Page 100 of Dream On

Lex has never experienced that, never had to count every penny or feel the anxiety gnawing when rent is due and the fridge is empty. He’s offering me a glimpse into his world, where money is an afterthought, not a lifeline.

He studies me from his place on the couch, an arm draped over the top, his posture rigid. He watches my wheels spin, my thoughts scatter. “Something the matter?”

I shake my head slightly. “No. I’m just…processing.”

He hesitates for a beat before he nods. “I’ll show you your room.”

When he pops off the couch, I follow behind, ignoring the smell of whatever sinful cologne he’s wearing. Masculine and musky but sweet and clean too. Lemon peels and sea breezes. We file up a winding staircase that leads to a plethora of rooms, landing at the second on the right.

“I didn’t have time to girlify it. Pretty basic and boring.” He waves a hand around aimlessly. “White walls, a dresser. The bed was ordered off some TikTok ad. Rudy says it’s magical.”

“Okay.” I step inside, eyeing the barren space. It’s three times bigger than my room. “Thanks.”

“My room is…uh…next door. To the left. If you need anything.”

I peer at him over my shoulder, wondering what I could possibly need from him while he’s in his bedroom. “Got it.”

“If you want to personalize the room or whatever, you can go shopping. Luda knows where all the best shit is. I know you like extra pillows.”

My eyes glaze over. I think this is the first time he’s referenced anything from our past. Part of me wondered if he’d erased us, if he’d forgotten all our little moments. “This is good. I don’t need anything.” I pump my fingers into fists and shuffle between feet, fidgety and out of place. “So what are we supposed to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I understand the long-term plan, but what’s the short-term plan?”

His brows crease, eyes narrowing a fraction. “My calendar is pretty full. You can tag along to the social commitments. Rudy’s birthday party is coming up. Pool day and drinks at his place. Willa is hosting a postpremiere event at Pulse. It’s a club.” He scrolls through a digital calendar in his mind. “There are some interviews lined up, a photo shoot with Billy, probably some—”

“I mean really short-term,” I interject, my mind whirling with extravagant events I can’t begin to process. “Like right now.”

The crease evolves into a frown. “Why, you want to hang or something?”

I shrug.

No. Yes. I have no idea.

He palms the back of his head, then scratches his nape. “I’m not the best company.”

“Right, no, we don’t need to hang.” A tinge of embarrassment brightens my cheekbones. “I’m just not sure what to do with myself. I feel like I’m invading your privacy. Should I…keep to myself? Stay in my room?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

I fold my hands together, bite my lip.

Nodding, I glance around the room, streaks of sunlight pouring in from the enormous uncovered window and splashing prisms across the bedspread.

“Actually…” Lex clears his throat, propping his shoulder against the doorframe. “I want to show you something.”

I stare at him, perking up. “Show me what?”

A minute later, we’re back downstairs, weaving around a corridor and entering another living space adjacent to the main room. It doesn’t take long for me to spot it: a grand piano, standing in the corner of the room. It’s a Steinway—astronomically expensive—sleek and polished to a mirrorlike finish, the ebony surface reflecting the soft lighting. The lid is propped open, revealing intricate inner workings, the strings and hammers gleaming like gold under a contemporary chandelier.

A freight train of emotion plows into me. Right through the center of my chest. I make a sound, a mousy little croak. The piano blurs through glossy eyes as tears prick and burn. I’m not sure what I expected to find, but it wasn’t this. Never this.

“Do you…play?” I turn to him, finding him staring at the instrument with distant eyes. They’re not deadened, but they’re jaded. Almost sorry.

“Not well.” Lex swallows, flicking his gaze to the window.

I imagine him playing it. Sitting on the wooden bench, hunched over the keys, the passion I witnessed onstage years ago flowing through him, reawakening his soul, making him shine again. Music does that. It brings things back to life.