Page 2 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

A smile formed on her face, but memories from those last few months of their marriage pushed their way in and sucked the tiny bit of joy from her like a vacuum.

The nights she’d spent crying in an empty bed, telling herself she wasn’t a good enough wife because if she were, he wouldn’t be out drinking and partying; he’d be at home, with her.

As a twenty-five-year-old, she now knew that was bullshit—that his actions hadn’t been her fault—but that understanding hadn’t erased the scars and emotional imprints they’d left behind.

While she’d handled it the best she could at the time, she still regarded their marriage as a personal failure.

They’d proved everyone right who told them they were too young to get married.

They’d thought their love was different—something special.

But they hadn’t made it a year.

Just like her record deal.

Lennon sucked in a breath as the grief swelled again. The doors shut; the car still empty except for her as the train shoved forward.

“Hey, are you OK?” Dylan asked, his gentleness loosening her grip a little on the shield around her heart.

Lennon caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“I knew something was wrong when they asked me to come in for a meeting this morning,” she admitted.

“I’d hoped it was to talk about my recording session tomorrow …

give me more notes on what they wanted. They’ve had me change things so many times.

But something told me this time was different.

” She exhaled a dark chuckle. “My last session was … my last. And I didn’t even know it. ”

She’d had this nightmare before, losing the record deal she’d finally landed after years of crawling her way through countless auditions and demos and gigs at seedy bars, the rug being pulled out from under her just when she thought she’d finally made it.

Except this time, she wouldn’t wake up.

This was her reality.

“I know what that deal meant to you,” Dylan said, the words clipped as if restraining anger. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

She watched the dark concrete whizz past the windows, the smell of stale, damp air thick in her lungs as the train gently rocked her.

The cabin’s emptiness reminded Lennon of her apartment, which was as sterile and lifeless, serving as a temporary stop on her way to her dreams. She realized it was a sad reflection of her life, devoid of anything meaningful as she rushed toward something, only now she seemed to be going in circles.

She wondered if Dylan felt a similar emptiness. Baseball was his life, and for now, he’d lost it.

“How did we get here?” Lennon mused, like the dreamy little girl inside had suddenly woken up and looked around and couldn’t understand how the hell the adult version had so royally messed up everything.

“I don’t know,” Dylan answered like the little boy she’d met on the baseball field all those years ago who had suddenly woken up and found himself just as lost. He remained quiet for a moment, and in that space everything she’d wanted to say to him rushed in.

Why’d you break your promise? Why’d you abandon me?

Why wasn’t I enough? We were supposed to face life together.

You threw it all away … you threw me away …

“But at least we don’t have to stay here,” he said resolutely, the man he was now returning and interrupting her thoughts. “That’s what my therapist keeps telling me, anyway.”

Lennon sensed a smirk in his voice, but she didn’t smile herself. Her heart was too battered to let hope in yet.

To let him in.

As much as she wanted to believe herself mature enough to have a friendship with him again—as much as, God help her, she just fucking missed him—she wasn’t convinced she’d ever be ready to move on from here . From this place where she felt more pain than joy in his presence.

It was a day of accepting hard truths.

The metal wheels screeched as the train navigated a sharp curve, jabbing her ribs into the rail beside her seat. “I should go. My stop is coming up.”

“Oh … going home?”

“I wish. I have to work. Though it’s probably for the best. It’ll help keep my mind off things rather than throwing myself a pity party.”

“Sorry you got me instead of Erin. She would’ve probably offered better comfort.”

At that moment, Lennon realized her heart was a little less heavy, but she felt too …

vulnerable to admit that to him. He’d left her holding the broken pieces of it in her hands, forced to rebuild a life she’d never imagined without him.

The fact that he could still reach her that way raised more questions than she currently had the capacity to deal with.

“I’ll try to reach her on my break,” Lennon said. Now, they’d have two events of emotional upheaval to unpack.

“I’ll tell her to watch for your call when I see her.”

“She’s with you? I thought she was still on the road.”

“They got in last night. She came with me to this golf tournament I’m doing, but right now she’s holed up somewhere with a laptop, attending a lecture for one of her classes.”

“You’re playing in a golf tournament? You hate golf.”

Dylan released a long-suffering sigh. She imagined him running a hand through his thick, dark-brown hair. “I do. But it’s for charity.”

Another man’s voice rose in the background. “Hey, man. They want us back on the course in five.”

“Well, good luck with your game,” Lennon said. Her stop wasn’t far off, and she needed some alone time before work to get her head straight.

“Thanks. I’ll need it.” Dylan paused. Then added, “And thanks for not hanging up on me.” He tried to pass it off as a lighthearted joke, but she sensed the truth behind it. His own vulnerability.

“Don’t get used to it,” she joked back, and she had a feeling he sensed the truth behind that, too. “Bye, Dylan.”

“Hey, Lennon—”

She dug her teeth into her lower lip, desperate to get off the phone. “Hm?”

“There’s no way you won’t be a successful musician.”

The confidence in his declaration was a warm, soothing touch to her battered heart.

“You just deserve better than those idiot execs who were too blind to appreciate the good thing they had in front of them,” Dylan continued. “Trust me, it’s their loss. And by the time they realize what they gave up … they’re going to regret letting go of someone like you.”