Jace, page 8
“Which reminds me,” Travis said, pointing at her with his fork. “Your song. The new one you were humming in here?”
She sighed, scooping up Clementine and pressing a kiss on the tip of her downy soft head.
“We know the drill, Krystal. You bake, we get new songs.” Travis served himself another slice.
“You do realize you’re a pain in the ass?”
“And you love me.” He tugged her into a hug. “Don’t try to deny it.”
“I won’t.” She sighed, smiling up at her brother.
“The more you avoid talking about it, the more likely it is I’ll make your life hell until I get answers.” He smiled. “And when I say hell, I mean tickling you.”
She tried to pull away, but he was too strong and she didn’t want to jostle Clementine.
“Come on, now.” Travis used a baby voice. “Emmy Lou already hummed some of it.”
She groaned as her brother started humming her song. Emmy hadn’t held anything back because he hummed through most of what she’d worked out.
“Nice.” Jace nodded. “A lot of soul.”
“Krystal can’t write any other way.” Travis released her. “She might have a bad attitude most of the time, and a short temper, and no patience, and a hell of a lot of opinions—”
“Really?” She elbowed him.
“But deep, deep, deep down inside, she’s a world-weary, fragile, and emotional soul.” Travis winked.
“Did you just quote our review from Entertainment Monthly?” She was laughing.
“Did you just admit that you read the review in Entertainment Monthly?” Her brother shook his head.
“Wait a sec.” Jace was frowning. “Entertainment Monthly said all that? What the hell sort of review is that?”
“They just said the deeply fragile and emotional soul part. Went on about how Krystal was underrated and truly gifted as a songwriter. Blah blah blah.” Travis grinned. “The bad attitude stuff is all me.”
“The song you’re working on.” Jace’s fingers were tapping a beat on the marble island. “It’s got a little bit of your dad’s song ‘Bring Her Home.’”
She shook her head. “Not really. Beat’s close but I’m thinking slower.” She closed her eyes and hummed it through, pausing now and then to adjust the pitch.
“Damn.” Travis was shaking his head when she was done. “Nice.”
“You had doubts?” She teased, setting Clementine on the floor and refilling the dog’s water bowl. “You hear that, baby? First, they want to hear what I’m working on, then seem surprised it’s any good.”
“Lyrics?” Travis asked.
She glared up at her brother. “Don’t push it.”
“Fine. I’ll get it out of you before long.” He yawned. “We’re heading to the airport in, what, four hours?”
“Yup.” She glanced at Jace. “You ready for tomorrow?”
Jace shook his head. “You mean flying to Charleston to sing, onstage, with Krystal King?” He kept shaking his head.
Travis laughed. “Enjoy the ride. And the perks.” He chuckled. “There are so many perks.”
“And by perks, he means groupies.” She tried to keep the edge from her voice. Tried. And failed. “Whatever. Go ahead and catch an STD. Catch two. Collect a whole bunch even. You’ll need your rest then, so you boys go off to bed and I’ll clean up here.” The sooner they were gone, the sooner she could stop thinking about Jace, in his tight white shirt, enjoying the perks of the road. It shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t. But it did.
She covered the pie with foil and tucked it into the refrigerator, dodging Clementine to reach back for the ice cream and milk. When the food was packed away, she turned to load the dishwasher. It wasn’t the way the muscles of his back worked that got to her. Or the way he’d simply stepped up to help clean without being asked. No, it was the sound of his deep velvet voice humming the tune of her newest song as he worked that left her hands unsteady.
* * *
Jace sat in the last row of the chartered airplane, his lucky baseball cap pulled down low and his leather jacket folded up behind his head for a makeshift pillow. He was worn out. Being in the King house surrounded by all the things he never knew a person needed made him uneasy.
The shower operated with a remote. A remote control. He’d taken a picture and sent it to Heather—who’d instantly sent him a string of rapid-fire texts demanding pictures of everything.
He’d texted: Why are you awake? It’s almost one in the morning.
College student. Cramming. Send pics. I’m freaking out here, she’d fired back.
He’d smiled, yawned, and texted, Pics tomorrow. Get some sleep. Love you.
You better. Break a leg tomorrow night, big brother. Wish I was there to cheer you on. I love you. Her text had ended with a string of kiss and kissy-face emojis. Heather was an emoji fan.
The remote hadn’t just turned on and off the shower. Hell no. That would have been too easy. It turned on the in-floor heating, a variety of nature sounds, mood lighting, and a whole slew of different water pulses. He’d given up, stood on hot tiles, the sound of whales echoing off the walls, under alternating pink-and-purple lights, with water shooting him straight in the chest. Damn hard, too. Why the hell would anyone want that sort of water pressure? Eyes pressed shut, he rubbed his chest, wondering if he was bruised.
“Jace?” Krystal stage-whispered.
He opened one eye to find her standing in the aisle next to his seat. Her heavy-lidded eyes, too-big T-shirt, zebra-striped leggings, and worn-out John Deere tractor cap might be his favorite look yet. “Krystal.”
“You look like you pulled an all-nighter.”
“Didn’t sleep.” He opened both eyes, looking at the enlarged picture on her shirt. “Is that Clementine?”
She stared down at the image and smiled. “Yeah. A fan made it for me. Isn’t she the cutest?”
Clementine was on her back, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, in a blinged-out sweater that said “Mommy’s Little Angel.” “She’s something, all right.” He stifled a yawn. “She coming on the road with you?”
“Of course. She’s asleep in her kennel up front.” She cocked her head to one side, her green gaze sweeping over his face. “Why didn’t you sleep? Eat too much pie?”
He liked her like this best. Teasing. Smiling. No tension. “Is that a thing? I’m pretty sure it’s not.”
She laughed. “Well, I hate to do this but…you’re in my seat.”
He tipped his cap back. “We have seats?”
“Not officially.” She shrugged. “But I always sit back here. It’s quiet. You go up there and you’ll be forced to listen to Travis. He snores like a freight train. I pity his wife—if he ever stops screwing around and finds someone willing to take him on.”
“Great.” He yawned, shrugging. “Guess it’s a good thing I can sleep through practically anything.”
“Or you could just ask,” she said.
“Ask?” he repeated, gathering his jacket and well-worn duffel bag.
“You’re going to have to learn to stop being so agreeable, Jace. You’re going to get eaten alive.” With a sigh, she flopped into the seat beside him. “Fine.”
“What?” He was confused.
“You can stay.” She yawned. “You go up there, you won’t get a lick of sleep. And I don’t want you falling over when we sing tonight.”
He wasn’t about to argue.
“It’s not just Travis. Emmy will be on Instagram or Snapchat or doing something super-productive so you’ll feel guilty for not being productive.” She yawned again, her eyelids drooping as she curled up in the oversized seat. “Even though it’s human to need sleep. Emmy’s devotion to her fans is ridiculous. But maybe that’s why she’s the popular one, I’m the screwup, and Travis is the playboy.”
“You’re not a screwup.” Guarded, definitely—even a little detached. Considering the press she’d received in the last eighteen months alone, both made sense. Survival skills were required in a hypercompetitive industry. And, apparently, in the King household. He hadn’t spent much time with CiCi King, but in that time, he’d learned quite a bit. And gained a whole new level of empathy and respect for the King children. Especially Krystal.
Still, Krystal shifted in her seat to study him. “Thanks, random reality TV winner guy who’s known me for like five minutes.”
“You’re welcome.” He chuckled.
She rolled her eyes. “Sarcasm. Something else you’ll need to acquaint yourself with.”
“Lucky to have your help on that.” He rolled his jacket back up and closed his eyes as he rested his head.
“We have pillows.”
“I’m good.” He yawned, vaguely aware that the plane was taxiing down the runway. “So you know, I’m a good judge of character.”
The dismissive snort-laugh she made had him opening both eyes. “I’m not so sure about that. Don’t you read the newspaper? Or watch the news or listen to the radio? If you did, you’d know all the mean and selfish and horrible things I’ve done.” She was studying him again. “I am a bad person. You’ve been warned.”
What was she looking for?
He waited, searching for the right words. Because, right now, he needed to be damn careful. “You know that game? Where you go around the circle, whispering the secret to the person next to you, and they whisper to the person next to them, and on around until the last person says the secret out loud?”
She nodded. “Telephone?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Telephone. Every person hears some of it and fills in the rest? By the time it comes out, some words have changed. Some so much that it doesn’t resemble what it started out as—hell, it might be unrecognizable. Definitely misunderstood. Or out of context. I think it’s more like that. Might be simplifying it a bit, but you get what I mean.” He held his breath, watching her.
“I get what you mean.” Her grin was full of mischief. “But I did stomp on Mickey’s foot. Hard. Made him bleed and ruined his boots.” And she didn’t feel an ounce of remorse over it, he could tell.
“I’m betting he deserved it.” He shrugged. “And that he loved the attention he got out of it.”
“And he got plenty of press.” She lowered her voice, almost mumbling. Her gaze slipped from his. “Did anyone see him stick his hand under my skirt? No. Did anyone hear what he said to me?” Red seeped into her cheeks. “Of course not.”
Anger clocked him right in the throat, squeezing tight enough to make breathing a chore. “What?” He’d had the chance to punch the son of a bitch square in the jaw, to lay him out cold in the damn parking lot that night. He should have. Hell, he wasn’t opposed to doing just that next time he came face-to-face with the bastard. “Why not tell someone?”
Her jaw ticked, her smile going hard. “No one listens, Jace. Especially when it’s something they don’t want to hear.” She closed her eyes and slumped back against the seat.
Try as he might, he couldn’t relax. And, from her white-knuckled clenched fists, she wasn’t asleep either.
Who the hell wouldn’t listen to that? To her? It’s not like she wasn’t surrounded by people almost every second of every day. Surely, one of them would believe her? Everyone needed someone—a person they could rely on. He had Heather. Heather had him. He’d be damned if he ever turned his back on her, no matter what. “Krystal—”
“Don’t.” Her green eyes popped open, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare start feeling sorry for me.” She shot him a look.
He held his hands up in mock surrender. What he was feeling at the moment had nothing to do with pity. Pissed off? No doubt. Frustrated, too. And fiercely…protective? Of Krystal? Well, hell, she wouldn’t thank him for that. Not one little bit.
With a nod, she relaxed—a bit. “Where does Heather go to school?”
“Oklahoma.” He paused. “She works hard—on the dean’s list. I’m damn proud of her.” He smiled. “But I haven’t seen her in a bit.”
“Miss her?” She nodded. “Sounds like she got all the brains and you got all the looks?” she said, teasing, turning so she was curled up and facing him.
“Oh, no, Heather’s gorgeous.” He grinned. “Too.”
She laughed that time. “And, out of the two of you, she definitely has the better name.”
“We’re still on that?” he sighed. “Jace isn’t a bad name.”
“But is it a good name?” She smothered a yawn. “Now shush so I can sleep, since I didn’t get much earlier, either.”
“Have problems with your shower too?” he asked.
“What? My shower?” Confusion clouded her altogether too pretty face.
And damn, she was pretty. “Forget it.” Thinking about her in the shower was a bad idea. He pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “Something keeping you up?”
She nodded, looked like she was going to say something more, then thought better of it.
“Music help?” he asked. “I do that. Work through it. Over and over?”
She pressed her eyes shut.
He started humming her song and was instantly rewarded with a smile. She kept her eyes closed, but she was definitely smiling.
“No,” she interrupted. “Like this.” She took it down a note, softened the tempo a beat, leaning closer to him. “Don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” He stared into those green, green eyes. “Better.”
Her gaze fell to his lips. “You think you’re charming, humming my song, being polite, and looking…like you do.” Her brow rose high, and she stared at him for a long time before adding, “But you’re up to something.”
She thought he was charming? And what the hell did that mean: Looking like you do? Was that a good thing? It didn’t sound like it, even though he was pretty sure it could be a very good thing. If she trusted him. Why would she? She was wary of people, men—especially those looking to use her as their ticket to fame—most of all. Maybe, when they’d known each other for more than a week, she’d start to believe that, with him, what you saw was what you got. That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious to know what sort of diabolical plans she thought he had. “Like what?”
“I’m still working that part out.” She yawned, her eyes drifting shut. “Just know I’m watching you.”
He smiled, watching her features soften in sleep. Try as he might, sleep eluded him. With his legs stretched out in front of him and his head propped on his jacket, he was comfortable enough. His brain wasn’t cooperating.
Might be because tonight’s concert was important. It was the first time Krystal’s new song was being performed. Also, they’d be singing it together.
In one week, he’d be the Three Kings opening act. His own show. His own band. His own music. Shit. Was he ready for this?
He blew a slow breath out, staring out the small window at the lightening sky. The black was giving way to a deep blue, shot through with deep purples and the hint of pink. A new day. A new world. All good. It was up to him now. And he wouldn’t let Heather or Luke or Krystal or Hank or Emmy Lou or any of the people counting on him down.
Chapter 6
“You were basically sleeping in his lap.” Travis scratched the back of his head. “Cuddled close and all.”
She scowled at him. Had she fallen asleep on Jace? Yes. Had she woken up with her head on his chest? Again, yes. How he’d gotten his arm around her was a mystery… But she had not, absolutely not, been all over him. Had that stopped Travis from teasing her the entire time they’d been rehearsing for tonight’s show? Not in the slightest.
“All over him.” Travis clucked, shaking his head.
Unintentional or not, she had sort of been all over him. Legs in his lap. Head buried against his chest. Arms around his waist. And he’d been holding on, keeping her wrapped up tight in his big, strong, tattooed arms. He’d smelled like heaven and felt twice as good. It had been a hell of a way to wake up.
But it would have been better without an audience.
“Uh-huh.” Travis picked up his guitar.
Don’t ask. Don’t acknowledge. Don’t even respond. But the look on his face had her asking, “Uh-huh, what?”
He plucked a few notes. “Nothing.” But his grin said otherwise.
“Travis.” Emmy Lou was doing her best to keep them both on task. Poor thing. Didn’t she know that was impossible? By now, she should trust that, solid rehearsal or not, they’d manage to put on a great show. Once the lights were on and people were screaming their names, they all understood the responsibility they had to their fans. “We were all tired. They fell asleep. That’s all. Leave it alone.” The look she shot him was intended to be firm—maybe even intimidating.
“Sure. Sure.” He winked at Emmy. Still, his tone said something entirely different.
That was all. Neither one of them had made the conscious decision to become a sleeping pretzel. She had tried to extricate herself from their tangle of limbs without waking him. And failed. One second, he’d been all dead weight and deep sleep. The next, he’d pulled her close, smiling at her with his bedroom eyes.
“I’m just making an observation. Krystal might not hate him after all.” He chuckled. “And he didn’t seem too put out to wake up with her all up in his personal space.”
No, he hadn’t. He’d seemed happy to see her. Until the sleep had cleared from his eyes and he’d sat bolt upright, knocking their heads together and drawing every eye on the plane their way—those that weren’t already staring at them, that is—before mumbling an apology and disappearing into the bathroom.
Emmy Lou looked back and forth between them. “I’m not sure what you’re hoping to accomplish, Trav. I think it’s best if we all get along—since we’re going to finish out the rest of the tour together.”
