by Anne Mercier
“Summer? Darlin’?” I call out. I walk up a couple steps that lead to a decent-sized kitchen, then keep going straight down a hallway. I hear the hum of a fan and follow the noise.
The room at the end of the hall has the curtains pulled, darkening the room to shadows. When my eyes adjust, I see Summer lying in her bed, a bandage on her neck and one wrapped around her head.
My heart plummets into my stomach. Jesus. What did that motherfucker do to her?
I walk over to the bed. She’s in the middle curled up into a ball, her arm beneath her head, her breathing slow and even. I sit down next to her and she comes up swinging.
Fuck.
I grab her arm. “It’s okay, Summer. It’s me. It’s Jace. Shhh, shhh,” I soothe.
She blinks, pushing her hair out of her face. “Jace?”
“Yeah, darlin’. I heard what happened and wanted to check on you.”
She lies back down with a whimper.
“That doesn’t sound so good. Tell me what I can do,” I plead, cupping her cheek then stroking it with my thumb. I look down to her neck, the white bandage. I extend my thumb down and trace the tape holding the square piece of gauze in place.
“Ice for my head, please. And a bottle of water?” she questions.
I nod, lean down and softly kiss her forehead, lingering, my heart hammering in my chest. I wish I could take her pain.
I find a few ice packs in the freezer and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. When I get back to her room, she has one eye open and one eye closed. I grin.
“You’re reminding me of Popeye right now,” I tell her.
“I wish I were. A can of spinach would heal all my wounds and make me invincible,” she tells me with a grin of her own.
I tap out a couple of her pain pills and hand them to her, then the water. I grab a couple of the crackers she has sitting on her nightstand and begin feeding them to her. She only eats three.
“Is that enough to keep you from getting nauseous from the pills?” I question.
“It’s going to have to be. Chewing hurts,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry, Summer,” I murmur softly.
“You didn’t do anything.”
But I feel like I should have been there protecting her. How fucked up is that?
“Maybe not, but I’m still sorry you got hurt.”
I take off my boots and jeans then crawl under the covers next to her.
“What are you doing? I’m out of commission, pal,” she tells me.
“I can see that. I’m just trying to get comfortable so I can hold this ice pack right here,” I tell her as I gently put the pack in place. She lifts her head and I tuck my arm beneath it. She rests it on my arm and lets out a sigh.
“You smell good.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Mmm. Like I remember.”
It’s a dick move, but with her guard down I’m gonna get some answers.
I caress her cheek. “Why didn’t you call me, Summer?”
She stares at me, saying nothing, but I see it. The fear.
“Self preservation,” she admits.
I nod. “I can see how you’d think you needed that, but we didn’t have some meaningless weekend fuck, Summer.”
She keeps staring.
“You know it as much as I do.”
She relaxes, her eyes going soft. “You’re a rocker. Not just that, you’re a rockstar. That life is about groupies and sex. Definitely not relationships.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “Summer. Have you seen our bands? Jesse and Lucy? Cage and Sera? Ben and Nicole? It’s not about that for us. Maybe at first, but that got old real quick for me. I’m not that guy. I don’t let chicks use me so they can tell their friends they fucked me, and I don’t use them just to get off.”
She lifts a brow.
“Like I said, when we first started up it was different than it is now. That’s an empty life,” I tell her.
I take her in with her chestnut hair, olive-colored skin. Her pert little nose and lush, full lips. Those lips. I meet her blue eyes, holding her gaze, silently asking her to give me a chance.
“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. You’re constantly there. But I didn’t know your real last name. If I’d had your number, I’d have called. If I’d had your address, I’d have been right here with you,” I confess.
“But—”
“No. No more buts. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We may try this out and it might not work. On the other hand, it might be the best thing that’s happened to either of us. I’m pretty sure you’re already one of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” I confess, feeling like a total pussy, gushing like a damn chick. But I don’t give a fuck. She’s too important.
“What about your feelings for your recently-deceased wife?” she questions.
I sigh. “I’m not gonna lie. That shit’s complicated.”
She just stares.
“I’ll always love her. What we had when we were kids? That was a teenage love, one that is real but not as deep as love can go. I don’t think we have the capacity to love, truly love, until we’re adults, but that’s just me. I know I loved Sydney. Do I think if she’d have stuck around that we’d have been able to stay together?” I shrug. “I don’t know, but chances are no. Even with Kadence in the picture. We loved hard and we loved for real, but it wasn’t the forever kind of love. If it had been, she wouldn’t have left like she did and I wouldn’t have stopped chasing her.”
Much like I’m chasing you.
“I get what you’re saying, but if you aren’t still in love with her, why did you marry her?” she asks, letting herself be vulnerable.
“For a couple reasons, really. It was something we thought we were gonna do when we were younger. Get married, have kids. We kinda fucked that up the night the condom broke. If she hadn’t lied, who knows. But I married her because she deserved for me to make an honest woman out of her—lies or not. I didn’t want her to feel she was dying alone, you know? I wanted her to know that no matter what, I’d always be there and so would she. First loves and all that.”
I trail my index finger along her lower lip, then lift an arm over her and pull her close. Our breaths are mingling but we’re far enough away that we don’t go cross-eyed looking at each other.
“I wanted Kadi to have parents who’d been married. I did it because it was the right thing to do for the three of us. Would I have done it if she—God, I’m going to sound like a prick.”
“Just tell me,” she prods.
I nod. “Would I have married her if she wasn’t dying? No. I wouldn’t have. Whatever love we had, that faded. Sure, there are feelings there. How can there not be? First loves and all that. But not the kind of love that leads to marriage.”
“You didn’t sound like a prick. You were honest.”
“Yeah, but I still feel guilty admitting that out loud,” I say with a mirthless chuckle.
“I’m sleepy.”
“Sleep, darlin’. I’ll be here.”
“Why are you here, again?” she asks.
“I’m here for you,” I tell her, then kiss her lips softly. “Sleep.”
“Don’t go,” she murmurs sleepily.
“Never,” I whisper as her breath evens out.
Hell.
19
Summer
It’s two days later and he’s still here. I’ll admit, I’m grateful. I could barely move that first day. He had to help me up so I could use the restroom. It would have been embarrassing if the pain hadn’t been so excruciating.
I thought my head or neck would have been the worst of it, but it’s not. My back is bruised—inside and out, apparently. It’s also stiff as hell. Jace found my heating pad and it felt like heaven when he placed the heat against my aching muscles.
Today, I woke to the smell of Italian food. My stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten more than crackers or toast for the two days before he arrived. I managed whatever he f
ed me the last two days. He told me I needed to keep up my strength and that I was going to need it. How right he was.
I push myself up to sitting and I’m aching and stiff but not nearly as bad as I had been. My headache’s gone and my neck no longer throbs. I think I can quit the prescription medication now and just go with ibuprofen. I don’t like the way those narcotics knock me out. It makes me feel helpless, and whether Jace is here or not, it’s not something I can handle. Sure, he’s been here to help me and take care of me, but I like being in control of myself and my body. The last four days I haven’t been and I hate it. It’s time to take that control back.
I use the restroom then consider getting dressed as I stand here in my boy shorts and tank top. I veto that idea. I need a shower before I change clothes and I want food first.
I pad to the kitchen—no Jace. I hear the TV from my sitting room and freeze. Oh boy. I never even thought… I’m sure he’s wandered the house and I’m sure he’s seen the memorabilia and photos.
Letting out a sigh, I decide to face it head on. Control.
When I reach the sitting room, Jace is sitting in the recliner with a beer, watching football. It must be Sunday. I lost track.
He looks over at me and immediately stands, walking toward me.
“How are you feeling, darlin’?”
My girlie parts tingle. I love when he calls me darlin’.
“Sore and stiff but not as bad as it was yesterday,” I answer.
He kisses my forehead. “Good. I cooked.”
“It smells delicious.”
“I just have to cook up the noodles and garlic bread,” he says, then heads to the kitchen.
I gingerly and painstakingly take a seat on one of the bar stools at the island separating the kitchen from the dining area. I watch as he moves around the kitchen with familiarity and ease and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Grateful? Yes. Frightened? Yes.
He puts the water on to boil then the oven to bake before bringing a loaf of thick bread to the other side of the island. He reaches for a small bowl that smells like garlic.
“You made that?” I ask, eyeing the garlic butter.
He nods. “I did. I like to cook. I forgot how much.”
“I suppose, you’ve got people to do that for you now.”
He pauses. “I do, but it’s relaxing for me. Want something to drink?”
“Yeah. Any of the juices. I don’t care which,” I answer.
“You’ve got a very healthy refrigerator,” he tells me, handing me a bottle of orange-pineapple juice.
I take a long drink. The tangy liquid quenches my thirst. It’s exactly what I needed. I drink the entire bottle and let out a breath of satisfaction.
He lifts a brow. “Thirsty?”
I nod. “Could you hand me a water, please?”
He reaches over and grabs a bottled water from the fridge, hands it to me, and goes back to slathering the butter over the bread.
“Thanks.”
He nods. “Toasted bread or soft?”
“Toasted.”
He nods. “Good choice.” He cuts the bread into square wedges then arranges it neatly on a baking sheet. In the oven it goes.
“You’re pretty handy,” I tell him.
He smirks and I roll my eyes. But inside I’m remembering just how good he is with those hands, those calloused fingers. Mmm. He gives me a knowing look. Damn it.
“Where’s Kadi?”
“I popped in to see her earlier. She’s been spending time with her ‘gentle giant’ and Princess Sera.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Really?”
He nods and smiles. “She absolutely loves Sera and Cage. She took to them right away.”
“How is she with the others?” I question, taking a drink of my water.
He leans on the island, resting on his forearms. “It depends on who it is. She likes Lucy. Lucy’s been helping me get into a routine with Kadi. She really likes Kennedy, Xander, and Ethan. They play with her a lot. They even had a tea party.” He grins.
“No way. Oh,” I giggle, “what I’d pay to see that.”
“Yeah?” he asks and I still.
“You have pictures! Let me see!”
He’s laughing now. “Not just pictures—video.”
“Oh my God! You have to let me see,” I demand.
He pulls out his phone, finds what he’s looking for, but hesitates on giving it to me. He lifts a brow—he does that a lot and it’s sexy every single time.
“We’ll work out payment later,” he tells me. His eyes lock on mine and a shiver slithers down my spine. His eyes are filled with promises, sexual promises, promises I know he can deliver on.
I hold my hand out for the phone, not moving my gaze from his, and he places it in my hand. It takes a lot for me to look away, for me not to ask him to deliver on those promises right now, but I manage.
I look at the photos and laugh. I laugh so hard it hurts. And the video—dear God the video. Three big, bad rockstars sitting around a little pink table that holds the cookies and teapot. Little Princess Kadi pouring tea into their little tea cups and then they take a sip out of their cups, pinkies held out to the side.
"This is too good," I tell him, tears running down my face, my stomach aching from laughing.
"I'm considering leaking it to the press," Jace tells me with a laugh and a wiggle of his eyebrows.
"That would be amazing—like the one of Xander with the babies," I tell him nodding. "It humanizes you all, you know?"
He nods back. "Exactly. I like people to think of me as more than a rockstar or an idol or whatever the fuck they think I am." He reaches into the oven to take out the bread. "I make music. I make music that millions like, but beyond that? I'm just a man."
"A man who's had his world turned upside down in the last month," I remind him.
He chuckles. "That's putting it mildly.” He pours the noodles into a colander, a plume of steam rising. He shakes out the excess water, looks over his shoulder. “But I’m making it work. I like having a kid and I couldn’t ask for better. Syd may have fucked up keeping her from me all these years, but she did a damn good job raising her.”
“She’s a beautiful little girl, Jace. I really mean that. Her sweet face matches her personality,” I admit.
“Mind if I…?” he asks, motioning to the meal. He wants to plate my meal. That’s so sweet.
“Please.”
He reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out two already-prepared salads and, what I assume to be, a homemade dressing. Wow. He plates our meals and sets them on the island, hands me a couple napkins, and sits on the stool next to mine.
“I thought about wine, but with your meds you can’t drink,” he tells me, taking a drink of his beer.
“If I didn’t feel like I’d gone ten rounds with King Kong, I might take you up on the wine, but for now I’m good with water,” I admit.
“Your back feel any better?” he asks between bites of his salad.
“Mmm,” I hum chewing. “Some. It’s achy and stiff.”
He nods, his jaw clenching. “I imagine it is.”
“I’m fine, Jace,” I say, trying to placate him. I hear the anger in his tone.
“You’re not. Don’t bullshit me, Summer. That’s one thing I’m not okay with.”
I turn to look at him, chewing.
“You don’t bullshit me. I don’t bullshit you. No sugar coating. Just straight up honesty. If that’s not something you can handle, you’re gonna have to learn,” he tells me, spinning some pasta around his fork.
“Pardon me?” I ask, thinking I heard him incorrectly.
“You heard me. I want this. Us. Whatever it is. I want to see where it goes. Honesty is part of that. There’s no bending on that. I won’t stand for lies—big, small, white, black. None of it,” he informs me.
“Is that so?” I ask, bristling. I never agreed to anything—not yet anyway.
“You want this, too. If you say you don
’t, then you’re a damn liar.”
“Wow. You’re kinda being a dick right now. Not exactly the way to a woman’s heart, you know?” I snark.
He nods. “This is who I am. I know what I want and how I want it. I just spelled it out. Don’t lie to yourself and say you don’t want this too. I know you want me to be honest with you. Honesty and trust go hand-in-hand. Without one you can’t have the other and without trust, there’s no point.”
I let that sink in as I fork up some pasta. He’s right.
“Oh my God,” I say around my food. “This is so good! Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“We had a cook,” he admits, his cheeks pinking up.
That embarrasses him? Admitting he comes from a privileged home? Interesting.
“And your cook taught you?” I prod.
“Yep. He made the best damn food and I wanted to learn how to do that. I figured if I didn’t make it as a musician, I could be a chef somewhere, but that didn’t work out.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got a lot of questions tonight.”
I shrug.
“After Sydney left, I was in a bad way. I started running with the wrong crowd, partying, doing drugs, fucking anyone that would let me. I thought it would help, and it did while I was fucked up, but sober I was still fucked up. So I stayed that way. We spent a shit load of cash on drugs and when we ran out, we broke into the houses of our parents’ rich friends and took whatever cash we could find,” he admits, not looking up from his plate.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” I admit. Honesty.
He nods. “Not my best moments. Anyway, we got nailed one day, in someone’s house. They had a silent alarm we didn’t know about. Cops came and hauled us in. My old man came to the jail and told me either I clean up my shit, graduate, go work for him, and go to college or he’d let me sit in jail.”
“Wow.”
“Father of the year he is not,” Jace tells me.
“Yeah, I’d say. So you did what he said, leaving everything you wanted in the dust,” I say out loud.
He turns his head and looks at me. “I was in that jail cell wondering who the hell I’d become. We didn’t just smoke weed. We dabbled into coke and some X. I wasn’t that guy. So I left all the baggage behind and started over. Clean slate.”
