Page 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Royal

I’m sitting in the green room, watching the monitor as Jade finishes up the last of her songs, the planned encore, and then another, unplanned, one.

She’s fucking magnificent.

A total natural who lights up the stage, and the crowd is on fire for her.

And, yes, I’m considering myself part of the crowd.

I’m burning for her, trying to get a handle on this insatiable need to draw her close again, to tell her all the apologies I’ve been crafting over the last week, to make all the promises I owe her, to start showing her I know exactly what the fuck I nearly lost and that I will never—fucking never —take her for granted again.

But with every moment that passes, the doubt is creeping in.

And it sure as shit doesn’t help that she seems to be doing her level best to make this show as long as fucking possible.

The crowd roars, and I hear her call, “Goodnight, Nashville!” before she turns and walks off the stage.

The feed cuts, and I jump up from the couch, nervous energy making my movements jerky. I pace as I wait, fully aware of the panic eating at my insides. Is she going to be pissed that I stormed in and took over her show—even if it was just for one song? Is she going to forgive me?

I close my eyes, practice the breathing that Catherine helped me with last night.

Jade accepted the ring.

She didn’t call security to haul my ass off stage.

She stayed close as we played our song, our hands working together on the guitar in perfect harmony.

For those three minutes and twenty-two seconds, the crowd faded away. It became Jade and me up in the mountains, the snow falling, the fire roaring, the song flowing out of us like the most effortless sort of breathing.

And then I kissed her, whispered that I love her, and let her have the rest of her moment.

It was perfect, exactly as I imagined it would be…

But what if it’s not enough?

I wait in the now silent green room for what feels like ages before the door slowly opens and one of Dash’s security guard pokes his head in, eyes sweeping suspiciously over the space. They linger on me, his expression inscrutable, and he must determine that I’m not a threat because he moves forward, pushing the door open with him, stepping to the side, allowing…

My heart to walk through the door.

Jade’s face glistens with sweat and she has a towel hanging around her shoulders.

Her color is high, her hair a mess, that outfit beyond fucking sexy.

And she’s so beautiful that I can’t breathe.

But it’s her eyes that plunge a knife in my belly, tearing my flesh.

Fuck.

It wasn’t enough.

I move to her, reach for her hands, hating when she skitters back a step. “Shortcake,” I murmur. “I?—”

She turns to the security guard. “Trent,” she says softly. “Will you give me some privacy?”

He nods at her, but gives me a long, lingering glare that silently threatens to dismember me if I so much as harm a hair on her head. He can’t know that I wouldn’t hurt her that way, can’t know that the wounds I’ve already inflicted are far more damaging.

Or maybe he does.

Because his blue eyes turn to ice and he tells Jade, “I’ll be right outside if you need anything .”

Anything meaning giving me concrete shoes and taking me for a swim in a deep lake.

Or skydiving without a parachute.

Or—

Right.

I’m delaying.

“Shortcake,” I say again, stepping toward her.

She puts up her hand, my ring glinting on her finger, and fuck if I don’t feel a hundred feet tall when I see it there.

Mine.

At least until she starts talking.

Then a giant boulder sits on my stomach.

“I wasn’t going to embarrass you on stage,” she says, “but you can’t possibly think that I'm going to forgive you just because you bought a ring.”

“It’s not just a ring, baby. I…” My throat works, panic edging in, that streak of vulnerable far too wide for my comfort.

I shove it down.

Because I need to make this right.

“I had a week without you and it’s been the worst one in of my life—worse than losing Colt, worse than waking up after the accident, definitely worse that Amber telling me she was leaving, and a fuck-ton worse than finding out I’ve been replaced in Midnight Sun.” I reach for her, relief sliding through me when she allows me to take her hands in mine.

“I’m sorry they did that,” she murmurs. “And did it that way.”

“That doesn’t matter. I?—”

“It matters, Royal,” she says firmly.

Because of what I did afterward.

Guilt churns but I push it down. I need to focus. So, I exhale silently and ask, “Please, just let me talk, baby?”

She nods, and I draw her slowly toward me, inch by careful inch, trying not to spook her, not stopping until she’s flush against me, the jagged pit that’s been in my stomach for the last week filling in, just a little bit.

“First, I am so sorry. Hearing it like that—” I close my eyes, push out a breath, then open them again. “It hit me hard, Shortcake, and I fucked up. I went to that place again, the one that hurts everyone I love?—”

She jerks.

But I keep talking.

“I need you to know that I’m not going to let that happen again?—”

“Royal—”

“I finally talked to a therapist that Atlas recommended years ago, and I’m going to keep seeing her. I need to get a handle on the anger, the grief, the panic that closes in on me at the thought of not being what I was?—”

She jerks again. “ Royal.”

“I know that I probably won’t ever get back to being that man again, but I’m going to try. I made an appointment with my physical therapist, and I won’t give up this time—not until they tell me there’s no hope. Fuck, I won’t give up even then.” I touch her cheek. “I’m going to be better, I promise.”

“Honey,” she whispers.

But I still don’t stop.

“And I didn’t mean that bullshit about your music.” I settle my other hand on her cheek, holding her stare so she knows that I’m serious. “You are so fucking talented, baby. The first time I saw you on stage, I knew you had it—that star power that only comes with musicians who change the industry, who are around their whole lives and continue making hit after hit, whose music touches people’s souls. You’re one of those, Shortcake. Your fans will be around for a lifetime and your music is going to change lives?—”

“ Our music.”

My heart flips over in my chest. “What?”

“ Our music is going to change the industry, change lives, and touch people’s souls.”

That tightness in my lungs isn’t panic for once.

“I just have one question.”

“Anything.”

Her gray eyes are warm. “How much of yourself are you willing to give me?”

I don’t have to think about it, not even for a second. “You already have all of me, Shortcake.”

“Right,” she says, her eyes warming further. “Now go back to what you were saying before.”

“About physical therapy?”

Her face gentles. “That’s really good, baby. I’m glad you’re going to go. But no”—she shakes her head—“not about that.”

“About my other therapy?”

Her hand—her left —hand covers mine. “That’s also wonderful, baby. But no, not that either.”

“That I’m not going to let it happen again?”

“Also, good. And”—her gentle eyes fill with steel-like determination—“something that I require because the way you talked to me can never—fucking never —happen again.” A beat. “But not that either.”

My stomach twists. “About the cursing?”

“No. It turns out that fuck and fiddlesticks both have their uses.” She smiles. “But no, go further back.”

I wrack my mind for what I’d said.

Then freeze.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “ That.”

“I love you?”

“That’s twice now you’ve said it,” she murmurs.

“And twice now I’ve meant it more than life itself.”

She inhales sharply. “ Royal .”

“I love you so fucking much, baby, and I will spend the rest of my days making up for this week if you’ll only forgive me.”

Those storm cloud gray eyes lock onto mine, her mouth curving into a rueful half-smile. “I think—even though I was desperate to hold a grudge—I forgave you days ago.” Her body drifts forward, presses forward to rest fully against me. “I love you, Royal.”

“Baby—”

“But I need to make it clear,” she says.

“Anything, Shortcake.”

Her gaze pierces into mine. “I meant what I said before. You cannot ever treat me that way again. It doesn’t matter how much I love you, I can’t be with a person who does that.”

“I understand.”

She holds my stare for long moments.

Long enough that the panic takes a swipe at me again.

But then she says the best thing ever. “Okay, then.”

Relief rushes through me, and I drag her even closer, slanting my mouth over hers, pouring in every bit of that emotion, every bit of love, every bit of need into the kiss.

When we break apart we’re both breathing hard.

I settle my forehead against hers. “I’m?—”

“No more apologies.” She settles her hand on my chest, just above my heart. “Just actions.” Her mouth tips up. “Kind of like tonight’s big one.”

“Is that—was that okay?”

Her brows drag together. “What do you mean?”

“It was your big show and I—” My cheeks get warm. “I kind of took over.”

Her fingers flex, lips curving. “That was the biggest gift you could have given me,” she murmurs. “I know how much it took for you to do it, how much you hate being in the public eye like that. It wasn’t just a song or playing a show—though ‘Midnight Snow’ killed —it was baring your soul, owning up to a mistake in front of thousands of people.”

“So…” My throat works. “It was okay?”

“It was about as perfect of an apology as you could have given me.” She grins. “In fact, how are you possibly going to top this the next time you screw up?”

I still and then start laughing.

And the best part is that she does too.

“Don’t worry, Shortcake, I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

Her hand begins sliding down my chest. “Know what?”

“What?”

“I have plenty of ideas too.”

Heat begins blooming in my belly, arrowing further south. “Yeah? What kind of ideas? ”

Her cheeks go pink, but she lifts on tiptoe, mouth going to my ear as she whispers…

My dick goes hard. “Holy fuck, where’d you get a mouth like that, baby?”

Her grin widens, and her stormy gray eyes spark with lightning. “Mmm.” She drops back onto her heels and moves to the door, flicking the lock. “I’d like to think I learned from the best. Now”—her boots click on the floor as she closes the distance between us, takes my hand, and draws me to the couch on the far side of the room—“it’s time.”

“Time for what?” I rasp as she clambers into my lap.

“Time to write the music of the rest of our lives.”