The Has-Been and the Hot Mess

by Isabel Jordan

  But she wasn’t looking at him when she said it. He needed her to be looking him right in the eye when she told him her time here was just her doing her job.

  So, he reached out and gently—very, very gently—tipped her chin his way. “Hey,” he said softly. “Is that all it was? Your job?”

  Her eyes lifted to his slowly, and she swallowed hard. “No,” she admitted in a voice so soft it wasn’t much more than a whisper.

  “It hasn’t just been about work for me, either,” he said.

  “You were really amazing tonight,” she said shyly.

  He smiled. “Thank you. So were you.”

  Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. “I make bad decisions,” she blurted. “All the time.”

  He nodded. “I do, too.”

  Another visible swallow. “I fall almost exclusively for the wrong type of man.”

  “Maybe that’s because you just haven’t met the right kind yet?”

  She blinked at him a few times before saying, “You’re my client.”

  “I could fire you, if that would make you feel better,” he said, totally bluffing. He’d never fire her. She was too good at what she did.

  Her snort-laugh made him chuckle. “You better not. Especially not when all my hard work is so close to paying off.”

  “I like you, Kendall,” he admitted. “I like you a lot. You’re not nearly as messed up as you think you are. In fact, I think you’re pretty amazing.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. And I want to get to know you a lot better. See where this thing between us goes. Are you up for that?”

  She wanted to say yes. He could see it in her eyes. But past experience had her shaking her head. “I don’t know. I’m scared. I hate admitting that, but I am.”

  Jackson reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s OK to be scared. You scare the crap out of me, too. But the thought of letting you go without ever exploring this thing between us is scarier. For me, at least. Maybe you don’t agree?”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the squawking of her phone again. “You should get that,” he told her. “Maybe it’s important.”

  Kendall frowned as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s my sister. She almost never calls me.” She swiped up to accept the call. “Annabeth? What’s going on?”

  Jackson could hear Annabeth’s panicked, super-loud voice clearly as she said, “Kenny, dad had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital right now. Saint Anne’s. I think you should come. Now.”

  Kendall’s wide-eyed gaze flew to his, and her hand shook as she finished the call with her sister and disconnected. “I need to make a plane reservation. And a hotel reservation. And arrange for a rental car. I need to find Ray and tell him what’s going on. I need—”

  He grabbed her hands as Howard Hughes lifted his head and whined, clearly picking up on Kendall’s distress. “Hey, just calm down, OK? I’ll make all the arrangements. You just go pack a bag with anything you’ll need for the next few days, yeah?”

  She looked unsure. Confused and so scared that Jackson actually felt her pain in his own chest. “Trust me,” he said. “I’ll take care of you. Can you let me do that?”

  He’d like to say her answer didn’t mean the world to him. But it did.

  After a breathless eternity, she nodded and said, “Yes. Please.”

  He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “You won’t regret it.”

  And even if he had to move heaven and earth, Jackson would make sure she never regretted trusting him.

  Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up.

  Chapter 23

  Kendall had always assumed her fear of flying extended to all air travel. As it turned out, chartered helicopters were not the same as prop planes, and chartered private jets were way better than commercial air travel.

  Who knew, right?

  But honestly, almost everything after getting the call about her father was a blur. She’d moved like a zombie, packing random clothes (she’d be lucky if she had clean underwear when she opened her luggage), scooping everything on the bathroom sink into her bag, and giving Ray half-assed instructions on what to do with Jackson’s social media while she was in transit.

  While she did all that, Jackson had arranged for a helicopter to land on his property and whisk them to the airport, where a plane sat, fueled and ready to take them to Indianapolis.

  And yes, she meant them, not her, because Jackson was still with her. He’d been with her, holding her hand during the somewhat bumpy helicopter ride. He’d let her sleep (and probably drool) on his shoulder on the plane.

  And now, he was carrying her bag and his in one hand while he wrapped his free arm around her waist to usher her into the hospital.

  She hadn’t asked him to come with her, but here he was. His solid presence was pretty much the only thing that’d kept her sane on the journey. She wouldn’t have made it on her own.

  But before she could tell him so, she was mobbed the second she set foot in the cardiac waiting room. Her mom and Annabeth fell into her arms, and it was all she could do to remain on her feet while she hugged them both back.

  “Thank God you’re here,” her mother whispered in her ear. “Honey, it’s so good to see you.”

  Kendall tightened her hold, suddenly fighting back tears.

  When they all disengaged, Annabeth looked past Kendall at Jackson, and her mouth dropped comically open.

  “Holy fucking underwear model,” she blurted, and not with her inside voice. “Is he with you?”

  Jackson chuckled, but Kendall frowned at her. “And why is that so hard to believe?”

  Annabeth shook her head, looking dazed. “I mean, I’ve met every boy you’ve brought home since your first date, and not one of them looked like this.”

  Her mom finally seemed to notice Jackson too, but she only blinked up at him.

  Kendall sighed. This was going to be a long day. “Annabeth, this is Jackson Hale. Jackson, this is my sister Annabeth. Jackson is my…” Object of lust? Unholy obsession? Walking wet dream?

  “Boyfriend,” Jackson interrupted, giving Annabeth his million-dollar smile. “At least, that’s what I’m trying to be. She’s been difficult to win over, though.”

  Kendall snorted. He could’ve had her flat on her back with her legs up in the air the minute they first met if he’d really wanted to. He was like the fucking Borg. Resistance was futile.

  (And no, she wasn’t at all embarrassed by her knowledge of Star Trek villains. Her nerd knowledge was beyond reproach and she wouldn’t apologize for it.)

  But since she didn’t see the point of sharing that info with her sister or with Jackson, she turned to her mom. “Mom, Jackson made it possible for me to get here a full day faster than any commercial flight could’ve managed. Jackson, this is Lilian Quinn, my mom.”

  Jackson took her mom’s tiny outstretched hand and sandwiched it between his own huge, calloused paws, giving her a warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I wish it could’ve been under better circumstances.”

  Her mom didn’t say anything for a moment. Just frowned up at him with a question in her eyes. Eventually, she let go of his hand and pointed her index finger at him. “I know you! You’re the sweaty boy with the tattoos on the poster in Kendall’s room!”

  Well, that was a showstopper, wasn’t it?

  Every eye in the waiting room turned to Kendall and Jackson at that point, and Kendall had to fight the urge to face-palm. Jackson tipped his head in her direction and his lips quirked up in a cocky smile that simultaneously made her want to kiss the crap out of him and nut-punch him.

  “Oh, really?” he asked, drawing the really out for several extra syllables.

  She waved him off even as she felt a monumental blush rising to her cheeks. “Don’t let it go to your head. I already told you I was a Maelstrom fan. What of it?”


  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you were a Jackson Hale fan specifically.”

  “Oh my God!” Annabeth cried. “You’re Jackson Hale!”

  “Well, welcome to the conversation, Annabeth,” Kendall snarked testily. “OK, let’s just move this along, shall we? Yes, he’s hot. Yes, he was the lead singer of Maelstrom. Yes, I had his poster on my wall when I was fif-fucking-teen. Are we done now? Can someone tell me how dad is doing?”

  “He’s in the cath lab,” her mother answered. “They’re doing an angioplasty to open up his clogged arteries. We should know more in an hour or so.”

  Annabeth snorted. “It’s gonna take more than that. If they’re hoping to open up dad’s arteries, they’d better call Roto-Rooter and break out the big guns, because there’s probably seventy years’ worth of double bacon cheeseburgers in there.”

  No lies detected on that one. Their dad was a huge fan of bacon, lard, and grease. If burgers had a fan club, Sam Quinn would be president.

  “Is everyone just going to leave me here to rot all by myself?”

  All eyes turned to the disgruntled old man bellowing from his spot in the corner of the waiting room, a forgotten copy of Men’s Health hanging from his gnarled fingers.

  Her mom rolled her eyes. “We’re right here, dad. No one left you all by yourself.”

  Kendall raised a brow at Annabeth. “You brought grandpa? Why the hell would you do that?”

  Annabeth raised her hands in surrender. “It wasn’t me. He was at mom’s house when dad got sick. She brought him.”

  “It’s not like I had a choice,” their mother said under her breath. “He got kicked out of the assisted living facility.”

  “Jesus, again?” Kendall asked.

  “He’s been banned by every facility in this half of the state. We might have to ship him to Ohio at this point,” Annabeth grumbled.

  “Oh, it’s fine, Lilian,” the grumpy old bastard in question groused. Loudly. “Don’t worry about me. You just keep up your conversation and leave me in this corner like a dying, potted ficus, surrounded by degenerates and losers.”

  The “degenerates and losers” (a.k.a.: The other loved ones in the waiting room) were not amused by Kendall’s, um, quirky grandfather.

  Kendall went over and leaned in to give him a hug. “Hi, grandpa. It’s good to see you. It’s been a while, huh?”

  He gave her a quick pat on the back (he’d never been much of a hugger) and harrumphed into her hair before she pulled back. “Heard you got fired from your fancy job in California,” he said.

  “Heard you got kicked out of another nursing home,” she shot back. “What’d you do this time?”

  “Nothing they can prove!” He sniffed. “That medical-grade pot could’ve been anyone’s.”

  Oh-kay.

  His gazed shifted past her to Jackson. “Your boyfriend looks like a criminal. Or a hippie.” He shuddered as if he’d rather have his granddaughter end up with a criminal than a hippie.

  Kendall rolled her eyes. “Jackson, this is my grandad, Frank Quinn. Grandad, this is Jackson. He’s—”

  Grandad waved her off and pointed his cane at Jackson. “Which are you—criminal or hippie?”

  Jackson pondered it a moment before answering, “I’m a musician.”

  “Ah, God,” the old man muttered, shaking his head. “That’s even worse. He turned back to Kendall. “Watch your purse. He’ll steal your money to buy crack.”

  “Says the man who got thrown out of his nursing home for dealing pot. Again,” she reminded him. “I should probably watch my purse around you.”

  Jackson, who’d been a real trouper and had been biting his tongue the whole time, lost it at that point. He let out a belly laugh that got the attention of everyone in the room and half the nurses’ station outside it.

  That laugh, in combination with the memories of his kiss and how he’d sounded singing directly to her at the concert (because he had been singing to her, that much was clear) did things to Kendall. Naughty, dirty things that she had no business thinking about in front of her mother, sister, and 92-year-old grandfather.

  When he was finally able to compose himself, Jackson swiped at his watering eyes and dropped an arm around her shoulders. "So much of your personality now makes perfect sense to me,” he said.

  Well, that couldn’t be good. “Which part?” she asked warily. “The sister and mother who blurt out inappropriate comments at the worst possible moment, or the grandpa who gets thrown out of a different care facility every month?”

  “All of it. And here you thought you were messed up. The way I see it, you’re more put together than you have any right to be.”

  Well, wasn’t that just a bar you could stub your toe on while trying to clear?

  Jackson wasn’t a guy who got jealous easily. He’d had a great career, had plenty of money, and he had his health. What did he have to complain about?

  But, he was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that watching Kendall with her family made him a little jealous. Even though he was glad she’d grown up with this crew, he couldn’t help but wish he and Ray had been raised similarly.

  Because even as Annabeth and Grandpa Frank razzed Kendall about her work and her love life, and even as Lilian grilled her about where she was going to live and when she was going to settle down and get married, he could tell that these people adored her unconditionally. She could call on any one of them, day or night, and they’d be there for her. They might tease her and wouldn’t hesitate to call her on her bullshit, but they’d be there. And Kendall loved them back with equal ferocity.

  Other than Ray, had he ever had that kind of love and devotion in his life?

  Jackson didn’t think so. The guys in the band had been his colleagues, not friends. They were all fairly self-serving and opportunistic. None of them would’ve gone out of their way for him. And that feeling had been largely mutual.

  Back in the day, his record label had devoted an entire staff to the band and to him personally, making sure he had everything he needed. But they didn’t really care about him. Only that he was able to keep making them money. They weren’t concerned with how sick or strung out he was. As long as he could sing and look good on stage, that was enough for them.

  Jesus. He had to pull himself together. This little pity party certainly wasn’t going to do him any good.

  He glanced over at Kendall, who was leaning forward in her chair, listening to Annabeth tell a very animated story about a parent-teacher conference she’d recently had.

  Jackson liked Annabeth. She was hilarious and sharp, and had a way of making him feel welcome without being overly solicitous.

  She was cute, too. A little shorter and curvier than Kendall, Annabeth had wide-set blue eyes, a cute little freckled nose, and an unruly mop of auburn curls that looked like they were moving even when she was standing still. She made Jackson wish he knew some straight single guys he could fix her up with.

  Lilian looked like Kendall thirty-or-so years from now. She had the same sharpness in her eyes, too. When Lilian looked at him, he felt like she was silently calculating the odds of whether or not he was going to eventually marry her daughter. Or she was calculating his sperm count and ability to give her grandchildren. He wasn’t sure which.

  And Grandpa Frank…ah, Grandpa Frank. He was in his nineties but looked way older. He had fluffy, iron-gray, Albert Einstein hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in years, and a carved-oak cane he liked to smack people in the shins with when he felt ignored.

  Jackson would likely have a few dandy bruises by morning.

  How in the hell had he—the boy who grew up in a trailer park in middle-of-nowhere Texas, former drug addict, disgraced rock star—manage to end up here, with these good, hardworking, normal people? Did he even deserve to hope to one day be part of a family like this one?

  That’s when Kendall caught his eye and gave him a slow smile that damn-near stopped his heart and made all his doubts and insecurities
fade away.

  Well, that settled it. He was exactly where he needed to be.

  Chapter 24

  Jackson was practically carrying Kendall into their hotel room after the longest day imaginable.

  The good news was that her dad was going to be fine. They’d managed to remove the blockages in the cath lab, and he was sleeping comfortably. He’d be able to see visitors in the morning.

  Jackson had taken Kendall and her family to dinner when the nurses on the cardiac unit kicked them out for the night. He’d answered all their questions (No, he didn’t plan to tour with Maelstrom again. No, he’d never been married. Yes, he someday wanted kids. Yes, his intentions toward Kendall were honorable—mostly, anyway. And no, he’d never done prison time. He’d been in jail a time or ten…but that wasn’t what they’d asked.) He’d also signed a few autographs and snapped a few selfies with a group of women out on the town for a bachelorette party. Then he finally, finally, dropped Kendall’s family off at home.

  Lilian had offered them her guest room for the night, but Kendall had objected so loudly and vehemently that he went ahead and made hotel reservations.

  And now, after the day from hell, Kendall was leaning heavily against his side as they walked into their suite, eyes at half-mast. Poor thing was dead on her feet.

  Jackson understood why. Her family was awesome, but exhausting.

  Kendall’s head came up at that point and she blinked at the bed. “There’s only one bed,” she said.

  “Yep,” he answered. “This is the honeymoon suite. It’s the last room they had. Apparently, there’s a Star Trek convention in town.”

  “Oh. That explains the Klingons in the lobby.”

  “I can sleep on the couch if it’d make you more comfortable,” he said. “But I promise, we’re just here to sleep. I won’t try anything. You have my word.”

  She raised a brow at him. “You mean you didn’t rent a room in a 5-star hotel, fly me out here on a private jet, and spend the day tolerating my family just to get into my pants?”