It’s his degradation and abuse that had me walking away from Bristol at age nineteen.

  It’s his lies that possibly stole eleven years of time that we could have been together.

  But it’s him who pushed us all together. And that’s the greatest fuck you to him I could ever hope to have.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Vince

  Hawke’s resting his ass against the rental car when I walk out of the house. I told him I didn’t need him to come with me. I played it down and told him there was no way he wanted to come to this hellhole town. But did he listen to me?

  Of course fucking not.

  Instead, he sat next to me on the flight. He listened to words I didn’t speak and then held a one-sided conversation with me where he answered all the questions I’d been asking myself.

  If you think that you’re like your dad, how is it so damn easy for you to love Jagger?

  How many times over the past few weeks have you wanted to tell Jagger what a worthless piece of shit he is? How many times have your hands fisted and you felt like throwing a punch at him?

  I’ve never whipped my eyes up so fast in my life as that moment. But I was met with a shit-eating grin and a lift of his eyebrows—my reaction to him an answer in and of itself.

  Of course, I haven’t felt that way. Not even fucking close. But Hawkin, in his shock value, got the point across.

  I’m not my fucking dad.

  I never have been. I never will be.

  And when I walk out of the house and see Hawkin standing there, I’m glad he didn’t listen to me.

  “You good?” he asks from where he’s no doubt studying me from behind his sunglasses.

  “I will be.”

  He nods in response and then climbs into the driver’s seat. I stop for a beat and look around one last time at a neighborhood I will forget and a town I refuse to come back to.

  The only lasting thing Fairfield gave me was Bristol.

  Other than that, it can burn to the ground.

  “I think a drink or eight is in order,” Hawke says. “Tell me where to go.”

  I give him directions to a bar near our hotel and try not to read too much into how much this feels like old times. Hawke. Me. A car. A bar. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s sitting beside me.

  My best friend even when I don’t deserve him.

  We drive past places I used to take Bristol. A park where we used to make out in my back seat. A movie theater where we’d skip from theater to theater on a single ticket to beat the heat. The burger joint where we’d sit and drink milkshakes way after her curfew because I didn’t want to go back home and she sensed the unspoken reasons why.

  Bristol.

  The need to call her all week has been there, but never more so than it has in this moment. I did it, Shug. I slayed the dragon. I’m free to be the man you think I can be.

  But I hold tight to the promise I made myself.

  I have one more right to wrong before I can talk to her. Before I can hold her. Before I can strike the goddamn match for the final time.

  “Wanna talk about it?” Hawkin asks after we take a seat at the bar.

  “Not really.”

  “Did you say what needed to be said?” he asks, being the only person other than Bristol who knows the real Deegan Jennings.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you feel better for it?”

  It’s a good question. One I mull over as Hawkin motions the bartender over, talks him down from the shock of who is sitting at his bar, and orders our drinks.

  “I said what needed to be said. I said what I would have regretted had I never had the chance to say it. Feeling better is beside the point.”

  “Fair enough.” He nods and then lifts his chin to where the bartender is lining up two rows of five shots each. “The jet’s slated for takeoff in two hours.”

  “And you plan for us to be shitfaced before then?”

  “No. I plan for us to be right again before then.” He picks up a shot and places it in front of me before grabbing one himself. “We’re celebrating.”

  “Celebrating what?”

  “Five things.”

  “That’s very specific,” I joke. “Care to tell me what they are?”

  “Yep.” He nods and taps the first shot against mine. “For letting your dad go.” He holds a finger up to correct himself. “I should say for finally letting go of the choke hold your dad has had on you.”

  I stare at the shot and nod before downing it and then cough over the burn.

  “Hurts like a motherfucker,” Hawke croaks. “At least we know we’re fucking alive.”

  “Amen to that,” I say as he scoots the second shot toward me. “Whoa. What’s with the breakneck pace?”

  “When it comes to you, the path of least resistance is to get you drunk fast.”

  I laugh. God, it feels good to have him sitting here beside me. To have him here when I need him because he just knows.

  He lifts number two. “For finally pulling your head out of your ass when it comes to Bristol.” I stare at him. “Down it, Vin.”

  “Who said anything—”

  “You’ve loved the woman your whole life. I know it. Rocket and Gizmo know it. You even know it. Now down the shot like a good boy and admit she’s it for you so you can move on like a mature fucker and make an honest woman of her.”

  “I’m working on it,” I say to which he throws up his hand and cheers.

  “You’ve been working on it for eleven years. Why don’t you work a little faster? Cheers, fucker.”

  The second goes down smoother, with a bout of laughter and a sharp pang in my chest.

  I miss her.

  Fuck, I missed her the minute I left the house. But I needed this distance to clear my head. To work and to realize how much better it would be to have her to go home to afterward. To have a piece of normal amid my crazy. To just have her.

  “Number three—”

  “You do know the last time we sat down together, you were pissed off at how much I was drinking, right?”

  Hawkin slaps a hand on my back and squeezes my shoulder. “That’s because you were drinking out of misery. Not from happiness. This?” He throws his arms out. “This is all happiness. This is all good.” He nods to make sure I’m listening. “Now pick your third up. If I’m getting fucked up celebrating you, you best be doing the same.”

  I laugh. “Number three.”

  “To Jagger. Sometimes facing your biggest fear can be your greatest reward. I have a feeling he just might be that.” He taps his glass against mine.

  The shots go up but fuck if it has to slide over the lump of emotion in my throat as it goes down.

  He’s right. I stare down at the empty glass and just shake my head. He’s fucking right. How can I miss someone I just met this much?

  “I can’t wait to meet him,” Hawkin whispers and pats my back again.

  “He’s the coolest fucking kid in the world,” I say.

  “Of course he is. He’s yours.”

  I laugh and eye him when he pushes the next shot in front of me. My head is already swimming with this frat-boy hazing drinking shit.

  “What’s this one for?” I ask.

  “For doing this.” He slides his phone across the bar. On the screen is the Billboard Top 100 chart and sitting at number one is Sweet Regret.

  I stare at it. The irony’s not lost on me that the day I let my dad go, figuratively, is the day I reached the one thing he said I could never do. My eyes blur and my throat burns.

  I did it.

  I hit number one.

  Just me.

  “Congratulations, brother. I’m proud of you.”

  I lift the glass. I down the shot.

  But the expected happiness barely crests. Pride is there but it hits differently.

  It feels hollow.

  Empty.

  Because I’m missing the one goddamn dot that connects all the good things we’re celebrating. Bristol. She’s been a part, a reason, a driving factor behind all these things I’m rewarding myself for. For the courage to see that I’m not my father. For never stopping loving me. For giving me a son. For giving me this song. The song.

  I wish she were here to kiss. I wish Jagger were here to high-five. It feels empty here without them beside me. But it’s not just them. It’s celebrating this huge milestone without my bandmates here. The only people who can sit beside me and marvel about this crazy, fucking life we have.

  I’m happy . . . but it also makes me sad.

  “You okay?”

  “Yep.” I swallow it down to dissect later. It’s probably just the alcohol. Just the moment. “What’s the fifth one for?”

  “That depends,” he says.

  “On?”

  “On if we’re celebrating you coming back to the band. We’re thrilled about your success. We never doubted you could do it. But, Vin, we want you home, with us. You’re our family. Our brother. It’s not the fucking same without you.”

  I look at the shot in my hand, I look at Hawke, and then I down it without question.

  “Guess that means we’re celebrating then,” he says before grabbing me and hugging my neck.

  For the first time in my life, I’m exactly where I want to be in all things.

  All things save for one.

  And that one thing is sitting at home waiting for me. Waiting on me. Waiting to make a life with me.

  This week has proven I can live without her and Jagger.

  But more importantly, this time away has only cemented that I don’t ever want to live my life without them.

  They are my life.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Bristol

  When’s Vince coming back?

  Hasn’t that been Jagger’s question of the day—hell, the past couple of days really—and the one that’s been a constant on my mind?

  Because while I’ve had a blast exploring with Jagger and spending one-on-one time with him—more than it feels like I’ve been able to in forever—there’s a hole without Vince here. An indescribable something missing in the norm we’ve created over the past few weeks.

  It’s amazing how easy you can fall into something—even a major life change—and never realize it.

  And it’s currently the question I’ve fallen silent over because I don’t have a response to give.

  “So he still hasn’t called or texted?” Simone asks.

  “No.”

  “And you haven’t called or texted him?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Unwanted advice alert here, but you two might just be the most stubborn people on the face of this earth.”

  I chuckle. She has a point and yet . . . “I’ve thrown Vince into you have no choice but to grow up fire, and I tossed him into it without any warning.”

  “You didn’t throw him into shit. His dad did.”

  “Semantics.”

  “Extremely important semantics. I mean, you were willing to go on your merry way and not tell him.”

  “Exactly, which is a problem in and of itself if you’re standing in Vince’s shoes.” I lift my face to the sun and welcome its warmth, Jagger’s random boy noises of space invaders crashing into the top step of the pool a constant in the background.

  “And this gives justification for you guys not talking to each other, why?”

  When she puts it that way, it sounds silly. “He had to leave to promote the new material. I get that. But it’s also the first time since finding out about Jagger, that he’s been away from us. That he’s had time to think without Jagger front and center in his face.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Maybe he needs time to digest it all. To make decisions now that he’s had time to take a step back and process it.”

  “I can understand that. But that doesn’t explain why you haven’t reached out to him, especially if he’s telling you how right it feels and all of that.”

  “I’m trying to respect his time. I’m trying to show him that I believe him when he told me to trust him. That’s a hard one for me, but if I’m texting him constantly, doesn’t that say the opposite? That I’m afraid and am checking up on him?”

  “Are you afraid?” she asks softly.

  “I’m trying not to be. Each day that passes doesn’t make it any easier, truth be told. I mean, it was reflex to want to call him and congratulate him on hitting number one, but no matter how many times I typed out the text or picked up the phone, I put it back down.”

  “Maybe you’re overthinking this.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to prepare myself for life without him. For not being able to pick up that phone and for him to not be on the other end.”

  She snorts. “While you’re living in his mansion.”

  I laugh, her comment making me realize how ridiculous I sound. “I can hold out as long as needed. He needs to be the one who makes the next move.”

  “Hopefully he’s not thinking the same thing about you.”

  I scrunch up my nose and give a nod she can’t see. “Don’t make me second-guess myself.”

  “Isn’t that my job?” She chuckles. “And even with all that, I know you still want to ask.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Girl, you’ve been hiding away in a mansion in the land of lakes, only answering texts, and then all of a sudden you pick up the phone and call me?”

  “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t picking up because you only call late at night and—”

  “And you were too busy getting railed by the rock god to pick up. I get it. I understand. I’ve got you, girl.”

  I roll my eyes. “I was going to say my phone is usually on do not disturb at night so it won’t wake up Jagg, but you paint a much better picture.”

  “I do, don’t I? And you’re going to have to forgive me because I might have painted that picture off skew and added me in your place for one fleeting moment when he walked past me the other day. I nearly died from his . . . looks, voice, cologne, broodiness . . . just damn everything.”

  “You’re forgiven.” But . . . how did he look? How was he? Does he seem okay?

  What answer will she provide that gives you any indication that he’s missing you?

  None. Zip. Zilch.

  He’s at work. He has the number one song in the country. Of course he’s not going to look like anything other than cocky, edgy Vince.

  “He looked good, Bristol. I know you want to ask. Like a hundred pounds have been lifted from his shoulders.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And, no. Don’t go thinking he seems less burdened because he’s here, away from you, and is planning on jetting. It was more . . . I don’t know . . . he looked content. God, I sound like my mother using that word, but that’s the best way I can explain it.”

  “Okay. Content is good.” Here with me is better though.

  “He stopped by your desk, you know.”

  “My old desk?”

  “Nah. It’s still yours. McMann hasn’t done anything with it. He didn’t do the normal have someone pack your shit up in a box and leave it at the front desk thing. Your stuff is all still there, right where you left everything.”

  “Oh. That’s news to me.”

  “Rumor is, Vince went to bat for you and told McMann that if you go, he goes type of shit.”

  “Jesus Christ. The last thing I need—”

  “It’s the first thing you need. Your man going to bat for you? Threatening for you? Girl, eat that shit up. Let him feel like he’s taking care of you even though we all know you can take care of yourself.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “But nothing. Vince hasn’t texted you, he hasn’t called you, and yet he’s still trying to take care of you. Why don’t you use that to ease your worry—and don’t say he’s getting your job back for you because he’s planning on leaving you. No, he’s doing it because he values how fiercely independent you are and knows there is no way in hell you’re going to let him pull the Cinderella shit on you.”

  “Cinderella shit?” I laugh.

  “Yeah, sweep you off your feet, hide you away in a castle, and never let you work again.”

  The thought does sound appealing—the not having to work for McMann part—but she’s right. I’d totally overthink it. I should find comfort in the fact that Vince knows me so well he’s trying to retain my independence for me.

  “For the record, he was standing in your cube, with the framed collage of you and Jagger in his hand, just staring at it with a soft smile on his face. I thought you might want to know that.”

  Tears well in my eyes as a smile ghosts over my lips. Yeah, I definitely wanted to know that. Needed to.

  I clear the emotion from my throat. “Hey, Simone?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. I needed to hear all of this. To talk to you. Thank you.”

  “Girl, I’ll talk you off the ledge any day.” She sighs. “And don’t worry. I’ll think of ways that you can repay me.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “I’m sure you will.”

  We hang up, a smile on my face, and my heart lighter than it has been this past week. We’ve been holed up here without anything but each other, calls to my parents, and nothing but time to let my thoughts run wild.

  Simone was what I was missing. What I didn’t know I needed.

  “Was that him, Momma? Is Vince coming back?”

  I shield my eyes, look his way, and smile. “Not yet. Soon. I promise, he’s coming home soon.” And for the first time, I truly believe it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Bristol

  “Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.” Tears well, but I blink them away as Jagger sits in front of me on the computer and makes funny faces at Vince through the screen.

  He finally called—or even better, he FaceTimed so I can see his handsome face. So I can be reassured by the look in his eyes and the smile on his lips. So I can see what Simone saw.

  He looks good. Content. Like the same Vince who left here but with less of the world weighing on him.

  Maybe all this worrying was for nothing.

  Maybe I was right to finally trust him. Trust that he’s coming back to me.