Jace, page 29
Why had she come? “You want me to say I was worried? Fine.” She shook her head, snapping. “I was worried about you. Not the stupid interviews.” She glared at him. “I wanted to check on you. To make sure you were okay.”
He was smiling. “Really?”
“Yes, really, dammit.” She was beyond flustered now. What did it matter anyway? She pointed at the bag. “Food and coffee.” She frowned, tearing her gaze away. “Don’t choke on it.” She spun, stomping down the hall toward the door.
Travis was halfway up the steps when she came down, brushing past him. “Problem?”
“Shut up,” she snapped, heading for her bus, ignoring her brother’s laugh.
What the hell was that? She had been worried about him. That was a human response, wasn’t it? Then she’d been caught up in the beauty of his words. Next, she’d been tangled in the beauty of his arms, and then he…he… What did he want? Some sort of revelation? Did he think he was being cute by dragging some half-hearted admission that, yes, she cared about him, not just their working relationship? Why did he have to look so damn pleased about it?
“What’s wrong?” Emmy Lou looked up from her computer. “You saw the news?”
“News?” Krystal repeated, still trying to make sense of that smile. Of course she cared about him. They were…friends. It’s not like she was pouring her heart out to him, telling him how she really felt about him.
“Tig?” Emmy Lou turned her laptop around. “This just posted.”
That name was more effective than having a bucket of ice water dumped on her head. “What?” Her eyes adjusted to the screen and read “Tig Whitman Plans to Sue King Family in Civil Court.”
She sat in the dining booth before her legs could buckle. With a thunk, her forehead rested against the table and she stretched her arms out so her hands could dangle off the other side. What had she been thinking? Oh right, that she was doing the right thing. She shook out her hands.
Beyond the press, there had been an incredible outpouring of emails, letters, and cards from hundreds of survivors. They believed her. They thanked her. They wanted advice on how to keep going, how to live, how to let go. Answering them helped her feel stronger, reminding her of why she’d stepped forward. She never pretended to have the answers, she didn’t. Every day was a struggle. Some days were harder than others. But surviving until it got easier was what they had to do—or their attacker still had control. She said that to them. And yet, here she was, letting Tig and his stupid threats get to her.
It didn’t take long for Travis and Jace to climb on board their bus.
“I’m guessing you heard?” Travis asked.
She didn’t move. Tig couldn’t win. No one believed her; no one had come forward with stories of similar abuse. But, dammit, he couldn’t win.
“Taking it well, then?” Travis asked.
She flipped him off. “Why did I… I’m stupid. I knew…I knew it was a risk—”
“A risk worth taking.” Jace knelt by her, his hand resting on her thigh. “Don’t second-guess yourself. Don’t doubt what you did. It’s never a bad idea to do the right thing, Krystal.”
She’d known the media would pick apart her family’s every action—but that hadn’t made it any easier to see.
They’d started with her parents. Following the near catastrophe of her interview, her parents had one hell of a fight. Screaming, her mother; and doors slamming, her mother; and the shockingly calm suggestion that one of them leave for a while, her father, had ended with just that. Her mother decided now was the time to visit one of her sorority friends. In Italy. While the details of the fight hadn’t made it to the press, there was all sorts of speculation about CiCi’s sudden international trip—something she never did without her entire family. Was it over her drug addiction reveal? Was she still a drug addict off to some high-priced rehab center away from the public eye? Had she and Hank finally decided to divorce? Krystal didn’t worry too much over her mother, but she worried about her father. Normally, he’d laugh off whatever the papers printed about him. But now? He hadn’t been doing a lot of laughing lately.
And Travis? Well, a lot of that was just splashing pictures of his constant stream of rotating women. Not exactly news.
Emmy’s was the hardest. Why the Star Gazette thought it was necessary to run an article on Brock and how lucky he was not to have wound up a member of the King family was a mystery. The only thing that mattered was how devastated Emmy Lou had been. Again. Brock didn’t deserve that sort of love—he sure as heck didn’t deserve her sister. Emmy Lou was the one who’d lucked out, not Brock. If a man wound up winning her sister, what else could he ever need or want for?
And then there was Jace. Nothing was off-limits. They’d tracked down his wife’s relative who’d gone on and on about how deeply in love they’d been and how, after Nikki’s death, they’d all worried Jace would harm himself. Another article had printed pictures of Jace with his son, Ben. He’d looked so happy—so much like a proud father. Knowing what he’d been through, what he’d lost, gutted her. How did he go on? How had his heart survived?
It was so hard. She’d never been in love before. There was something powerful about having him just walk in the room. Just that, and everything felt…easier. Like now, with his hand on her thigh and his words of support, he made this easier.
And the tug in her heart stronger than ever.
“It’s never a bad idea to do the right thing?” Travis mumbled. “That was frigging deep.”
Krystal flipped him off again.
“Krystal.” Emmy sat across from her, taking her hand. “Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“Please.”
Her sigh was bone deep, but she looked at her sister.
“We’ll figure it out.” Emmy Lou squeezed her hand. “I’m not saying I have a single idea but…we’ll come up with something. Okay?”
“Okay.” Emmy needed her to say it, so she did. But she didn’t necessarily believe it.
“Man, maybe you should think about Luke’s deal?” Travis said. “It’s not too late to save yourself from this sinking ship.”
Krystal sat up, glaring at her brother. “Sinking ship?” She flipped him off again, right in his face.
Emmy and Jace laughed. Jace, who was kneeling beside her, the warmth of his palm seeping through her jeans and into her skin. She stole a glance from the corner of her eye. Lucky for her, he was now wearing a shirt. And pants. Not that it made him any less appealing. She sighed, tearing her gaze away.
“Wait.” Her brother’s words registered. “What deal?” Her gaze darted from Travis to Jace, a whisper of unease racing down her spine.
Jace stood, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
His hand, his warmth, was gone. More than a whisper now—especially since Jace wouldn’t look at her.
“I’m not sure a tour with Samson McCall, Aaron Jackman, and Martina Lambert is nothing.” Travis shook his head. “Soda?” he asked, heading to the refrigerator.
“Water?” she called out. Because a painful knot was now lodged in her throat. “Why wouldn’t you take that?” she asked. It was a no-brainer. They were three of the biggest names, regulars, chart-toppers. They’d banded together for a limited tour that sold out in less than twenty-two hours.
“I’d be opening for them.” He shrugged.
“You’re opening for us,” Emmy Lou pointed out. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re like family now, Jace. But family looks out for one another. This seems like one of those don’t-regret-this sort of things.”
“Told you,” Travis said, rolling a water bottle across the table to her. “Sinking ship.” He pointed between the three of them.
Krystal took a long swig of her water bottle. It didn’t help. If anything, her throat felt a little more shredded than it had before. Forget unease. Dread was more accurate for the hollow, stark hole devouring the place around her heart. “When does the tour start?”
His light brown eyes met hers. “I’d finish up here and have, like, two days.”
Nod. Respond. Pretend to be happy for him. But she couldn’t.
“But you get to finish with us first?” Emmy Lou nodded. “Then you have to do it, Jace. No conflict of interest. And Wheelhouse supports it? Since they’re all about their artists?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Luke said they’d mentioned a contract extension.” He was still staring, still searching.
Krystal tore her gaze from his. He couldn’t know how she felt. He’d stay. Out of obligation if nothing else. He was wired that way.
“What does Heather say?” Emmy Lou reached across and took a sip of Krystal’s water.
“She’s not too happy about losing visitation rights to Clementine.” He nodded. “But I guess I should think about it some more. If you think it’s a good idea—”
“It’s a smart career move.” Krystal nodded, her fingers slowly tearing the label from her water bottle. “As long as you have studio time worked into your contract, nothing should stop you.”
“Maybe.” Jace shrugged. “Up for working on that song now?”
She nodded. How could she say no? It was a great song. She hadn’t seen much room for improvement. But now, she wasn’t going to say no to time with Jace. She couldn’t.
The tour had eight more performances. Eight. Then Jace would be gone.
* * *
“But you see his point?” DJ Freddy Young was saying. “Men get accused of this stuff all the time. Some real, some not.”
Jace was having a hard time keeping his mouth shut. “No. I don’t. It’s never okay for a man, for anyone, to be a predator—period. I’m pretty sure everything that comes out of Tig Whitman’s mouth is a pile of sh—”
“Jace,” Krystal cut in, her crushing grip on his hand reining him in. Which was good because he’d been about to tell DJ Freddy Young he was a fucking idiot. Who invited someone on their show, then proceeded to ridicule them for making sexual abuse allegations without proof? Apparently this asshole.
“There was enough proof to warrant a restraining order. That’s a pretty good place to start,” Krystal said. “Since the case is still pending, it’s probably best if we talk about the single.”
DJ Freddy nodded and turned to Krystal. “I hear it was originally for your sister to sing? With Jace? What happened there?”
“Emmy knew it was a special song.” Krystal smiled. “She said she had a sore throat so I’d have to rehearse with Jace. My father was there.”
Jace nodded. “He heard us singing and said that was it.” He looked at her. “I knew, after singing with Krystal, it wouldn’t be the same. We have this thing—”
“Oh, I feel your chemistry.” DJ Freddy laughed. “I’ve got the AC cranked up in here and it’s still smoking hot.”
Krystal’s hand tightened again.
“You’re not worried about what all this Tig Whitman stuff is going to do to your career?” DJ Freddy circled back around.
“No.” Jace shook his head. “The truth has a way of coming out. Is it painful? Hell yes. But it’s true. As long as people stay quiet, this sort of thing will keep happening. Three out of four assaults go unreported. Can you imagine? Living in fear? Hurting? That’s wrong. I don’t care who you are, who has done this to you, it’s not okay.” He held her hand against his chest. “That’s what people should be saying. That’s what matters. And I’m proud of Krystal for coming forward. I can’t imagine how terrifying it is to go through it, then get ripped apart for trying to make sure it doesn’t happen to someone else.”
“We’ve heard about the emails and letters you’ve been getting,” DJ Freddy said. “People of all ages? Sharing their story with you? Victims? Is that right?”
“It is. It’s very humbling to have someone share something so personal with you. But I think it’s easier to talk about it with someone who’s been through it. They know. They understand. And there’s no judgment.” She paused. “I’ve been trying to answer most of them, but there’s been a lot. And I’m not an expert. But there are some amazing resources out there, for victims and their families. I’ve posted them on the Three Kings website. And you can call this helpline, anytime, to get help.” She read the phone number.
“We’ll leave it with that. I wanna thank you two for coming in today,” DJ Freddy said. “Now, here it is, their brand-new single, out today, ‘Ashes of my Heart.’” He pressed a few buttons. “We’re good. Thanks.”
Jace and Krystal shook hands and were escorted, quickly, to the black SUV waiting outside. Sawyer climbed into the driver’s seat and they were off.
“You controlled yourself.” She sounded amused.
“Barely.” He sighed. “Next?”
“We have a break.” She stared out the window. “There’s the afternoon talk show and the late show tonight.”
He studied her profile, itching to take her hand. They’d made three stops already. And every time they got in the car, she’d turn away, shut down. The amount of pressure she was under was overwhelming. Between her family and the single and Tig… If there was ever a time to fall apart, it was now. In true Krystal fashion, she was holding it inside. She always had a shoulder for Emmy or Travis, but she would never think to burden them. She needed someone to talk to.
Dammit, he wanted to be there for her. “You can talk to me.”
She shook her head, her phone ringing. She glanced at the screen, then answered. “Misumi?” She shifted, her skirt sliding up just enough to show off some skin.
He didn’t deny himself the look. She had terrific legs. Most of the time she wore boots, so her painted pink toes in high-heeled strappy sandals had him checking out her legs more than once over the course of the day.
“Are you kidding?” There was excitement in her voice. “Of course, I’d love to.” She paused. “Yes.” She sighed, shaking her head. “CiCi King is not my manager. From now on, I don’t care what she says; I’m making my own decisions. I know that puts you in an awkward position—” There was a break in conversation—and she was laughing. “Good. I’m glad. Now?” Another pause. “Okay. Thanks, Misumi.” She hung up the phone, all smiles. “The Sexual Violence Advocacy Group is interested in my charity cookbook idea.” Her hand rested on his arm. “But they want to meet with me…now, basically.”
“Let’s go. Sawyer and I will find something to do.” Seeing her light up and excited made him so damn happy.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
He nodded.
She gave Sawyer the address.
Damn, her smile. “You better put that pie recipe in there.” He paused. “Best damn pie I’ve ever had.”
“You haven’t had my strawberry cream.” Her brows rose. “Or my berry cobbler. Oh, my key lime cake is to die for on a hot day.”
“Sounds like I’ve got a lot to look forward to.” His hand covered hers, loving the spark in her eyes.
Her gaze crashed into his, the instant spark.
“I like seeing you this way. With things to look forward to. Caught up in the moment.” His fingers ran along the curve of her jaw. “You deserve more of that, you know? Doing what you want? What makes you happy. You have a right to that.” She loved music. Watching her onstage, she was pure magic. She’d come through this stronger, with songs to sing and stories to tell, he knew it. As long as her mother didn’t get in her way. “You ever think about breaking off on your own?”
Her eyes closed. “All the time.” It was a whisper. “But now…” She looked at him, hesitant. “They’re all standing by me, Jace. I worry about letting them down, you know? Momma’s obsession with keeping us together is relentless, but it’s kept us together. Is that a bad thing? I don’t know.” She shrugged. “We’ve been a team for so long…” She was leaning into his touch.
“It would be hard.” Her skin was so soft. Now that the bruise was fading, it was easier to touch her. And, damn, he loved to touch her. “To live for yourself after worrying about everyone else for so long.”
She studied him, a crease forming between her brows. “I guess we’re the same in that way. Heather is—”
“My only family.” He nodded. “But she has her own life. I want her to have that. I want her to be happy.”
“Are you?” Her voice was husky and low. “Happy?”
He’d be happier if she’d stop fighting him and give them a real chance. Even now, as she was leaning into his touch, arching toward him, hungry for him, she was holding a part of herself away from him. The part he wanted—her heart. “Right now?” he asked.
She nodded, eyes flashing. She was on fire for him.
He gave in, clasping the back of her neck and meeting her halfway. His lips fastened on the column of her neck. His nose ran up, around her ear, so he could suck her earlobe into his mouth. The choked groan in the back of her throat had him holding a second longer.
“Feeling pretty good now,” he said against her temple before letting her go.
Her gaze stayed fixed on his, breathing heavy, flushed, wanting more. If she asked, he’d give her whatever she wanted. Hell, he hoped she would. She didn’t. For the remainder of the drive, she stared out the window—but she held on to his hand.
When Sawyer pulled over, Jace opened the door for her, escorting her inside the glass front building before he leaned in the passenger window of the SUV. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
Sawyer nodded. “I could eat.”
They located a burger joint a few blocks away, left the SUV parked, and walked. Jace and Krystal had taken a chartered plane to New York for the day. After the late show, they’d fly back down to New Orleans for a show tomorrow. It was a whirlwind trip, but the television spots were a big deal and Wheelhouse was a machine—it expected the artists to go above and beyond when it came to promoting their music. Considering he and Krystal were getting some one-on-one time, he had no complaints. They’d be dog-tired tomorrow, but he’d worry about that then.
