8
“What doyou mean he’s not coming?” I ask in the car on the way back from running errands after my dress appointment. “We’ve been confirmed for a month!”
“Mr. King is sincerely apologetic,” comes the crisp British voice over the line. “I assure you he’s made multiple attempts to reconcile his schedule, but running a conglomerate of companies leaves little time for personal commitments.”
Disappointment overwhelms me as I scroll through the email correspondence, most signed by an executive assistant at Echo Entertainment on behalf of the CEO. I’ve been trying to get Harrison King, one of Tyler’s friends from touring, to the wedding without him knowing.
I know how hard it is to get on the schedule of a man running a multinational conglomerate, but I figured we’d navigated all the hurdles already.
Now it might be over before it’s begun.
When I arrive at the house, the garage door’s open. The motorcycle sits out front, and my body twitches the second I see it.
We still haven’t been on it. I want to get on the back with Tyler and disappear. But we can’t. At least not yet.
Dad and Haley are talking in the kitchen, getting Mason to eat some kind of solids by the sounds of it.
I follow the sound of music upstairs. I peer in the first of the guest bedrooms.
The first thing I notice are the organized piles of merch.
Next, I see my fiancé, patiently holding the strings on his guitar while Sophie picks with an awkward enthusiasm that melts my heart.
The piles dwarf him.
Haley’s words come back to me, and compassion and love for the boy who changed my world, the man who owns my heart.
I pick up a Sharpie. “Can I get an autograph?”
Tyler looks up, his eyes brightening when he spots me. “Play your cards right.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant her,” I say, gesturing toward Sophie.
My little sister giggles in delight, abandoning the instrument to fill the Post-it I hold out with a careful scrawl.
“Do you want a selfie?” she asks solemnly.
“Um. Sure. But I left my phone downstairs.”
“I’ll get it!” Sophie bounds toward the door and down the hall, and I turn back to Tyler with a grin.
“You have to sign all this?”
“Was supposed to be before we leave for the wedding. My hand cramped up an hour ago.”
I survey the room. “I’m tempted to pack half of it up and send it back to Zeke with a note saying, ‘Sign it your damn self.’”
“Yeah, but I remember the first concert I got into as a kid. It took months of fixing bikes to earn the money, and I had to hitchhike to get there. A lot of this is for charity, and some of it’s for fans who work like I worked to see that first concert. I’m one of the lucky ones, Annie. Anything I can do to give back I’m going to.”
My heart kicks in my chest. “You’re the best guy, Tyler Adams.”
“Maybe not the best. I would like to see you take on Zeke for me. You’re sexy when you’re pissed.”
“Just not when I’m pissed at you.”
“You’re sexy then too.” He winks as he straightens and sets the guitar back on its stand. “You get everything done that you needed to? Remember, I’m supposed to do the anthem at the Lakers game tonight. We have a box so we can bring your dad and Haley and the kids, and Beck and Rae said they’d show.”
“Absolutely. It’ll be fun. Go team.” I pull my imaginary pompoms into my chest before planting a hand on my hip. “Would I make a good Laker girl?”