Page 32

Thirty

Jensen

“ Y ou just hung up?” I ask. My phone is resting on the pillow next to me, and Isaac’s reclined on his bed on the tour bus.

“Yeah. I have nothing to say to him.”

“Good,” I reply with a nod. “I’m proud of you.”

“I just…can’t believe after all this time and everything he’s done…he just called me.”

I sit up and run a hand through my hair. Picking up my phone, I take Isaac with me as I amble into the bathroom to clean up.

“I can’t even fathom trying to understand that man’s decisions,” I say before dousing cold water on my face.

“Neither can I,” he replies.

“How are you feeling about it?” I ask.

Isaac shrugs. “He told me something that sort of…stuck with me.”

“What?” I ask, hearing a car door slam in front of my house. I quickly grab a pair of sweats and a T-shirt draped over the chair in my room.

“He told me that I should go home.”

My brow furrows as I pull the shirt on over my head. “Go home? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like I think he was saying…now that he’s gone, I should go home and be with the family.”

I pause, tugging my shirt down. “Well, isn’t that insightful?” I say with sarcasm.

“He’s changed. A lot.”

“Prison will do that to you.”

“The old Truett was so self-righteous, he would have never budged on his convictions like that. But he…told me he was proud of me. Didn’t say a word about you or the rumors. I mean…he told me he loved me.”

“And that’s a new thing?” I ask a moment before the front doorbell rings.

“Yeah. He never said stuff like that to us growing up.”

“That’s just sad,” I reply as I make my way down the hall. My father was always affectionate with me. He tells me every day of my life that he loves me.

“Who’s at your door?” he asks.

“I have no idea.”

“Be careful,” Isaac says. “Don’t just answer it in case it’s, like, paparazzi or something. I don’t like you being there alone.”

“I’ll be fine, babe. But that’s sweet of you to worry,” I reply with a chuckle as I pull back the curtain in my living room and peek out to find a man standing on my front doormat.

Shit.

“It’s your brother,” I mutter without enthusiasm.

“Which one?”

“The one who hates me,” I grumble.

“Luke hates everyone,” he replies.

I pull open the front door with a flat expression. While staring at Lucas Goode standing in front of me, I hold my phone in my hand with Isaac on the other line.

“Isaac, I’ll have to call you back.”

“Be nice, Lucas,” Isaac says loudly, but his brother doesn’t react.

“Bye,” I say before hanging up.

As I slide my phone into my back pocket, I step aside and let Luke enter my house.

“Want some coffee?” I ask as I shut my door and make my way into the kitchen. I wasn’t exactly expecting company today, but it’s not like I’m surprised he’s standing here after the hailstorm of publicity his brother and I have received this week.

The only thing I don’t know is if this is going to be a talking conversation or an arguing conversation. I’m ready for either.

“Yes, please,” he mutters, sounding tired as he drops into a chair at my small kitchen dinette.

I get started making a pot of coffee and watch him out of the corner of my eye. I’ll wait for him to start.

“I’ve given a lot of thought to you two,” he says with an exasperated sigh.

“And?”

“He clearly cares about you a lot,” he says.

I nod while scooping coffee grounds into the basket. “I care about him a lot. I love him.”

“I could tell he loved you, even before the show that night. I know Isaac well, probably better than anyone. I know he puts up a front and pretends that everything is a joke or can be laughed off, but deep down, he’s just scared and lonely like the rest of us. And just because your job doesn’t bother him doesn’t mean it’s not a risk.”

“I know that,” I mutter as I turn toward him.

He relaxes in his chair and stares at me. “All that said…I think you could be really good for him, and I hope this works out.”

My brows shoot upward. Then, a smile slowly creeps across my face. “That was unexpected.”

He shrugs. “I’m an unpredictable guy.”

For some reason, this makes me laugh, mostly because I know he’s full of shit, and he’s probably the most predictable guy in their whole family.

“So, what changed your mind?” I ask, pulling down mugs from the cabinet.

“He did,” Luke replies bluntly.

I pause and turn toward him with expectation.

“Eleven years ago, Isaac showed up on my doorstep with so much anger and resentment against not just our father but the world. Then, he turned that anger and resentment into fire. It has fueled him in every way since the day he left. He hides it well behind sarcasm and wit, but the truth is that even his career doesn’t make him truly happy. Even his success is a by-product of what our father did to him.

“But since he met you…he’s different. It’s like…getting to see the real Isaac again. The one who isn’t living in the shadow of that man anymore. His smiles aren’t ironic anymore. He’s just happy. And I think all along, what he really needed was someone who could prove to him that not all preachers are bad. Not all men of faith are cruel. Not everyone who comes into his life wants something from him or wants him to change.”

Frozen in my kitchen, I stare at the man at the table who’s talking about the person I love, and it suddenly hits me that it doesn’t matter that this world is much bigger than me and Isaac. Because as long as I can be what he needs, and he can be what I need, then nothing else matters. Opinions and rumors don’t fucking matter.

“I don’t want Isaac to change at all,” I say. “I love him very much.”

Luke’s chest expands with a long breath before he nods. “I know you do, so I will not bother asking you to take good care of him. Because I know you’ll just tell me you plan to.”

“I do plan to.”

“That’s the best any of us can do, right?”

“Right.”

Turning around, I pour coffee into the mugs and bring them over to the table before grabbing the creamer from the fridge. Then Luke and I have our coffee and make small talk, and for a moment, everything seems fine.

I don’t tell him about Truett’s call to Isaac because that’s not my story to tell, but I am curious if Luke knows Isaac’s plans to reunite with their family. But I let him bring it up.

“If he comes back home, you’ll be with him, I hope,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I reply.

“Good. You’ll get a front-row view of my older brother murdering me on the dining room table. Right next to the mashed potatoes.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “You think he’ll be that mad to learn that you’ve been taking care of Isaac all this time?”

“Livid.”

“And what about your other brother? He won’t be mad?” I ask, trying to keep them all straight even though I haven’t met this other brother yet.

Luke makes an uncertain expression. “He’ll be mad, but he’s my twin. He won’t let Adam kill me, but he might let him kick my ass.”

I wish I knew what it’s like having brothers. From the sound of it, they all give each other hell as much as they look out for each other.

“On the bright side,” Luke says. “Isaac dating you might be distracting enough to keep me alive.”

I laugh again as I finish the coffee in my mug. “I’m glad Isaac had you to run to. I’m glad he wasn’t alone all this time.”

“Me too,” Luke replies with a nod.

“Sadly, sometimes the ones who stay suffer a worse fate.”

Luke gives me a grim look. “True.”

To my relief, he doesn’t press the topic, and I don’t expand on it. How I was one of those kids who stayed, and how I’m so grateful Isaac never had to go through what I did.

Just after Luke leaves, I get a text from Isaac.

He wasn’t too mean, was he?

I told him to go easy on you.

I smile down at it before responding.

He wasn’t mean at all.

You have a good brother.

A moment later, his reply comes in.

I know.

The beauty of modern technology is that even when I’m home in Texas, I can log onto nearly any social media site and search up Theo Virgil, and at least one or two people have live stream footage or story clips of his concert.

Lying in bed, I watch him play on the stage, and it’s moments like these I can’t believe that he’s mine. He’s so talented I can hardly believe how easy he makes it all look. He memorizes the chords to every song, every lyric, every set change and every key of every song.

I’ve also noticed in the past few months, even before I met him in person, that Isaac, or should I say, Theo, has been throwing in more sex appeal into each of his performances. He clearly knows what the fans enjoy, so now he comes out with his shirt entirely unbuttoned, his sexy-as-hell washboard abs on display as he sings. Now I think he’s doing it just to drive me crazy.

I can see how much he loves this. Music and performing are his passions. His real, true love. This is what has kept him going over the last eleven years and maybe even longer. Lucas mentioned how Isaac turned all of his anger into fire, and I can see that now. He has taken every bad thing he’s endured and turned it into something wonderful. Something that feeds the souls of others.

In the middle of the show, he takes a little break to address the audience. Girls scream his name and call out “I love yous” to him. He blushes onstage as he wipes the sweat from his brow before replacing his cowboy hat and grinning down at his adoring fans.

I know he was nervous about tonight. It’s his first show since the whole fiasco and the first show since his secret song to me. The crowd still loves him, and I want to believe in my heart that they would continue to love him even if they found out the rumors were true.

“Play the new song!” someone screams, and he laughs behind the mic.

“You guys want to hear the new song again?” he asks.

They all cheer in response, mostly women shouting out, “Woo!” Then, every person in the stadium pulls out their phones to record.

“All right, all right,” Isaac says with a chuckle. “I gotta change my guitar. Hang on.”

They all laugh, like anything he says is hilarious. I see the slight difference between Isaac and Theo in moments like these. When he’s performing, he’s not a different person entirely, but there are just cute things he says and the way he talks that he does only for an audience.

The real Isaac, the man I know…I like to believe that’s just for me.

He switches his guitar and the crowd quiets down. As he starts to strum, I watch the video with tears in my eyes, remembering the night he played it for me in his living room.

“This is for you,” he mumbles into the mic. “You know who you are.”

The crowd cheers as if he’s dedicating it to them. I cover my mouth with my hand as I stare at him. He’s thousands of miles away, still loving me.

The song is as beautiful as it was the first time I heard it. He’s growing more comfortable with it, I can tell. Every time he plays it, he riffs on the bridge a bit more, and on that last chorus he adds some grit to his voice, practically growling out the last few lines. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest at the sound, and a warm arousal pools in my groin.

God, I miss him.

I wish I were backstage right now, waiting for him. I’d pull him into the closest bathroom, and I’d get on my knees for him in a heartbeat. I’d show him who his true biggest fan is.

When the song comes to an end, I lie down in my bed and prop up the phone to watch him as I fall asleep.

At some point in the middle of the night, my phone rings and wakes me. I pick it up and see his name on the screen. With a smile, I swipe the call.

“Hey,” I rasp, still half-asleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“It’s okay,” I mumble. “How was the show? I watched some of it on some grainy live stream.”

“It was great. The crowd was crazy tonight.”

“Good,” I reply. “Where are you now?”

“On the bus in bed. I miss you.” He sounds tired. His voice has a slightly gritty edge to it, like it often does after his shows.

“I miss you too,” I reply sleepily. “I listened to the song.”

“Did you like it?” he asks as if he needs my validation. As if my opinion matters. I chuckle lightly as I reply, “I fucking loved it.”

“Good.”

After a few moments of silence, I sleepily add, “Isaac…”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m ready.”

He pauses before replying. I know I don’t need to clarify what I’m ready for. He already knows.

“I think I’m ready too,” he says, and the sound of his familiar voice goes straight to my heart.

“You’re coming to Austin tomorrow, right?” I ask.

“Yeah.” There’s a quiver in his voice, and it sounds like excitement.

“And you want to go to your mom’s for dinner on Sunday night before you head out again for the TV appearances?”

He takes a deep breath, and I wish more than anything that I could hold his hand in this moment.

“Yeah, I do,” he replies. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s say fuck the rules. I’ll be there with you.”

“Once we tell them, Jensen, there’s no going back,” he says with a tone of caution.

“Good,” I reply as I close my eyes again, my phone resting on my cheek. Already drifting back to sleep, I add, “I don’t want to go back.”