“Do you know what it’s like to live a lifetime telling yourself you can’t have something? Then when you unexpectedly have it at your fingertips—when you touch it, when you experience it, when you realize you were completely wrong—you struggle with refuting every reason you’ve ever used to convince yourself otherwise?”

  Our tear-blurred eyes meet each other’s, and when she nods, a tear slips down her cheek. “I do,” she whispers. “I’ve felt that way almost every day since you left my window that night.”

  You started this decade of hurt, Vin. It’s up to you to finish it, one way or another.

  I clear my throat. “I had my reasons.” Reasons that feel so meaningless now.

  “I know you did.”

  “I’ve tried to let you go more times than I can count, Bristol. I’ve tried desperately. The first time I walked away because I had no choice. The second time, the night we made Jagger, I realized that cutting you out of my life was the only way I could survive. I couldn’t bear the thought of tarnishing your perfect with my shit. I couldn’t give you anything. I could only give you love but never keep you.”

  Those words.

  “I think maybe I was doing the same, in my own way, on my end.” She shakes her head ever so slightly. “Like you told me, I’m impossible to love.”

  “No, that’s not true. I said those words, but that’s more because of me, about me, than you. I’m impossible to love. I think . . . I need time. This is all too much. Too fast. I’m trying to figure out how to move forward without dragging all those reasons with me.” I draw in a deep breath. “To make amends with my demons, and there are a lot of fucking demons.”

  “There is no pressure on our end. He doesn’t know that you’re his dad. I don’t want your money. I don’t want anything from you. You’re under no obligation to be in our lives.” She clears her throat and sets her jaw. “When things calm down, Jagger and I can leave, go back to our lives. I’ll find a new job. I’ll get into law school. We’ll move on, and you can do the same. We can put out a press release about your dad being wrong. Say we did a paternity test that agrees and call it a day.”

  Good in theory, but that would never fly. The paparazzi are ruthless. It only takes one of them to dig up a picture of me as a kid and compare it to Jagger’s school picture they’re no doubt paying some classmate’s parent for right now and they’d know we were lying.

  Her words press on a deep wound, though. They hurt in a way I never thought words could—and that’s saying a shit ton considering Deegan Jennings is my father.

  “How can you say that? Do you really think that’s who I am? That that’s the type of man I am?”

  “No, but I also know you have a life that has nothing to do with this. With me. With him. You have a career that you want to go back to. A public who adores you.” She shrugs but can’t meet my eyes. “I heard you on the phone earlier. The single is releasing next week, and I’m sure you’re itching to go promote it. To get on a stage in front of people. To travel without strings. I don’t . . . I won’t fault you for choosing those things over this. Just because I chose this for you, doesn’t mean you have to do the same. I won’t think less of you for it.”

  But I would.

  “Bristol—”

  She reaches out and puts her hand to my lips and shushes me. “Don’t make decisions now. We’ve unpacked a lot of shit and still have more to go . . . but it’s a start, and that’s further than we’ve ever gotten before.” She rises, her beautiful body tempting me as she stands over me. “Don’t give me that look.” She smiles for the first time all night. “We’ve never had a problem with the physical. But we’ve used it to ignore everything else. This time we can’t.”

  She’s right, but it still doesn’t stop me from staring and wanting.

  “I know,” I murmur.

  “The ball is in your court. I won’t push. I won’t question. I’ll stay out of the way so you can spend time with Jagg. We’ll go from there, if and when you want to.” She grabs her clothes then stops at the door. We stare at each other for a few seconds. You’d have to be blind not to see the love in her eyes. The same love I pretended not to see in the past. The same love I’ve always felt for her. “Good night, Vince.”

  I lie there on the rug, staring at the ceiling till the early morning hours, replaying the conversation in my head.

  We’ll go from there, if and when you want to.

  Has there ever really been a choice when it comes to her?

  Never.

  It’s always been her, even when I didn’t want it to be.

  Even more so now when I hold our son and see the best of us in him.

  Now I need to convince myself I’m worthy of it. Now I need to try my damnedest to be the man they deserve me to be . . .

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Bristol

  “And?”

  “And what, Mom?”

  “I’ve heard all about the fun things that Jagger is getting to do—swimming and kayaking and learning to play the guitar—but you’re not telling me about you. About Vince. About how it’s going in general . . . if it’s going at all.”

  I sigh and then smile as Jagger’s and Vince’s mutual laughter carries over to me from where they’re huddled in the fort they built. It’s a tent with a cardboard box set as a tunnel entrance to fight off space invaders—meaning girls—since only boys can enter. “He’s really good with him, Mom. Like I wonder how this is something he didn’t want when he is so completely natural with him.”

  “He was scared of repeating the cycle. Maybe he’s seeing that it’s something you choose, not something you’re ordained to be.”

  “It hurts in the best way possible to watch them together. To realize how much Jagg needed a male figure in his life. I tried to be that for him, but there is no substitute for the real thing.”

  “Do you think Jagger has any clue who Vince is?”

  “On some subconscious level, maybe, but otherwise, no.”

  “But he likes him?”

  “Who doesn’t like Vince?” I ask. McMann had one thing right—they wanted him everywhere—and right now, thanks to that viral video from San Francisco, he’s freaking everywhere. And instead of being out promoting his new single, he’s here, with us. With Jagger.

  Actions speak louder than words and right now those actions are unmistakable. He loves Jagger. He might not be able to recognize it, but it’s clear as day for those of us watching from afar.

  I’m just trying not to get my hopes up about what the future holds.

  “True.” She clears her throat. “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Where does everything stand?”

  “The ball is in his court. How can it not be given the situation?”

  “But you’ve talked about everything?”

  “Yes and no.” I know that answer is going to frustrate her so I elaborate. “I blindsided him, Mom. I ripped the rug out from underneath him, so I have no choice but to stand back and let him find his footing.”

  “But how are you?”

  I sniffle. “I don’t have a right to be anything. You told me when I made the decision that Vince had a right to know. In hindsight, yes, he did, but I can’t live looking backward. All I can hope is that he feels the same way. For Jagger’s sake.”

  “And for yours.”

  I nod but she can’t see it. “Jagger is who matters right now. What’s best for him is what I am focused on.”

  “You’re worried he’s going to walk away, aren’t you?”

  “I’m worried because that’s always what Vince does when things get too tough. But then I see them together—their smiles, their laughter, their bond after only two weeks—and I can’t help but hold out hope. I can’t help but see a future.”

  “Maybe in some skewed way, Jagger will prove to Vince that he is enough. Maybe that will be all he needs to stop running.”

  “Is that enough to overcome years of thinking otherwise?” I sigh. I’m so sick of thinking about this, worrying about this, obsessing about this. I would say I just want my life back to the way it was, but then I stop and take stock and realize this has been a taste of what it could be. I don’t know what’s worse though. Having a taste of it and then it being yanked away or never knowing what it’s like at all.

  “He’ll forgive you,” she murmurs.

  But I want more than forgiveness. Every minute that we’re here, that I watch him with our son, I fall more in love with him. More than I already was.

  Forgiveness is just a small part of the whole that I want. That we deserve.

  But I can’t tell him that. I can’t add that pressure when I’ve already created enough.

  All I can do is stand by with my heart in my hands and wait to see if he still wants it. If he still wants us.

  “I can hope.”

  “He’s a good man, Bristol. He just needs to see it. Once he does, he’ll be everything you need and more.”

  And if he doesn’t?

  That’s the question I’m afraid to put words to.

  “Momma?”

  I startle and look to my right where Jagger is getting a piggyback ride from Vince. “I have to go,” I say to my mom. “What’s up, buddy?” I make sure to focus on Jagger instead of Vince.

  “We’re going to go out on the boat.”

  “Oh, okay.” I smile. The boat ride has become their daily adventure together. They explore inlets. They stop, dock, and get ice cream cones at the store on the other side of the lake. They jump off in the middle of it and pretend they are pirates. They sing music at the top of their lungs. Funny enough, the songs that Jagger asks to be repeated over and over are Bent songs. Songs he’s told Vince he knows from watching them on television with me. “Do you need me to get you some snacks for the trip? Some sunscreen?”

  “No, I want you to go with us,” he says.

  “Oh.” My smile falters as I figure out how to extricate myself from their time together. I’ve managed pretty well thus far, having excuses on the ready so that Jagger doesn’t feel like I don’t want to go with them, but rather that I simply can’t for one reason or another. The last thing Jagger needs is to sense tension between us or for Vince to feel like I’m forcing his hand. “Thanks, buddy, but I’ve got some studying to do. My old professor offered to help—”

  “Studying can wait, can’t it?” Vince asks. “We want you to come with us.”

  “Vince?” I meet his eyes.

  “I want you to come with us.” He nods, almost as if telling me this is the start of whatever might be next for whatever this is.

  At least I think that’s what he’s telling me.

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “I’m sure.”

  His words hit me in the best way. They weave into my soul and wrap around my heart. They tell me this just might be the beginning I had hoped for instead of the ending I’ve worried about.

  “Okay.”

  “Yay! Momma’s coming with us.”

  The ride is everything I thought it would be from my observations on the shore. A lot of Jagger pointing at Vince and telling him where to go. Even more of Vince ruffling Jagger’s hair and explaining things to him. There is even Vince putting Jagger on his lap and letting him drive the boat. The look on Jagger’s face—pride edged with worry—as he glanced my way every few seconds now that one of their secrets was out.

  But more than anything were the few times I’d catch Vince looking at me. Our eyes would meet and a soft smile would curl up the corners of his lips.

  I was content with that. In fact, I was thrilled with the baby steps it felt like we’d taken forward. It was more than enough for me . . . or so I thought.

  Then Vince goes and steals more than my heart. He offers me hope too, when he looks at me and says, “This feels right, Shug,” followed by the softest smile I’ve ever seen on his face.

  Yes, Vince. This really is real.

  I want to tell him that and so much more. Like how each day he grows closer with Jagger, he’s proving his father wrong. That he’s not a worthless human being. That he’s a good man, a talented man, and that more than anything else, he deserves this. Love. A family to call his own. A future with us.

  I want him to be a part of our lives. Always. I just don’t know whether he’ll ever want the same thing.

  I’m hoping this moment is an indication. A glimpse of what could be.

  An amended, hope-filled verse to his sweet regret.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Vince

  The beer is cold. The sky is muted in pinks and oranges from where the sun has set over the mountains, and the sound of Jagger’s and Bristol’s laughter floats up to me from the grass down below.

  They’re playing some benign game of tag. He runs. She pretends to chase. Then she lets him sneak up on her and tackle her down. Tickling ensues. Then laughter. And the scenario repeats itself over and over.

  “It’s company policy, Vince.”

  “What is? To be your errand girl and be at the talent’s beck and call? To use her for a past connection she had with the talent—me—but then fire her for having that past? We knew each other before I became your client. C’mon, Xavier. You’re grasping at fucking straws here. If Bristol wanted to, she could sue you seven ways from Sunday for unlawful termination.” Fucking McMann.

  “It’s not that cut and dried.”

  “Then make it cut and dried.” I take a pull on my beer, knowing Bristol would be livid with me for this conversation but needing to have it, nonetheless. “Your reputation is preceding you and not in a good way.”

  “Are you threatening me, Jennings?”

  “I don’t have to resort to threats for you to make things right. Her work speaks for itself. She doesn’t need someone like me going to bat for her.”

  “And yet you are.”

  I nod, even though he can’t see it. I most definitely am.

  I’m just hoping that maybe when Xavier calls Bristol and offers her her job back, that she tells him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

  It’s about time someone does.

  More giggles pull me from the conversation replaying through my head. They make me lean forward a little more and look out the second-story window from my recording studio.

  It’s still a shock to see him. Still a jolt to my head and heart to realize he’s part mine, made from me, and that he’s incredibly perfect.

  It’s impossible to hear that belly laugh and not smile myself. Is that normal? Is it just because this is still all so new?

  This feels right.

  Isn’t that what I told Bristol? And it fucking does. I can’t explain it, but it’s almost like we’ve spent all these years apart, going through the shit we’ve gone through, and maybe for once we’re going to get it right.

  Do I still resent her for some of the decisions she made? Of course I do. Do I still resent me for some of them? Damn straight.

  But the question I keep asking myself is, if they went home tomorrow, would it be a relief that they’re gone? Would I revel in the silence and the lack of kid shit all over the house? Would my cold beer on the back patio be more enjoyable without Nickelodeon on in the background somewhere?

  Or would I sit in the studio all night because I no longer had something to look forward to afterward? Would I go into Jagger’s room and sit on his bed and miss him? Would I walk into the great room and miss the sight of Bristol sitting at the kitchen table, head down just like Jagger’s as she helps him with his remote schoolwork?

  It’s so fucked how you can love your life one way and within a few short weeks, realize it wasn’t as fucking perfect as you thought it was.

  Another laugh. A screech by Bristol as she’s play-tackled again no doubt. A “Momma” expressed through belly giggles.

  It’s like this is a new normal I want. A new normal I can accept.

  It’s just like Bristol to blow my world up and then hold my hand as the pieces fall around me . . . only to make the most beautiful fucking mosaic from them.

  The jagged edges are cushioned with mortar. The broken is now a masterpiece.

  But there are a few pieces of that mosaic still missing. Either that or they’re too big, too overwhelming, that I need to chip away at their edges so they fit in the picture I want left.

  How do I chip at them? How do I get rid of the ugly edges to fit them in?

  That’s what I need to figure out.

  That’s the only way I can move forward.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Bristol

  “Make a wish and blow out your candle,” I say, catching Jagger’s flash of a grin, dramatic squeezing of his eyes, and then his theatrical whoosh of breath on video on my cell.

  Since the boat ride the other day, it feels like things have shifted again. With Vince. With us. Things just feel different.

  There seems to be less . . . darkness, less pensiveness, in Vince’s expression.

  He seems more at ease. Lighter. Dare I say, more hopeful?

  I’m the queen of reading into things, so I’m trying not to infer too much into what I’m seeing. I’m scared to hope. Scared to wish for the more I see when he looks at me.

  But I am.

  “What did you wish for?” Vince asks, coming up behind him and tickling him so that he wiggles.

  I take mental pictures of the moment. Images I can burn in my memory to never forget.

  Click. Vince behind Jagger. Their faces side by side. Their heads with matching party hats on. The grins both lopsided and happy.

  “I can’t tell you that,” Jagger says. “If I did, it wouldn’t come true.”

  Click. Jagger faces Vince. Their profiles identical.

  “Then I guess you don’t get your presents,” Vince teases.

  “That’s not fair. Wait—”

  Click. Jagger’s shocked expression and Vince’s knowing one.

  “—you got me a present?” Jagger asks.

  “Yes. Seven of them,” Vince says.

  “Because I’m seven?” Jagger asks.

  Vince nods but also looks at me.