Jace, page 16
She was doing her best not to look at Jace. Not to say she wasn’t aware of his every move. She was. Or the fact that his faded grey T-shirt hugged the incredibly sculpted chest that she’d enjoyed a little too much the night before.
But her Daddy’s expression set her nerves on edge and flooded her stomach with ice. Whatever Daddy wasn’t saying, he wasn’t sure he wanted to share it in front of Jace.
“Spill.” Travis pushed. “I’m not buying it.”
“Tig Whitman is getting an industry award.” His blue-green gaze met hers. “Doesn’t sit well with me.”
She handed the box back to Travis. Her daddy was doing this for her.
“Australia, here we come.” Emmy Lou was all smiles. “I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Okay.” Travis stared into the pastry box, frowning.
She had no idea what her siblings knew. She’d been packed off to the Wellness Ranch for six weeks on intense therapy and counseling—to break her “destructive habit of lying” and “learn why she needed extra attention” and why she “wanted to hurt her parents.” In time, she realized she was there to learn to lie better. Uncle Tig had never touched her, never hurt her. No, she’d said those things because she was overshadowed by her sister’s success. At least, that’s what she picked up as her expected response—and no one thought to question her.
Once she’d returned from her Wellness Ranch visit, no one mentioned Uncle Tig, what he did or did not do to her, or the sudden severing of his and her father’s relationship. Something had happened: Uncle Tig was a regular in the King household; then he wasn’t.
Travis had brought Tig up once, unleashing sobs and a full-blown panic attack. After that, neither of her siblings brought him up again.
But this was one of those things they couldn’t pass up. Them. Not her. “I can skip it,” she offered, sitting cross-legged on the kitchenette bench and pulling Clementine into her lap. “It’s not a big deal.”
Her father shook his head. “That’s not how family works.”
“This is business.” She smiled at him. “It would be a mistake, Daddy. Y’all have to go to ACMF.”
“People will talk.” Travis’s jaw was locked. “You can’t just not show up. We are the Three Kings. You know?”
“Travis.” Her father’s voice was gruff. “I need everyone to be on board with this. Hell, to feel good about it. And I’ll be turning on the damn security system, too. Every time, something goes missing. Not this year.”
Krystal smiled. “If that will make you feel better, Daddy.”
He nodded. “But you don’t have to go, Krystal.”
“Make something up.” Emmy Lou shrugged. “Laryngitis? That’d keep her from performing. And talking.”
“How about we work out the details later.” She looked at Jace—and regretted it. “You have a song for Jace, Daddy?” Her gaze fell to Clem.
Her father nodded. “I do.”
Clementine’s tail wagged and her little tongue brushed the underside of Krystal’s chin. “Thank you, baby.”
“Here.” Travis put the box on the table and slid into the seat opposite her. “Going to Australia wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
She smiled at him. “Australian women superhot?”
He grinned. “I’m game to find out.”
“The new album comes out next month,” she pointed out. “This is where we need to be. You know Daddy. He’ll get the Australian dates pushed back.”
Travis was staring at her, posture going stiff, his green eyes troubled. He had questions. One day, he’d want answers.
“Working on that new song.” She cut him off. “Wanna hear?”
He nodded, his posture easing.
She gave him Clementine.
“She doesn’t have to be held twenty-four hours a day,” Travis grumbled, rubbing the white poof of hair on the dog’s head. “You are one spoiled dog, you know that?”
Clementine was all wiggles.
“Just ignore him, Clem,” Emmy said, sitting on the seat by her brother. “He only wishes he’d get half the attention you do.”
“Poor Travis,” Krystal cooed, mussing her brother’s hair before she headed for her guitar.
Her daddy caught her hand as she walked past to her room. She paused long enough to kiss him on the temple.
“You know I mean it.” He squeezed her hand.
She nodded and did her best to smile. Her daddy loved her—even after all that had happened. She squeezed his hand, hating how her smile wobbled. Better to roll her eyes, pretend it wasn’t a big deal. She tried, then hurried to the storage compartments at the back of the bus. It was quieter there and she needed space to clear her mind. She opened the cabinet and pulled out her guitar, her heart hammering against her chest. Damn Tig Whitman. Two deep breaths. Resting her forehead against the cool wood compartment. Thinking of her happy place—her grandfather’s kitchen, elbow deep in biscuit dough with her grandmother singing to whatever song was blaring from her radio.
It helped. But he was still there. Tig Whitman. Her personal boogeyman, waiting to pop out and scare the shit out of her when she thought he was gone for good.
It wasn’t as though she were a fragile sixteen-year-old anymore. She had a firm grip on reality. Life wasn’t a love song. Being a hero meant doing the right thing, and they were a rare breed. Tears were a waste of time and energy. The people who loved you could hurt you worst of all. Uncle Tig. Her mother. Her father—though he’d done his best to make up for that. And, finally, some wounds would never fully heal. The Wellness Ranch taught her that—the place had taught her a lot, actually. Mostly, how to survive. And lying to hide the nasty truth was the only way everything would be okay. Not for her—but for the rest of the world.
The only time she’d slipped? Years ago. Why her mother thought a “Welcome home from Wellness Ranch” party was appropriate, she still didn’t know. Uncle Tig showed up. He’d forgiven her for the horrible things she’d said about him, he said. He’d make sure she knew she was his special girl, he said. But his hug, his hands on her, pressing her close, had been too much. She’d thrown up all over his fancy custom suit and run for her bedroom, refusing to open the door to anyone. Her daddy had to take the door off the hinges to get inside. He’d taken one look at her, hiding in the back of her closet, and told her mother Tig was no longer welcome in their home. Not his name nor his presence. It was the one time her father had laid down the law with her mother.
Her mother had never forgiven her for it. And Krystal could never forgive her mother for deserting her when she’d needed her most. A daughter should be able to rely on her mother, shouldn’t she? She tried to be strong, she did. But sometimes, she ached to have someone to turn to.
Her daddy was already too tormented by the past.
Her sister? Or brother? She wasn’t about to dump her garbage on them. Assumptions had been made, sure, but nothing had been confirmed. Emmy Lou would be devastated. Travis? He’d want to go for the jugular. She wouldn’t drag her siblings into this or tear her entire family apart instead of just her relationship with her mother.
“Krystal?” Jace. Of course. He cleared his throat. “I need to get something.”
“Go ahead,” she murmured, setting her guitar case on the floor at her feet and closing the compartment. The latch on the door wouldn’t stick. She tried again. No luck. And again. “Shit.”
“Need help?” he asked.
“No.” She shoved harder, slamming with more force than necessary.
He squeezed behind her, warm and solid. “Excuse me.”
She stepped back, against the wall of compartments, frazzled by his nearness. By him, reaching for the overhead compartment and how his shirt lifted just enough to reveal a sampling of his seriously ripped abs. Forget the damn latch.
How she wished their night together had cooled her interest in him. If anything, it had the opposite effect. The two or three times she’d dared to look his way, she’d been back in his bed, his hands on her skin, buried deep inside her. Now was no exception. She’d give just about anything to rewind and replay their night together.
His light brown eyes met hers, his jaw muscles working—clenching—tight. “You okay?”
She nodded. She’d be better if he was touching her. Kissing her. “Did you need something?”
“Your dad was looking for his harmonica. Said it might be here?” He paused, those light brown eyes fixed on her. “Any idea where it might be?”
She nodded, bending to open the drawer that stored her father’s excessive harmonica collection. “Which one?”
He was closer behind her. “Not sure.”
She pulled out his favorite, a silver Hohner Super Chromonica, from its velvet-lined box, pushed the drawer shut, and stood, facing the cabinets—not Jace. It was safer that way, wasn’t it? Not getting lost in his eyes or the curve of his mouth. Much safer. Or not. Her ass was pressed tight against what felt like the beginnings of just the sort of thing she’d been thinking about—dreaming about—since she’d left his hotel room.
“Here.” He reached around her, the back of his hand brushing a far too aroused nipple, and closed the compartment she’d been fighting with, pushing until the latch caught. His hand stayed there, open and flat against the wood, his arm braced taut, against her side, close to holding her. But not.
She was breathing heavily, willing him to touch her, aching for it.
“Krystal.” The roughness in his voice sent a shudder down her spine.
No, no. If he started talking, she’d listen. And he was too good at saying all the right—wrong—things. She spun to face him, injecting as much irritation into her “Here” as possible while holding out the harmonica.
His gaze narrowed, falling from her face to the harmonica—to her impossible-to-miss nipples straining against her shirt. He closed his eyes, blew out a long, slow breath, and took the harmonica. She waited, not sure what to hope for but hoping all the same. Finally, his eyes opened, blazing. Beautiful. Hungry. For her.
And he walked away.
She almost slid down the wall to the floor, almost called him back, but knew that was a bad idea. It, they, couldn’t happen again. Being alone with him was way too tempting. He’d know what she wanted now, but being the gentleman he was, he’d never act on it without her permission.
She splashed some cold water on her face in the restroom before carrying her guitar back to the eat-in booth built into the bus. Travis and Emmy Lou were reading over her notes, instantly engrossed by her new song. But Jace was singing and his voice did things to her. She set her guitar aside and gave up pretending she wasn’t listening. Her daddy joined in, harmonizing. Travis picked up her guitar and joined in, the three of them turning one song into another—until a full-on jam session was underway.
This was how music should be—full of joy and laughter. So much so that parking at the Civic Center was almost a letdown. Not because they had a show, but because the rest of the world existed again. And in that world, she had to keep her distance from Jace Black. No matter how hard that was going to be.
* * *
Jace heard the roar of the crowd and smiled. He was a long way from comfortable with his new gig as the Three Kings opening act but this, his duet with Krystal, he looked forward to. When the lights went dim, he made his way carefully to his waiting stool. Now, it wasn’t just the song or getting to sing with her. This was the only time he had with her. Since that day on the bus, she’d gone out of her way to avoid him. Hell, she’d barely even look at him. Except onstage.
Onstage, she looked at him like he was someone special to her. Sang her heart out for him.
He sat, his fingers plucking out the first lines of their song. The audience went crazy.
When the lights went up, she was sitting beside him—a microphone in her hands.
“I remember you, standing in the sun, smiling at me, and suddenly the world caught fire. Blinding, beautiful fire,” he sang.
Her eyes met his and he was lost. Her voice poured out over the audience and wrapped around his heart. She’d given his flowers to a fan and distributed the giant box of Red Vines among the band and crew, never once acknowledging they were from him. He’d handed her the music to the song he’d been working on and been met with a blank expression and a curt “I’ll take a look at it.”
But he didn’t let it get to him. If anything, it was starting to make sense.
Being alone with him was too risky. She wanted him and, damn, he wanted her. With no one else around, she was worried about what would happen. But in front of people, a few thousand of them preferably, she had no problem letting it all out.
He took her hand in his, the chorus rising up from the audience as they slipped from their stools and stood, face-to-face, to share her mic. He didn’t bother pretending he wasn’t staring. He was. And he loved what he saw. Her skin dewy with sweat. Eyes huge. Excited smile. Red lips—she was chewing her lower lip now. And the hitch in her breath, the tightening of her hand in his.
He leaned forward, so close their foreheads touched.
“Love isn’t love when the flames burn it down. There’s no hiding or forgiveness from the damage that it’s done. When the smoke clears away, you’ll still find me searching here. Searching for the ashes of my heart.”
The crowd was deafening when the lights went dim.
Not that he noticed.
She was kissing him. Arms around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. Desperate. He couldn’t think, he was grabbing on, kissing her back—pressing her tight against him.
Just as quickly, she was pushing him away and running from the stage, almost falling. He stood there, like an idiot, wondering what the hell to do now. Go after her? Make her talk to him?
Now was not the time.
The lights were about to come up and he couldn’t be standing there, so he did what he always did at this point of the show—went and watched from the wings of the stage. Only this time, he was getting looks. There was just enough light for anyone watching the stage to see what had happened. Most of the crew had a job to do, too busy to notice. But the crew weren’t the only people onstage.
“Please tell me I didn’t see what I just saw.” A vein in Luke’s forehead was bulging.
“You might need to get that looked at.” He pointed at his manager’s forehead. “That can’t be normal.”
“You’re hilarious.” Luke wasn’t smiling. “We’ve been over this before—”
“We have.” Jace nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll refresh your memory this time. You handle my career. Period.” For a minute, he worried Luke would lose his cool. He liked the guy enough, respected his dedication to the job…but his personal life was his business. Even when a celebrity was kissing him on a concert stage in front of a live audience.
Luke snorted. “This isn’t going away.”
Jace didn’t say a thing.
“Someone probably got a picture.” Luke sighed. “Or video.”
Which was probably true. The lights came up and the Three Kings were onstage. He’d seen the show a dozen times already but it never got old. The three of them were master performers. And Krystal? Hell, he could watch her sing all day.
“You like her that much?” Luke asked.
“Are you going to lose it if I say yes?” He faced his manager.
And realized Hank King was standing not two feet away, listening to the entire conversation. “Don’t mind me. I figured I’d wait around to hear your answer, too.”
Jace felt like a son of a bitch then. He’d earned his contract through Next Top American Voice, sure, but Hank King had given him this—all of this. Hank might respect his talent, but did he respect him as a man? A man for his daughter? “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat, knowing there was only one answer. The truth. “Very much.”
Hank smiled, nodded, and clapped Luke on the shoulder. “Well, there you go.”
Luke’s attempt at a smile was more than pathetic.
“Don’t you worry, son,” Hank assured him. “It’ll all come out right in the wash.”
Confusion descended on Luke’s face, but he still nodded, as if he understood exactly what Hank was talking about.
“City folk,” Hank said, shaking his head before he walked around a drop-down wall and out of sight.
“What the hell did that mean?” Luke asked.
“It’ll all work itself out.” Jace laughed.
“Why didn’t he just say that?”
“Probably to see the look on your face.” He pointed. “That look.”
Luke scowled. “Whatever. In the morning, we need to talk strategy. We should be looking at lining up some projects for just you on the way back to Austin. Once you get there, you’ll be in the studio getting the album done.”
Just when he thought he was getting a feel for things, Luke had found some new opportunity to shake things up. Better to remember the album was the original deal. Wheelhouse Records had signed him for one year and one contract. Everything else? That was up to him—and Luke.
“Oh shit, I forgot.” Luke smiled. “You wear cologne?”
Jace frowned. “Not normally.”
Luke’s smile grew. “You might be. We’ll talk.”
Two hours later, Jace was in his dressing room downing a bottle of water when his phone started vibrating.
Heather. Not a text like normal.
“What’s wrong?” Jace asked.
“Nothing. Why does something have to be wrong?” She paused. “Breathe, Jace.”
“I’m breathing. You’re calling, so something has to be up.”
“Well, it’s just…don’t get mad, okay?”
He sat on the small sofa in his dressing room. “Okay?”
“These reporters showed up today.” She sighed. “I didn’t talk to them, much. But my roommate, the one I thought was my friend, she might have talked to them.”
