluded place at my favorite lake a few miles down the road.

  I sing until my throat’s sore and play until my fingers bleed.

  By the time I return home, tucking my Audi next to my dad’s Bentley and Tyler’s bike, the sky is dark and I’m empty.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Pen whispers from the next seat in the auditorium the next morning.

  “Me either.”

  “Carly,” the teacher calls.

  “Here we go,” I murmur, shifting down in my seat.

  Carly claims the stage as if her dad paid for it. Hell, maybe he did.

  “Do you have music for the accompanist?” Miss Norelli asks.

  “Oh, yes,” Carly informs her. “We went over it at lunch.”

  When Carly starts to sing, I’m forced to recognize she’s good. Her voice is confident, her chin held high.

  “She’s not Ariel,” Pen whispers. “She’s too cocky.”

  But I’m not so sure. My stomach flips as I soak in every intonation of her voice, each second of her performance.

  When it’s over, the drama director thanks her.

  “Annie. Annie Jamieson.”

  Nerves buzz through me, and a dozen heads whip toward our seats partway back.

  Those heads include Carly and her minions.

  Oh, yeah. Regardless of the outcome, this won’t go unnoticed.

  “You don’t need to stay,” I say to Pen. “I’m freaked out enough as it is.”

  “I’m staying.”

  I squeeze her arm in gratitude before starting up the aisle.

  “You looked better with your spots the other night. I think I still see some.”

  I flip Carly’s minions off and take the stairs to the stage one at a time, then head for the piano at the corner. “May I?”

  “Sure.” The accompanist slides off the bench.

  She’s nothing. Nobody.

  “What are you performing, Annie?” the teacher calls.

  I settle on the bench, the hardwood strangely comforting as I spread the sheet music in front of me. “A song called ‘Inside.’”

  There are a few dozen people in the audience, most of them auditioning.

  Carly’s surrounded by her minions in the front row. They’re trading snide comments, and I force my attention to Pen.

  My friend gives a confident nod, and I glance back out over the empty seats.

  For the musical itself, the room will be full.

  It’s not a football stadium, but it feels big. Full of possibility.

  A shadow near the door catches my attention, but when I cut a look in that direction, the doorway’s empty.

  You’re nothing. Nobody.

  If I’m nothing… I have zero to lose.

  I square my shoulders and start to play.

  The arrangement isn’t complicated. It’s one of my dad’s songs, one he wrote when he was my age, but it’s raw and beautiful.

  Halfway through, I realize I don’t care where I am anymore. The people in the audience don’t matter. It’s the stage that matters.

  Up here, it’s impossible to be nothing.

  When I get to the chorus…

  I sing my guts out.

  * * *

  When the bell rings at the end of last period, I’m already out of my seat.

  I go to my locker and dial the combination. I’ve just pulled on the door when a manicured hand slams it shut again.

  “What the fuck was this morning about?” Carly demands, eyes spitting fury.

  “Simple. I auditioned for the musical. It’s my right as a student.”

  “It’s not simple.”

  “You worried I’m going to get it?” I fold my arms over my chest. “You are.”

  “If that happens, you, little Annie, are in for a world of pain.” But her attention flicks to something behind me, her intensity wavering before she turns and takes off down the hall.

  When I step back toward my locker, I run into a wall.

  Not a wall. A tall, handsome, and stubborn-faced boy looms over me.

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” I inform Tyler, a hand pressed to the blazer over my thudding heart.

  “And you shouldn’t avoid people.” His voice is low and smooth, but there’s an undercurrent of danger.

  I turn to stick my books inside my locker. “I’m not avoiding you.”

  “Really? What would you call ignoring my texts?”

  “I’m not ignoring them. I blocked your number.”

  He shifts between me and the locker, eyes boring down into mine. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I’m living my life. Which I was doing fine before you showed up in my driveway.”

  I grab his jacket and use all my strength to push him to one side so I can get at my things.

  “Tell me what you were doing in the pool house yesterday morning.”

  I fight to keep my voice steady as I search for my pencil case. “I was bringing you Rice Krispies squares. I wanted to explain what happened in Carly’s kitchen. That I was angry and drunk and I saw you and thought...”

 
“What?” The urgency in his voice startles me, and I swallow.

  “I thought something was true, but it clearly wasn’t.” The next breath makes my ribs ache.

  I stick my pencil case in my bag and look up to see Tyler’s expression darken. He’s too close, his conflicted face too handsome, that sunshine and cedar scent invading my senses. “Whatever you thought was going down in the pool house… you’re wrong.”

  Students fly past us, laughing and gossiping and bound for class, but Tyler’s tortured gaze makes my gut twist. How am I feeling bad for him right now?

  Brandon calls Tyler’s name from down the hall, but Tyler’s gaze lingers on me.

  “Do me a favor and stop pretending we’re friends,” I tell him. “We’re obviously not.”

  His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking angrily. “Because I’ve made new friends.”

  “No. Because you stopped telling me what’s going on for you. Because you were going through hell and didn’t tell me.” My chest knots tighter, the backs of my eyes burning. “And because I’ve had crazy shit of my own and couldn’t talk to you because you weren’t there. Even though I wanted to. Even though I tried.”

  Tyler’s gaze searches my face, alarmed. “What kind of shit?”

  I reach for the sheet music in my locker, but he grabs my arms, making the papers slide from my grasp and across the floor. “Annie. Tell me what kind of shit.”

  I ignore him and bend to pick up the sheet music. He gets to the final page before I can, inspects it before holding it out.

  “A single chord can be the start of a thousand songs,” he says, so quietly I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or himself. “Songs about love. Hate. Betrayal. Longing. You can’t judge a song from a few notes.”

  We both straighten, and my bag slides off my shoulder as I take the sheet from him.

  “Tyler! Let’s go!” Brandon surveys us impatiently from down the hall.

  Before I can protest, Tyler steps close, reaching for my bag. His deliberate, careful touch as he adjusts it on my shoulder makes me swallow.

  I picture seeing him in class every day, at dinner every night, out my window each time I turn that direction.

  The boy who was my friend.

  The one who’s now their prince.