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CHAPTER TEN

SAINT

M y thumb strummed my eight-string, my gaze studying Jacob, who lay naked and completely exposed on my white sheets, watching me languidly with his eyes half-mast.

He was so confident about his body, but then he had every reason to be.

His skin was toned and tanned, his defined muscles rippling every time he moved.

I loved the smattering of fine, dark-blond hair sprinkled across his pecs and the large tattoo across his collarbone in a semi-circle that read, dream, achieve, believe in sweeping, cursive script.

His shoulders and biceps were covered in tribal patterns, intricately weaved together, almost creating balance for the words on his chest. My eyes dipped to glance at the beautiful dreamcatcher inked into his ribs, probably my favorite tattoo of his because it was a protective symbol that reminded me of my guy’s equally protective nature.

Jacob’s aura filled the room, and I couldn’t help but feel awestruck. Watching him relax into the sheets, his gaze lazy and unfocused, had a way of making everything feel lighter and lessened the weight of my own problems .

It had been a week since the Dischordium party, and we’d spent every waking (and sleeping) moment together.

Getting to know Jacob was proving to be the happiest and most exciting time of my life.

Every reveal warmed me, and every story brought us closer together.

We talked about his family and my career.

His military service and my days playing to audiences of four drunk people in a bar.

My fingers began to pluck at my eight-string, and with my eyes never leaving Jacob’s, I began to softly sing the opening verse to “Rooms on Fire” by Stevie Nicks directly to him.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on me with unwavering intensity, his eyes flicking over my face and body as if he wanted to drink me in and memorize the moment.

The emotion in the room grew along with the crescendo of the song as the words weaved around us.

A sense of peace settled over me. It was crazy how quickly Jacob had become part of my world, filling in the blanks I hadn’t even realized were empty.

I wondered how I’d gone so long without him because the thought of him not being beside me filled me with an ache that robbed my lungs of all breath.

I began to play softer, my voice almost a whisper as the song came to an end. Immediately, I went into the opening bars of “Landslide,” but instead of singing, I asked, “Favorite album? Give me your top five.”

“That one’s easy, baby.” He grinned. “ Dark Side of the Moon . Joshua Tree . Back in Black . Born in the USA , and I’ll cheat with the Eagles’ Greatest Hits . It’s still an album, right?”

I laughed softly. “It didn’t take long to think about it. I love your choices, though I always thought Off the Wall was better as a concept album than Dark Side of the Moon . ”

He shifted on the bed, his gaze glued to where I was strumming on my guitar.

“My dad used to listen to Dark Side with me. He’d take me out to his workshop, and we’d zone out to it for hours.

My pop’s a loud, confident guy, and he has all the chat of a Southern gentleman, but in those quiet moments, he’d just get lost in the music.

I loved spending time with him but didn’t get the album, initially; but as I grew and understood more, Dad explained the thought process behind the record and how it’s about the human experience in all its forms and how insane it is and ultimately, the shit we gotta do to get through it.

Maybe it’s not the music I love but the nostalgia and the moments in time those records represent.

” His warm eyes settled on mine. “I live for top fives. I’ve told you mine; now you tell me yours. ”

“ Rumors ”—I hitched a brow—“goes without saying because I love Stevie. Hounds of Love . Legend . Hotel California , and the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack .”

Jacob let out a low chuckle. “ Dirty Dancing Soundtrack ?”

I nodded, thinking back to the time I first experienced it.

“I used to listen to it in secret growing up. I saw the movie at a friend’s house and became obsessed with the music.

The dancers at the resort were so raw and free, and it was such a contrast to my life, which was so utterly manacled and repressed.

I loved the movie’s message, and I especially loved how, in public, Johnny Castle and the other dancers played by the rules and stayed in their lane, but behind closed doors, they allowed their true selves to emerge.

It spoke to me on so many levels because that was my life, too. ”

Jacob shifted to his knees and took the guitar from me, gently placing it on the floor beside the bed.

Then he tugged my hand and pulled me down to lie beside him, maneuvering me until we both faced each other, our noses almost touching.

He placed his hand on my hip, his gaze holding mine, and his thumb stroking my skin. “Tell me.”

“My dad’s a church pastor,” I informed him.

He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “And what did that mean for you growing up?”

“It meant no music, no TV, no friends or boyfriends. My social life was non-existent except for prayer meetings, church functions, and Sunday school. I wasn’t even allowed to read unless it was the Bible or, at a push, religious-themed books, and even then, Dad vetted them.”

Jacob nodded understandingly. “So, how did you become a rock star?”

“I had a teacher, Miss Hawkins, who played the guitar in music class one day, and I was mesmerized. At recess, I went to her and asked her to show me. I picked it up, learned three chords, and by the end of the week, was playing as if I’d been born to it.”

Jacob smiled. “Maybe you were.”

I smiled back, my memories making my eyes misty with tears. “I tried, Jacob, so fucking hard.”

“Tried what?” he asked.

“To be what he wanted me to be.”

He leaned forward and nuzzled my nose with his. “Baby. You can only ever be who you are.”

I rested my hand on his. “I wanted to be a daughter he could love and be proud of, but I couldn’t live like that.

If I’d stayed, I would’ve been miserable because the instant I heard Solomon Burke singing “Cry to Me,” something inside me shifted, and suddenly, my life wasn’t enough.

Music became my escape, my solace. It wasn’t about Mom and Dad or the church.

It wasn’t even about me. In that split second, everything became about music. ”

Jacob’s hand slid up my ribs and cupped my nape. “What happened next? ”

I let out a short laugh. “I rebelled, or so Dad thought. I didn’t mean to rebel, though; I just wanted to play guitar and listen to music.

Miss Hawkins gave me that old six-string, and I learned it down to its bones.

When Bryan Adams said, ‘played until my fingers bled,’ he was talking about me.

I’ve got guitar string scars that are ingrained into my skin, but they’re also ingrained into my soul.

Dad just stopped speaking to me one day, so I left.

I had a thousand bucks in the bank that I inherited from my grandparents, and I got on a bus to LA. ”

“And the rest is rock ‘n’ roll history?”

I laughed softly. “I wish. Two hours after I got off the bus, I met Boomer in a coffee shop. He invited me to sleep on his couch, and that first night, I wrote “Born Again.” We found Jonny, and then Talia came across our YouTube channel, added Sam into the mix, and the real hard work started.”

His forehead furrowed as he studied me. “I’ve never heard anybody speak like you before.

The way you use words and express yourself is like living in a song.

It touches me somewhere deep, Saint. I dunno what to say around you sometimes ‘cause you’re so smart and eloquent; it’s like your mind’s in a different league to mine.

You see beauty in things I don’t look at twice.

We don’t make any sense what-so- fucking -ever, except when I’m with you, everything makes perfect sense. ”

“Jacob,” I whispered, my throat thick with tears.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he murmured.

“Not even with—” I began to ask the question but stopped myself mid-sentence.

I still wasn’t sure how comfortable Jacob was talking about his wife.

The last thing I wanted to do was make him hurt, especially when we were being so vulnerable with each other.

I needed him to trust that I’d keep him as safe emotionally as he kept me physically.

Also, I didn’t want to break the spell we’d weaved with our soft touches and heartfelt words.

If I could’ve lain here, gazing at Jacob for the rest of my life, I would’ve counted myself lucky.

“It was different with Allie,” he explained softly, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “It was comfortable and easy. With you, it’s thrilling, like I wake up excited for the day ahead ‘cause I never know what I’m gonna get.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I know.”

“I loved her,” he murmured. “But I need you to breathe.”

Heat hit the back of my throat. “Yeah,” I repeated. “I know.”

“Allie died of heart failure,” he went on.

“The post-mortem revealed she had a condition called Long QT Syndrome. It prolonged Allie’s QT interval, which led to a sudden heart attack.

We didn’t know she had the condition, and it had never knowingly affected her before.

It came out of the blue.” His forehead furrowed.

“I was up in the air at the time on a surveillance mission. There was no way my commanding officer would or could have told me what had happened while I was airborne. I wasn’t aware there was anything wrong until four hours after she was officially declared dead. ”

My throat burned. “I’m so fucking sorry, Jacob.”