by Tessa Bailey
“I know.” Her tits were lifting and falling so fast. Up and down. Dragging over his chest. “It’s all over your mouth.”
Sarge couldn’t resist. “Wipe it off.”
She looked to be considering it, but shook her head. “No.”
“Wipe it off or I’ll be wearing it on stage.”
“Jesus.” Jasmine actually laughed, and it calmed some of the thunderheads clashing in his brain. Using her thumb, she wiped away the cranberry coloring, pulling away quickly when his tongue licked out to taste her. “You’re good to go.”
Cursing church people for being so damn punctual, Sarge backed away. “I’ll find you afterward.”
She didn’t say anything for a long beat. “I don’t doubt it.”
There was something unusual in the way she said it, but Adeline shouted his name again, giving Sarge no choice but to solve the puzzle of Jasmine later.
If Sarge would’ve given Jasmine a minute to speak, she would have told him.
She wouldn’t be letting him go.
Since that night in the Third Shift when she’d stood up to Carmine and felt the transformation in herself, Jasmine had given herself one long, continuous wake-up slap in the face. Sarge was a man with the ability to decide his own life path. He’d determined that path would be walked with her. It meant staying in Hook. It meant she had to trust him to know what he needed.
It also meant she needed to trust her own gut. Needed to listen to her mind and heart when they sang in perfect harmony for one man. There would be people, like Carmine, who took bets on how long their relationship would last. There would be laughing behind their backs—probably even a lot of uttering of a certain word that started with c and ended with ougar. But none of it would register when she and Sarge were together. Alone or in public, the outside world only ever seemed like a minor detail. What mattered was them. How they made each other feel.
And God, he made her feel so much.
It hadn’t felt right kissing him in the parking lot. Not when he thought she’d let him go without a fight. God, he’d already looked haunted, his kisses feeling so final. Tonight. She would tell him tonight. When they weren’t in a freezing parking lot, being peeped on by passersby in the parking lot.
Jasmine eased out of her coat and took a spot at the rear of the hall, just in time for Old News to walk on stage. A low thrumming started in her belly at seeing Sarge in his official front man capacity. Already he was a sexy, charismatic package, but it was amplified when he picked up his guitar. He played a few strings, winking at the crowd when they howled in response. Then he found her through the crowd and made a growling sound into the microphone.
Dios. As soon as this party ended, she was taking him home and rocking his ever-loving world. The neighbors might even call the police.
Let them.
“Okay, this first song is for my niece, Marcy, the coolest kid in Hook.” He smiled down at the front row, where all the children, including Marcy, were lined up. “Did you guys know she taught me how to play the guitar?”
A chorus of laughter went up, from the children and parents alike. Several mothers relaxed a little when it became obvious Sarge and Old News would be making the show kid-friendly. Jasmine’s smile widened when he launched into an acoustic version of “Frosty the Snowman,” signaling to his bandmates to come in on the second verse, since clearly the band hadn’t rehearsed. Somehow that made it even more special. When a man leaned against the wall beside Jasmine, she recognized him from being in the parking lot with Sarge. He was tall, with a slight dusting of salt and pepper at his temples and stress lines around his eyes, but he couldn’t have been older than thirty-five. Handsome in a hard, distinguished way. Against a backdrop of ill-fitting Christmas sweaters, his polished appearance stood out, making him look more suitable for a polo match than a casual church function.
“Merry Christmas,” Jasmine murmured, unable to stop herself from facing the stage, where Sarge was now using his fingers to mimic antlers. “How do you know Sarge?”
The man followed her line of vision and dipped his chin. “I manage Old News. Although I’m not sure who’s managing who anymore.” He extended a hand. “I’m James Brandon. Nice to meet you.”
Jasmine shook James’s hand, seeing him in a new light. This man had spent years on the road with Sarge, probably making a boatload of cash in the process. How would he feel when Sarge decided to stay in Hook? “Nice to meet you, too.”
They were quiet for a time, but there was an air of discomfort between them. She could feel James building up to something and started to excuse herself, somehow knowing she wouldn’t want to know, but he beat her to the punch. “Look. Jasmine.” He straightened his collar. “I’m going to be blunt with you. If tonight turned out to be the final time Old News played together, I wouldn’t try to talk them out of it. I could walk away.” A glance toward the stage, specifically the drummer. “From most of it.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
James appeared to be choosing his words. “It was impossible to live with Sarge and not be aware of his feelings for you. He wears them like clothes. They’re in every song, in the background noise of every interview.” The manager nodded toward the stage. “He’d give it all up in a heartbeat for you. And if it were me…before I let him do that, I would want to know exactly what giving it up means.”
Her lips felt numb, but she forced the words out, already knowing nothing would be the same when James finished speaking. “Tell me.”
“The new contract would mean another full album by summer. A world tour to promote it.” The manager looked like he’d swallowed something made of spikes. “We’ve been traveling on a bus until now, but the new contract would mean private jets. No more questionable motels or small venues. It’s the next level. And since we’re free agents at the moment, so to speak, they’ve quadrupled their offer to make us sign.”
If the ground cracked in half and sucked her in just then, Jasmine would have gone happily. A host of emotions fought for precedence inside her. Disgust at herself for considering asking Sarge to remain in Hook, thus relinquishing the multitude of opportunities yet to come. Gratefulness to James for being honest with her, because Jasmine knew—without a doubt—Sarge never would have told her the facts. Lastly, she felt a freezing shower of sorrow and loss, soaking her down to the skin. “I can’t let him pass that up,” she managed. “The whole band would lose out, too.”
“If I may make a suggestion?” When she nodded, James swiped a hand down his jaw. “Just make him a part of the decision. Don’t cut him out.”
Jasmine watched the manager stride away with a mixture of dread and shock. Don’t cut him out. But what choice did she have? She’d let her newfound confidence make her selfish, let it blind her to what would matter to Sarge. Oh God, it would kill her to let him leave, especially after deciding to give their relationship a chance, but it was the right thing. She’d gotten stuck in Hook, but no way in hell would she be the reason for Sarge doing the same. It had to end. It had to be tonight, before she gave him any false hope.
Sarge had brought some children up on stage to dance, but his gaze cut to hers swiftly, making Jasmine wonder if she’d called his name out loud. Her sinking heart must have been obvious, because his indulgent smile slipped in response. Unable to stand being this close to him and knowing what was to come, Jasmine wove through the crowd and beelined for the ladies’ room.
After seeing—feeling—the light go out of Jasmine’s eyes from across the room, their set could not have ended fast enough for Sarge. Something was wrong. He needed to find her. Now. Needed to figure out how to fix it. In the parking lot before the show, there hadn’t been a sense of loss jackhammering him in the neck. There hadn’t been a driving urgency to get Jasmine in a corner and demand to know every thought in her head. Right now, it was all he could think about.
Unfortunately, about forty people were lined up to take photos with him and shake his hand. Lita and James were speaki
ng in hushed tones behind the makeshift stage, leaving him to work the crowd alone. Any attempts to escape were thwarted, though, as he received unnecessary gratitude for putting on the show, for bringing presents for the children. He mumbled his way through it, scribbling his signature on everything from baseball caps to church programs. When he finally managed to break free, he strode for the back hallway where he’d seen Jasmine disappear during their third song, but his progress ground to a halt when his sister, River, snagged his attention.
River looked…distressed. In a way he’d never seen her. And when she directed it straight at him, Sarge knew exactly what it was about. It only took a few seconds for them to meet halfway in a quiet corner of the hall, but it took her twice as long to start speaking. It alarmed him, the way she couldn’t seem to draw a decent breath. “Riv—”
“How could you do that, Sarge?” She covered her mouth with a cupped palm. “You shouldn’t have. I-I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”
River pulled away when Sarge tried to lay a hand on her arm, so he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “What happened?”
“Vaughn. He left me a voicemail. At the church with Adeline, since he doesn’t have my home number anymore.” She paused, as if replaying the message in her head. “It was short, but he said you overnighted him a letter.”
God, had it only been a couple days since he’d sent that letter? It felt like a month had passed. “When things ended between you and Vaughn… River, he didn’t even know you were pregnant.”
“It didn’t matter. I still doesn’t. Do you think I want to be with someone who doesn’t want me?” River’s gaze found Marcy across the room where she stood, watching the big kids test out tambourines. “I was going to do right by Marcy with or without Vaughn—and I have. I’ve done the best I can.”
Sarge grasped her shoulders. “You’ve done unbelievable, Riv. Marcy is just…she’s everything.” He dipped down so their eyes were level. “But we’ve known Vaughn a long time. Or we used to. The guy I remember would want to know you were struggling. He would be sick knowing you were doing this all alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she said, visibly upset by his words. “I have friends. Good people around me who love my daughter and help when they can.”
It hurt when River didn’t mention him, but he camouflaged it. “The money I send you goes straight into a college fund. You don’t even use it.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “You shouldn’t have to work two jobs. You shouldn’t be so exhausted.”
She twisted away on an uncharacteristic curse, then came back. “Who told you all this? About the night job?”
“Adeline. Who else?”
His attempt at levity died a quick death, River still looking shaken. “You didn’t see him when he came back from overseas. He’s not the same person he was in high school.” She hiccuped into her wrist. “And now he’s on his way to Hook.”
“What?” Sarge shook his head, pressure weighing down on him, pushing him toward the floor. “No, I asked him to…call you. Or write back. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast.”
The fight went out of River, and that wounded Sarge more than anything. “You know, there was a little part of me that imagined Vaughn running back once he knew. Wanting to be a father for Marcy.” She stared at something invisible over his shoulder. “But it’s too late for that. Way too late. Worse…that might not even be what he wants. That’s what will hurt the worst.”
“I’m sorry.” Sarge pulled his sister into a hug, but her arms remained slack at her sides. “I didn’t think it through, River. I thought I was helping.” When River didn’t respond, he tightened his hold. “But I’ll be here now to help. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t want to use the money, fine. You’ll have me. I’ll get the hang of babysitting.”
River pulled away. “What are you saying?”
He gestured toward the packed church hall. “I’m staying in Hook.”
“For me and Marcy?”
“Well, yeah.” That would be enough reason. His sister needed his help, and he’d been absent too long. He hoped with every fiber of his being he would be staying for Jasmine, too. But he didn’t know yet. She hadn’t decided if she wanted anything permanent with him. Fuck, that uncertainty opened a fresh pothole in his sternum. “Yeah, Riv. I want to be here for you guys.”
“No.” Based on his sister’s expression, she’d surprised them both with the denial. “No. I want to do this on my own, Sarge. I need to, okay? I was reliant on our parents, then Vaughn…and when they left for Florida, all I had was me. And I was weak. But I’m not weak now. That’s why I don’t use your money, because I’m proving myself. I’m proud of what I’ve managed to accomplish alone.” She swiped at a tear on her cheek. “So…no. I don’t want you moving here to save me. I’m saving myself.”
The pothole in his chest deepened. “Riv, I—”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.” She squeezed his forearm. “I really hope you’ll come visit. But you need to get back out there and make us proud, okay? Show Marcy what can happen if she dreams big.”
Maybe Sarge should’ve taken his sister’s rejection in the spirit it was intended. River didn’t have a mean bone in her body, and on some level, he understood why she needed to prove herself. Of course he did. But in the wake of Jasmine pushing him away, all he heard was another person he loved saying…leave. They didn’t need or want him. His staying in Hook wasn’t a positive, but a negative. A burden. God, weren’t they kind of right? He’d waltzed into town like a hero trying to solve River’s problems, deceiving Jasmine by proposing a purely physical relationship, when in actuality, he’d been in love with her from the start. Jesus. Maybe they were right.
Maybe he should do everyone a favor and get gone.
Jasmine chose that moment to fill his vision, so goddamn pretty in her red dress and stockings, it choked him up. And that was before he saw her expression. Once he took in her sympathy and distress, swallowing became impossible. She really didn’t even need to say a word for him to catch the drift. Over. They were over. She didn’t want him hanging around, same as his family.
“Sarge, can we talk now?”
His laughter was jagged. “Listen, Jas. I’m just going to save you the trouble, all right? I’ll leave. I’m out.” Her confused frown baffled him. Shouldn’t she look relieved? Dammit, he didn’t have the right to feel angry. This fantasy scenario of being part of his family again, settling down with the girl of his dreams? That’s all it was. A fantasy fabricated in his head, while everyone built lives without him. He had no right being mad they wanted to keep what they’d built. But he was mad. His gut felt torn down the middle with it. “Is there something else you’re waiting for me to say? Is there something I haven’t said over and fucking over since I got here? There’s nothing left but good-bye, right?”
Ah shit, just saying good-bye while looking at Jasmine was eating him alive. He had to get out of there now. Before he did something insane, like press his face against her legs and ask what else he could have done. Yeah…yeah, he had to walk toward the door, get in his van, and find a place to hole up. Couldn’t let everything rush in on him right now, or Jasmine would only feel guiltier than she already looked. He hated that guilt. Wanted to kiss it off her face, but would never get that chance again.
Something hard and leather pressed against Sarge’s palm, and he looked down to find his guitar case, Lita in his periphery. For the second time that night, he was grateful to the drummer. Holding his guitar proved to be the push he needed to give Jasmine one final memorizing look before exiting into the dark chill of night.
Chapter Fifteen
As far as Christmas mornings went, this one was somber as hell.
Following tradition, Jasmine had shown up at River’s house to watch Marcy open presents before spending the rest of the holiday with her parents. She hadn’t had a chance to speak with her best friend since Sarge’s departure last night, but it was obvious they were bot
h making a Herculean effort to stay positive for Marcy’s sake. Currently, the three-year-old was tearing through wrapping paper with glee as River followed with a black trash bag.
Jasmine felt like she’d been covered in cement. Her movements felt sluggish, and no number of commands sent to her brain could hasten them. She’d managed to wait five full minutes after Sarge blew out of the church hall before leaving herself—and it had been a rapid downhill shot from there. Her eyes felt like they’d been rubbed raw with sand she’d cried so much. Huge, racking sobs that reminded her of a devastated child, which wasn’t so far off. Years seemed to have been stripped away, leaving her bare, with no experience to pull from.
How did she go about getting over this? How did anyone? If she ever found the wherewithal to speak to anyone about the loss that was caving in her stomach, what would they say? Probably that it would get easier in degrees. Well, the next degree over from her current state was still bereft. So was the degree after that. And the one beside that. So Jasmine was pretty sure she’d be living inside this swamp of pummeling pain a good, long while.
River handed her a cup of eggnog with nutmeg sprinkled on top, but she only stared down into it without drinking. “Thanks.”
“Are you all right?” River asked.
“Are you?”
They stared at each other until Marcy bounced over, flushed from excitement. “Who are these ones from, Mom?” She handed two silver-wrapped presents to River and brushed her loose curls back. “Can I open it?”
River checked the tag. “They’re from Uncle Sarge…they were delivered yesterday. One for you and one for me.” She turned the packages over in her hands. “And these are extra presents, Marcy. Uncle Sarge already bought you the guitar.”
Marcy whooped. “Thank you, Uncle Sarge.”
A line formed between River’s brows, reminding Jasmine so much of Sarge she felt pricks behind her eyelids. With more eagerness than she had the right to feel, Jasmine watched mother and daughter open the packages from Sarge, watched them smile at what they found. Matching bomber jackets with the Old News logo on the back, their names stitched over the pocket. River stared down at hers while Marcy worked her arms into the sleeves. “We’ll have to send him a thank-you card when he gets back to L.A. If he’s not already there.”