I purse my lips and search for the strength to do the right thing, but it’s hard. It’s like ripping off a limb. I don’t want to say goodbye, but I have to so he can be the man he needs to be.

  That means I have to give the performance of a lifetime right now.

  “You’re right,” I say, as evenly as I can manage. “We can’t be together in public if you work for me. It’s against your code.”

  Jackson breathes what looks like a sigh of relief. “It is against my code. Thank you for understanding that.”

  That’s what this issue comes down to. This isn’t about job contracts or employment rules that we could bend because the employer—me—doesn’t care.

  His decision comes from something bigger. From honor and duty.

  From respect.

  From identity.

  Jackson Pearce wants to be a man who leads by example. One who follows the rules. Who supports his friends, who does the right thing, and who helps other guys become better men. A man who shines with honesty.

  That’s his personal code.

  I understand codes. I have my own, and I leaned on mine today with my dad.

  I’m the kind of man who tells his father to back off his brother.

  Jackson’s the kind of man who doesn’t screw his employer and ignore the consequences.

  If I could fix this situation for my man, I would.

  But Jackson always had more to lose than I did.

  I get to live in a rock-star bubble. I reside in a land of Grammys and riches and music and fame.

  The only thing I’ve lacked is love.

  Ironic, since I never knew I was missing it until now. I never knew I wanted it. And now I want it more than anything in the world.

  And I’m losing that epic, soul-searing, write-a-song-about-it-and-sing-it-to-the-world kind of love.

  The love I felt last night with him.

  The love I’m going to miss like hell.

  My chest aches in a whole new way, like someone has excavated my insides, shoveled out my organs, and left me with a gaping, raw hole.

  That hurts so damn much.

  “You’re right. We should stop,” I say, forcing out the hardest words I’ve ever had to say.

  He shrugs, his voice filled with potholes too. “We always planned to.”

  “We always did.”

  He draws a shaky breath. His eyes are miserable. I bet mine look that way too. “I guess this is it,” he says, and I can tell his voice is breaking too.

  I have to do this. Have to be strong enough for both of us.

  I lift my chin, find the guts, and act some more. “I guess it is. I’ll see you when your shift begins.”

  As I show him out, I fight like hell not to kiss him goodbye at the door, not to touch him one more time, not to say a word.

  I do what I know I have to do.

  And because I love him so damn much . . .

  I let him go.

  32

  Jackson

  The concert that night is electric.

  Stone jams hard in front of thousands of fans, belting out the tunes that have made him a legend.

  He croons “Make It Last,” he sings “Bedroom Eyes,” and he plays the hell out of “Take Me as I Am.”

  With Candi next to me, and my arms crossed over my chest, I watch every number from my spot in the wings. It’s my usual place, where I’ve been for the last several months as I’ve toured with Stone.

  Before I joined his detail, this is what I did in my other jobs, working with actors in LA.

  I waited backstage for them too.

  Not once was I tempted. Not once did I break the code. Never was I compromised.

  In five years on the job, Stone Zenith has been my only transgression.

  One.

  This should be easy, going back to basics. I can return to the man I was before.

  Stone strums the last chord, holding it as the music reverberates across the theater. When it fades into the night, he shouts, “Las Vegas, I love you like crazy!”

  Someone screams back from the audience.

  The sounds are hard to make out. Maybe they’re saying New song?

  He cups his ear. “What’s that you said?”

  Someone else shouts again, then another fan, and another, until it becomes an echoing chorus throughout the theater.

  “New song, new song, new song.”

  Stone freezes for a few seconds.

  Then he casts a glance to the side of the stage, and my heart springs in my chest.

  He’s looking for me.

  I’m sure he’s going to lock eyes with me, but then he snaps his gaze quickly back to the crowd.

  My heart thuds. Stupid organ.

  He’s not searching for me. Hell, he didn’t even fight for me in his suite. I told him I couldn’t do my job with the way I felt for him. What did he think? That I just liked him? That I had a simple crush? I said I’d fallen for him. Did he think I’d tumbled into the kiddie pool?

  He’d have been wrong.

  I fell into the ocean, and I’m drowning in the middle of the sea.

  All he said was You’re right. It’s against your code.

  My jaw clenches, and I grit my teeth. Tension skewers me. I will myself to shuck it off because I don’t deserve anything more. I didn’t ask for his heart. And God knows I can’t want it.

  But still, Stone’s uncharacteristically quiet for a few seconds onstage, and strangely enough, his silence gives me a flicker of hope.

  Like maybe he’s tormented too.

  Maybe he feels this empty ache the same as I do.

  Candi mutters under her breath, “Just sing it.”

  I turn my gaze to her, desperate to know if the new song is my song. “He mentioned it on his Instagram, didn’t he? That he was writing a new song?”

  “He said he was going to share it with them tonight. His fans went crazy. They’re dying to hear it. I am too.”

  The crowd roars again, a collective plea for the tune. I get it—I want to stomp my feet and beg for it too.

  Stone shakes his head. “It’s not ready yet,” he booms into the mic. “Maybe someday. Will you wait for me?”

  That’s enough for his fans. They cheer a deafening yes.

  “You rock! How about an encore?” Before they can answer, he dives into one of his most famous tunes, and that gets them to stop asking about the new song.

  It’s a song I might never hear. A song he may never play.

  But it’s the song the guy in the picture wants to hear most in the world.

  Candi sighs. “He’s been teasing them with it. He should just play the damn thing.”

  “You know how it goes with inspiration,” I say, all casual, like it isn’t eating me alive too. Like I’m not dying to hear his song.

  To ask him to play it for me.

  Just for me.

  But that is definitely against the code.

  And I’m following the code now.

  When the show ends, Stone stalks straight to his dressing room, shuts the door, and doesn’t come out for much longer than usual.

  Twenty minutes that feel like they last an ice age.

  Candi’s tapping her foot, eager to go. “He’s got a VIP thing, and then a late-night interview.”

  When he finally opens the door, his green eyes are cold, and they slay me. “I can’t do the interview tonight. Can you just reschedule it?”

  She doesn’t protest, and that’s unlike her. She must be able to read the hard edge in him tonight. “I’ll take care of it for you, but you’ve got to do it tomorrow.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Stone marches to the VIP room and does the meet and greet with smiles, grins, hugs, and pics. The same way he did the night before. And the night before that too.

  And I’m howling inside. Missing him with every breath I take.

  When he swaggers out of the VIP room, he yawns, big and long, like these are just more rock-star shenanigans and this day wasn’t a big deal to him after all.

  Like I’m the only one who feels the void, the only one with this giant canyon of emptiness inside me.

  “Go to bed, Stone,” Candi says softly.

  He keeps his eyes on her, only her. “Yeah. Need to hit the sack. I had a shit day.”

  I blink. That gives me another flicker of hope.

  We both had awful days. He’s affected too, and that is awesome.

  Except what the hell?

  Why do I want to know he’s miserable as well?

  Because it hurt that it seemed easy for him today when I ended it?

  Then again, I made it seem easy for me. Like splitting up with him is as simple as rules and codes.

  It is, but it’s also not. I didn’t simply fall for him, like I told him.

  I fell in love with him.

  Big, epic, messy, heart-wrenching love.

  With a rock star.

  God, I’m a cliché.

  Candi reaches for his arm, ever the mama hen tending to her chicks. “Are you okay? Are you getting enough sleep? Are you doing your yoga?”

  “I am. It’s not a yoga issue.” He doesn’t look at me at all, and I do my best to only look at him through professional eyes.

  As we leave with Candi, I want to kick myself.

  How did I ever think getting involved with my boss would be easy? I’m madly in love with the guy, and I can’t act on it. But I’ve never been able to act on it. This return to the old world order should be easy. This should be all I’ve ever known.

  When we reach the elevator banks, Candi says good night and peels away. Soon we’re alone in the steel machine, shooting up several floors.

  Stone barely makes eye contact with me. He leans against the wall and mutters, “Good show.”

  “Great show,” I say, my voice wobblier than I’m used to.

  He parts his lips to speak, but no words come.

  He looks away and doesn’t meet my eyes again.

  So, the way we were before we got involved is over too. The joking, the teasing, the poking fun at each other. That’s all gone.

  And now we are this—quiet, tense, terrible.

  We reach his room, and I say good night. He doesn’t look back.

  33

  Stone

  Hell.

  This is hell.

  For six days in a row, I have woken up next to Jackson, and on the seventh day, I pat the side of my bed . . .

  The big, empty, sad, depressing, awful, terrible side.

  I pull the covers up, turn off my phone, and go back to sleep.

  But the universe must hate me, because I wake twenty minutes later.

  I drag my ass out of bed, order some food, and try to meditate.

  But meditation hates me too, because all I can see, all I can think about, is Jackson.

  Those hazel eyes. Soulful, caring, tender.

  Those strong hands. Rough and loving.

  His big heart. Steady and deep.

  His dry sense of humor, his eager mind, his laughter.

  The way he knows me. How he pokes fun at me. How he looks out for me. How he lets me be me.

  And this is officially not relaxing at all.

  Meditation, I hereby pronounce you awful too.

  I flop on the couch and read some news stories, but the words swim before me on the screen.

  I can’t focus. I can’t think. I can’t do a single thing but mope.

  When Becca raps on the door a few minutes later, I open it half-heartedly. She gives me a quick once-over.

  I must look like hell, because the normally unflappable, cool, and professional Becca arches a worried brow. “Are you okay?”

  This woman has seen me after late nights spent partying. She’s seen me after groupies have left with satisfied grins.

  She’s seen me when I’ve been exhausted.

  But she’s never looked at me like this.

  “Define ‘okay,’” I say, my voice flat and dead.

  As she walks inside with my quinoa bowl, she says, “You’re not okay, then. That’s clear.”

  She sets my breakfast on the table then puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  I tap my chest. “A new heart would be good. One that doesn’t hurt. Do you have that on the menu?”

  She frowns. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  I drop my head in my hands. “Me too.”

  A little later, Nadia and Zane rap on the door. I let them in, then return to the couch that has a Stone-shaped indent on it. Nadia taps her wrist, pointing to a watch she doesn’t wear. “It’s nearly two. We have a charity event this evening. The final one before your last show.”

  I heave a sigh. “I know. Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

  “We’re getting you out of your room now though,” my brother says.

  “Why do I have to get out of my room?”

  Nadia whirls around, gesturing to my suite. “Because. This room has negative vibes for you. It’s the scene of all the crimes.”

  “Guys,” I say. But I don’t even know what I’m protesting. I curl up into the cushions. “Maybe I’ll write a song about this couch.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Nadia tuts.

  “We’re taking you to an arcade. Someplace to get your mind off him,” Zane declares.

  I muster a sliver of a smile. “I like pinball.”

  They drag me to an arcade. Terrence waits by the door.

  I play some games, besting my brother on an AC/DC pinball machine, then Nadia defeats both of us in the Raiders of the Lost Ark one. After that, we go to grab some snacks, but there’s nothing on the menu that appeals to me, so I snag a water and nurse that half-heartedly.

  Nadia stares at me with inquisitive eyes. “So, you broke up, obviously.”

  “Yes,” I say, nothing but misery in my tone.

  “Why?”

  I roll my eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? He works for me. He’s my employee.”

  Zane furrows his brow. “Right, but other people who have worked together have gotten involved, like, in the history of time, right?”

  I stare at the smart-ass. “Yes, but that’s not what’s going to happen here. He has a code. A code of honor.”

  Zane nods a few times, like he’s thinking this through. “Fine. But isn’t there a way around it? A way to deal with it?”

  I toss up my hands in frustration. “Don’t ask me. My life is easy. His isn’t. He has debt and bills and shit like that. And he can’t be the man he wants to be if he’s working for me and is with me at the same time.”

  “Why not?” Zane presses.

  “Because it’s his code. I respect it.” I do. Truly, I do.

  Nadia drums her fingernails on the table. “Fair enough. But does he at least know how you feel? Does he at least understand that this isn’t a normal boss-falls-for-his-employee situation? Or rock-star-falls-for-his-bodyguard situation?”

  My brow knits. “What do you mean,”—I sketch air quotes—“‘normal’?”

  She makes a rolling gesture with her hand. “Did you tell him this isn’t a simple workplace affair? That this is much more than an office romance? I mean, it is, isn’t it, Stone?”

  “Yes, this is much more than that.” I go full deadpan. “Who woulda thought? I fell in love for the first time in my life.” I mime tossing out a fishing line. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

  Nadia grins. Zane grins wickedly.

  “Look at you. So in love,” Nadia says, like a cat feasting on a mouse.

  “I always knew this day would come.” Zane crosses his arms, delight in his eyes.

  “Thanks. Want to kick me while I’m down?”

  Zane cocks his head to the side, then adopts a more serious expression. “Love seems like a good thing.”

  “Did you not get the memo that he dumped me?”

  My brother waves, like that’s no big deal. “Does he know that you’re in love with him?”

  “Yes, did you tell him how you really feel?” Nadia choruses.

  I scratch my jaw, flashing back to yesterday.

  Did I? How could I not have said it? “I mean, sure. I’m sure I did,” I say, but I choke on my words because as soon as they come out, the gong rings and I realize—“I didn’t say a word. I simply said, ‘You’re right. We should end this. We always planned to.’”

  Zane scoffs. “Brilliant move.”

  Nadia pats my hand.

  I groan, gripping my forehead. “I let him walk out the door. I let him get on the plane. I let him ride off into the sunset without telling him he’s the love of my life.” I raise my face. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “Hmm. How much time do you have?” Zane asks.

  “Seriously, guys. Do you really think that’ll change things? If I tell him?”

  “Well, it can’t make it worse,” Nadia says.

  “How can you expect the man to make a hard choice unless he has all the facts?” Zane puts in. “I couldn’t make the choice to leave Dad and his business until I had all the facts in front of me.”

  Nadia reaches for my arm, squeezing. “Maybe he didn’t want to sneak around. Maybe he wants to be your boyfriend, but he feels like your sidepiece. Maybe he feels like your mistress. What if he doesn’t know that he’s the love of your life?” Her voice breaks on the question, and her eyes swim with tears. “You idiot. Do you know how lucky you are? Do you know how rare it is to meet the love of your life? Tell him. Then at least he’ll have all the facts to make the choice.”

  I spring to my feet, energy propelling me. “You’re right. I need to find him and tell him.”

  I fish for my phone in my pocket, but when I try to call him, he doesn’t answer.

  “Dammit,” I curse.

  Nadia holds up a hand. “Maybe this is a good thing.”

  I stab the table with my finger. “How? I just figured out where I fucked up. I need to fix it stat.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Stone. You literally just decided to tell him you love him. Let’s make sure you tell him in the right way at the right time.” She taps her wrist. “Because you have a charity event and then a concert.”

  My shoulders sag, and I exhale heavily, then sniff myself. “I need to shower and get dressed. Should I tell him at the start of his shift?”