Zane arches a brow. “Didn’t you say you had an interview to do as well? I’m guessing Candi will be there, then you have the event, then the concert.”

  I drag a hand down my face. “You two are geniuses, and I love you and hate you.”

  Because there is a way to tell someone you love him, and I’m going to do this right.

  34

  Jackson

  My phone flashes with a text message as I practice my Spanish.

  My heart jumps in the hope that it’s Stone.

  But when I click over to my app, it’s my sister.

  I’m happy to hear from her. I’m happy to hear from her. I’m happy to hear from her.

  Bethany: So, tell me stuff. How is everything going? Is there going to be a Jackstone any day soon?

  Jackson: I don’t think so.

  Three seconds later, my phone rings.

  I answer it, and Bethany launches at me. “What happened?”

  I heave a sigh. “I ended it.”

  An epic wail across the halls of time pierces my eardrums. “Why?”

  “Because I work for him.”

  “Ugh. You make me crazy.”

  “Bethany, this is the real world,” I say, frustration coloring my tone. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I put the brakes on things, and I don’t feel an ounce better. But soon I will. I have to. “I have to earn a living. But more than that, what happens next? Do you think I’ll ever get another job again? This is the worst line I can cross in my profession. It’s the golden rule—never ever fall for your client. And I did it. And this could haunt me for the rest of my life.”

  She sighs in the way only a teenager can—egregiously. “Jackson, you lost your partner. The man you love died. He died.”

  “I know that,” I bite out. “What does Fabian have to do with Stone?”

  “You were devastated,” she soldiers on. “You were broken, and that man didn’t even respect your wishes. And now, you’re not devastated. You’re not miserable. You’re the opposite. Stone makes you happy. Ridiculously happy. Happier than you’ve ever been with anyone. And you’re going to throw it away because of a rule?”

  “It’s kind of an important rule,” I say with a huff, even though my heart is slamming against my rib cage—because I am happy with Stone.

  Was.

  I was happy.

  But I’ll be happy again.

  “Love is an important rule,” she says. “Love is the most important rule of all—love, just love. Do you love him?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut as a sharp pang rips through me. “Yes. So much.”

  Her voice trembles. “Then find a way, Jackson. That is what you’ll regret more than not taking a chance.”

  “How are you so wise about love?”

  “Easy. Music. I’m in Rent right now. It’s all about living without regret.”

  I don’t know if she is right.

  I don’t know if I’m wrong.

  All I know is—I miss him more than I ever imagined.

  A little later, Cruz works out with me, and when we finish, we grab a bite to eat at our favorite diner.

  As we’re waiting for our lunch, he sets his phone on the table, opens the camera roll, and shows me a picture of his daughter. She’s riding a bike, and she’s utterly adorable.

  “She’s so damn cute,” I say.

  He nods, but his brown eyes are wet. Like he’s on the cusp of tears.

  “You okay, man?”

  He shakes his head. “I missed it—her riding a bike for the first time. That’s the problem. I keep missing all of these milestones.”

  “That must be hard for you,” I say with a sigh.

  He swipes his hand across his cheek. “I can’t take being on the road much longer.”

  “Terrence was saying the same thing.”

  “This job, it’s for younger men than me. I want to be back home in Los Angeles.”

  “So does Terrence,” I say, and the second I say those words, a light bulb goes on above my head. It flashes bright and brilliant. It’s studio wattage. It’s all the lights in a TV station. It’s the entire electrical grid of Las Vegas.

  I beam. “I know what to do,” I say, practically giddy.

  “About you and Stone?”

  “Yes. No. Mostly I mean about everything.”

  “You mean the million issues?” he asks with a laugh.

  “Yes. The million issues.” I laugh too because, holy hell, I’ve got it. I can see a way through.

  I can see it because all the reasons come down to one reason— you don’t let a second chance at love pass you by.

  And not just any love.

  But big love.

  Epic love.

  Love that touches your mind, body, and heart.

  Love with someone you trust.

  Someone who trusts you.

  Who adores you.

  Who you adore in return.

  I adore that man.

  Emotion grips my throat as I replay all the nights I’ve spent with him, including the last one, and the things we said under the covers.

  I should never have doubted how Stone feels.

  He wears his heart on his sleeve.

  He lets his feelings show.

  He feels the same way I do.

  The way we are together is all the proof I’ll ever need.

  I’m no more a hookup to him than he is to me. We’ve never been a hookup. We’ve always been real.

  Every day, every night, every morning.

  All of it has been happening to both of us. All this falling, all this feeling.

  We’re in it. All the way.

  But there’s only one of us who can make the decision. The choice—that’s in my power.

  And I’m going to do it.

  35

  Stone

  I don’t tell him at the start of his shift, because we aren’t alone.

  I don’t tell him at the charity event, because I have to shake hands with everyone, smile for the cameras, and make a speech.

  I don’t tell him when we arrive at the theater, because my whole entourage is there.

  When I reach my dressing room, all I want is to grab him, tug him inside, and tell him he owns my heart.

  But when we arrive at the door and I motion for him to come in, adding a please, he shakes his head.

  My heart plummets twenty floors—then slingshots back up when he shoots me a smile as he hands me back my phone. He’s had it for the last few hours, keeping it safe.

  “Jackson,” I say, desperate and excited all at once.

  His voice is firm. “Read my email.” He presses the phone tightly into my hand, curling my fingers around it then squeezing his hand over mine.

  Sparks tear through me.

  He runs his thumb over my hand, and it’s a miracle I don’t grab him and kiss him right now.

  But this is a time for words. He wants me to read whatever he’s sent to me.

  I step inside. He shuts the door after me, and I’m alone.

  My pulse spikes. My nerves rocket to the sky.

  I offer all the pleas in the world to the universe, and I click open my email.

  Then, I read.

  Stone,

  I hereby tender my resignation from my position as your bodyguard. Please consider this my two weeks’ notice. I would like to tell you why after the show. I hope you have a fantastic one, and that you play your heart out like you do every night. I will be in the wings, watching you, enjoying every second of watching you, like I have done for the last several months.

  Like I’ve enjoyed every night we’ve worked together.

  Every night we’ve been together.

  Then, when you’re done, if you want to know why I’ve quit, you know where to find me. I’ll be the guy by your side.

  If you’ll let me.

  Jackson

  I want to kiss the phone. I want to jump to the sky. I want to hoot and holler.

  I. Can’t. Wait.

  But when I push open the door, Candi tackles me. “Picture for Insta before your last show?”

  “Sure,” I say, frazzled.

  “Wait. This is a bad location. Let’s move over there,” she says, gesturing closer to the stage.

  I follow her, and she snaps a shot, then shakes her head when she looks at it. “No. You look flustered.”

  “I am flustered,” I say, since Jackson is mere feet away. I want to talk to him, but Zoe is finishing her last song, and the show is timed to the second.

  Candi sets her hands on my shoulders. “Breathe. You’ve got this. It’s just a pic. Just a show.” She glances around, having no clue it’s not the show that has me rattled. “Where’s your guitar? Let’s get this man his Strat.”

  A stagehand chimes in. “Got it!” He carries it over and hands it to me.

  I sling it on, and Candi brandishes the phone. “Better.” But when she checks the shot, she screws up the corner of her mouth. “Nope. You look annoyed.”

  I sigh. “I’m not annoyed.”

  “Then give your signature smile.”

  I try to smile, but all I want is a minute with Jackson.

  The song is ending.

  Candi needs a picture.

  My heart is bursting.

  I’ve got to get onstage.

  “Smile like you’re happy.”

  I groan, gritting my teeth, but then my eyes find Jackson. He’s standing a few feet behind Candi, smiling like he knows why I’m suddenly grinning too.

  I am happy. I am ecstatic. He is here.

  She clicks. “Perfect.”

  I only have eyes for him. I walk around her, touch his arm, and melt. “J.”

  He’s all soft and swoony when he says my name. “Stone.”

  The notes from the stage fade away. Then Zoe says my name too. I have to get out there.

  There’s a guitar between us. I don’t care. I reach for him, my hand on the back of his head.

  One touch, and it feels so right.

  The world is silver and gold, beautiful and brilliant.

  “I love you something fierce,” I say to Jackson, and his eyes glimmer with happiness and hope and something I’ve never seen before and never want to lose—love returned.

  His smile is all I need.

  It’s big and real and all mine.

  He parts his lips to speak, but the noise is deafening. My cue sounds, and I don’t know what he said.

  I mouth, Stay here, and point to the wings.

  He mouths back, I will, still smiling.

  Hell, I am too. I may never stop.

  Then I hit the stage to thunderous applause, to seismic cheers, and it is glorious.

  But the way I feel for Jackson is better than anything else in my life, and I want the world to know.

  “Look at you!” I shout to the audience through the mic I wear. “Look at all you beautiful people.”

  They roar back at me, rocker salutes appearing across the theater, voices echoing everywhere.

  “I am in love with all of you,” I say, then I grin, wiggle a brow, and give a dramatic pause. “And someone else. And I wrote a song about it.”

  Cheers erupt like wildfire.

  “Wanna hear it?”

  The yes is a reverb, an anthem.

  I strum the first chord. “This is the new song I’ve been teasing you about.”

  Noise rains down.

  I power through the next few notes, playing them before a crowd for the first time, still talking. “You sure you wanna hear it?”

  The shouts are electric.

  “It’s a love song. It’s my favorite one.”

  I swing my gaze to the wings, and there he is. That man. Tingles rush over my skin. My pulse surges.

  I turn back to the audience. They are stomping their feet, clapping their hands, screaming.

  I am the luckiest man in the world.

  I launch into a new song.

  I remember the day, when you shared them with me . . .

  All of these pictures . . .

  Pictures of you . . .

  That’s when it started . . .

  That’s when I knew . . .

  That someday I’d want it all . . .

  And want it with you . . .

  With the guy in the picture . . .

  I walk across the stage as I play, walk toward my man without giving him away, holding his gaze as I hit the line with the title in it.

  Jackson dips his face for a second, then raises it again, his cheeks pinker than they’ve ever been, his blush noticeable from several feet away.

  It is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, and I fall deeper in love with my guy.

  I launch into the next verse, returning to the center of the stage, giving the audience everything they came for.

  I sing my heart out.

  Play my ass off.

  And I do something I’ve never done before.

  Pour the entire truth of my soul into a song.

  When it ends, I lock eyes with Jackson, and I hold his gaze as a brand-new happiness floods me. Possibility. A future. A forever.

  The audience hollers. They cheer and roar for nearly a minute.

  When the noise settles down, I clear my throat and ask, deadpan, “You like it?”

  They whoop.

  And then it’s my turn again. “I want to tell you all about the song. I want to tell every last person here about this guy. I wrote it for him.”

  I grin, and they howl.

  “Want to know why?”

  A collective yes resonates.

  I flick my gaze to the wings. Dude is still smiling.

  My life is awesome.

  I pluck a few notes from the chorus, since words need music. “I fell in love for the first time. Has that ever happened to you?” I ask the crowd.

  They shriek in response. And kiss—lots of them kiss whoever they came with.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” I say with a grin, turning once again to the guy in the wings. “See, I’ve written all these songs, but I didn’t truly get it till a few days ago.” I stop, shaking my head, still amazed that this crazy thing called love is happening to me.

  I drag a hand through my hair. “There’s this guy, and, my God, I love him like crazy. Like, he’s the one.” I take a beat, look to my left, and repeat the words that matter most as my chest flutters—fucking flutters—when I look at him. “He’s the one.”

  Jackson is more than twenty feet away, but this time when he parts his lips, I can read them.

  You are.

  I soar. I could probably fly to the moon right now.

  I face the crowd. “Do you know what I mean? He’s the one I think about. The one I want. The one I long for. I can’t imagine my life with anyone else. I can only imagine it with him.”

  The audience turns into a chorus of awws.

  “Ah, hell, this is why I love you guys. You get it. You get me.” I stop, take a breath, and go for broke. “And the guy in the picture? He’s here tonight.”

  The screams are intense and electric.

  I don’t look at Jackson, just in case.

  I keep my eyes on the audience. “The guy in the picture is here. And I swear if he feels the same, if he comes onstage right now, I will smother him in kisses in front of everyone. Because that is what I want for the rest of my life. He is who I want.”

  The cheers are electrifying.

  I hold my breath, let all the hope I’ve ever felt fill me, and I wait.

  But not for long.

  Jackson Pearce is a man of action.

  He steps out of the wings and strides across the stage, so incomprehensibly sexy in that button-down shirt, rolled up to show his forearms, those pants that hug his legs, and that smile.

  For me.

  All for me.

  And for everyone.

  Because here he is, declaring his feelings in return.

  This most private man walks to me, and I swing my guitar behind me so it’s slung across my back.

  When he reaches me, the first thing he does is press his cheek to mine, brush his lips against my ear, and whisper just for me, “I’m in love with you. That’s why I quit—so I can do this now.”

  He clasps my cheeks and kisses me in front of all my fans.

  The crowd goes wild, and so does my heart.

  It is better than music. Better than poetry. Better than anything I’ve ever had.

  This man is my love, and he’s kissing me in front of thousands of fans who are all cheering, clapping, hollering.

  And taking pictures.

  The guy in the picture is about to go viral, and I couldn’t be happier.

  Jackson Pearce is kissing me in public for the first time, and I want the world to know he’s mine.

  There’s one surefire way to do that.

  When we break the kiss, I sling an arm around him. “This guy is mine. All mine.”

  The audience erupts into another round of cheers as he raises a hand, waves to them, then returns to the wings.

  I finish the show.

  It’s the best show I’ve ever done.

  And the best part is walking offstage to the love of my life.

  36

  Jackson

  Stone is mobbed when he heads into the wings.

  Candi. His manager. His brother. Sage. Ivy. Stagehands. Roadies.

  Or, I should say, we are. Everyone wants to touch him, talk to him, congratulate him—and me too.

  Guess that’s what happens when one of the world’s most famous rock stars kisses you at his concert in front of all his fans.

  Stone gives his guitar to Zane then lifts his palm. “Give me a minute, peeps.”

  He pulls me into his dressing room, slams the door, locks it, and lets out a long exhale. A vein in his neck pulses from the exertion of performing. His shoulders rise and fall from what’s pretty much a workout onstage. He stares at me, smiling stupidly.