I stroke the furry creature, a black mop that comes to my knees. “Ernie?”
“Named for Ernest Hemingway,” Beck confirms. “A man’s man.”
I laugh as the dog amps up its attempts at my fiancé.
“At least he has good taste,” I comment, and Tyler shoots me a pained look.
Out of nowhere, the bartender cuts through the crowd with a tray of shots glowing dully emerald in the light.
“It’s a little late for juicing,” Elle chides, but Beck ignores her and goes to stand on the back of the couch like some emerging A-list god.
“Hollywood has a rule. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
There’s no glass-clinking or throat-clearing required for his smooth, warm voice to carry over the chatter. Every head turns toward him, every conversation dying under the force of his magnetism.
“I say who needs friends when you have rivals? People who keep you sharp and have your back at once.”
I look around, the faces familiar in the dark, and my chest tightens in gratitude.
“Each person here wants something and wants it bad enough to put everything on the line.” Beck gestures to the valley below. “Every light you see is a dream. We all have them, and we come here until they go out or they come true.”
Tyler stands tall next to me in the dark, his presence warm and sure.
“It’s easy to feel alone, but if you find people to dream with and still make it on your own?” He shakes his head. “That’s something fucking special. So, congrats to my favorite friends and eternal rivals.” Beck lifts his shot. “May the light of your dreams always shine together.”
The scene surrounding me blurs, and I swallow, lifting my drink. Next to me, Tyler does the same. We all toss back the shot together, and the green drink tastes tart on my tongue before the alcohol seeps in, warmth spreading through my stomach and chest, leaving my arms tingling.
Beck drops off the couch and we hug him.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Motion by the front door catches my eye, and I wave Rae over.
Elle approaches too, and Beck wraps an arm around her neck and takes in the five of us.
“You ever think we’d be here?” she asks.
Tyler’s a massive success. Elle and Rae are both hustling it out and doing well enough to land jobs across the country. I’ve produced and starred in a show running on Broadway. Beck has a hit TV show.
“Fuck yeah,” Beck says. “How was I supposed to pay for this house?”
Elle snorts. “How are you paying for this house? You got enough for season two of your show?”
“And I’m pitching a reality show. Being Beck.”
Rae shakes her head. “You couldn’t pay me enough to have people follow me around with cameras.”
“That’s because you don’t like the spotlight.” Beck says it fondly, and Rae lifts her glass, her bracelets shifting up her wrists.
Underneath are dark marks that have me frowning.
I pull Rae aside. “Did something happen to you?”
Her dark-lined eyes don’t flicker. “I’m taking care of it. The one place I’m untouchable is in the booth. Someone thinks they can touch me there? They’re gonna have a problem.”
Protectiveness rises up, and I vow to follow up with her later, away from prying eyes.
People come over and congratulate us, wave after wave. Some of them want to talk about the wedding, but most want to know about Tyler’s tour.