“Work comes first,” I say, but for the first time in my life, when I hang up the phone, it doesn’t feel that way.
Normally after a call like that, I’d be buckling down to clean up lyrics and perfect some of the melodies. I’d forget the hours, hell, even forget what day it is, and not surface until what needs to be done is done.
So why am I tossing my cell on the desk in front of me and walking out of my studio to see what Bristol and Jagger are up to?
Why does something feel more important than the music for the first time in my life?
Talk about something different to wrap my head around.
They’re not in the game room. Not in Jagger’s room. Not in the front yard. I’m just about to call their names when I walk into the great room and find them.
Bristol is lying on the couch with Jagger spooned in front of her. A book that I assume they were reading is on the floor in front of them.
My whole world.
The thought comes into my mind and settles there like there’s always been a place for it. Like it’s completely meant to be.
But how can I think that? How can I make that one-eighty? I knew the high school version of Bristol inside and out. Her favorite foods. Her pet peeves. Her annoying habits. I loved her till it hurt. I loved her so much I walked away from her.
But I don’t really know the version of her that’s asleep with our son in her arms. Does she still have the pet peeves and annoying habits she did back when she was seventeen? Is she still afraid of heights but doesn’t mind going on amusement park rides that go upside down? Does she love tomato sauce but hate tomatoes?
It’s the little things I don’t know, that I haven’t thought much about. The bigger picture has overshadowed everything.
But do those little things really fucking matter, Vin?
We’ve loved each other for close to fifteen years. She’s still fighting for me. She still loves me despite every fucking shortcoming—and there are a lot.
It’s natural to question the whys and the hows, but how about I just accept that it is? That we can be. That we are. And move the fuck forward.
Funny thing is, I think I already have. These days and nights here have been some of the best of my life outside of my professional highlights. I’m not just getting to know Jagger, but I’m getting to know Bristol too. That doesn’t say shit about the things I’m learning about myself.
I’m not just growing to love my son, but I’m also falling head over heels in love with Bristol when I already thought I was.
I’m finding out, I was nowhere close before.
The love I have for them is so intense that I wake up some nights from the tightness in my chest and move from room to room, simply to watch them sleep.
Just to make sure they’re not a dream.
Just to make sure they’re still there.
Just to make sure I haven’t fucked up this time.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Bristol
“Is this what it’s like to have a daddy?”
Jagger’s words stay in my head long after sleep catches him, but eludes me.
Maybe it is.
Such a lame response for a mom who was completely caught off guard. For a mom who felt the guilt lance through her for robbing him of it. For not being able to tell him the truth when a similar reasoning is what got her in this situation.
“Can’t sleep?”
I look over my shoulder to where Vince stands on the opposite side of the room. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, an intense look in his eyes, and nothing else.
“Not tonight, no. Done working?” I ask. Normally he spends the days with Jagger and me and then works all night while everyone sleeps. A part of me thinks the routine helps him avoid having to talk about the hard stuff with me. The other part of me has stood at that closed studio door, fist raised to knock, needing Vince in more ways than one.
It’s hard to be content with a few kisses here and there when your body knows what his can do to yours.
“No work tonight.”
“Really? Why not?”
He walks across the room to where I’m sitting and was staring out the window. “There are other things that are way more important. Things I’ve been neglecting. Matches I was figuring out how to stay lit long after they are supposed to burn out.”
“Vince. I . . .”
“This feels right. You. Me. Jagger. More right than any part of me feels I deserve to have. But . . . I’m working on it. On me. On realizing that my past doesn’t have to be my future.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t.”
“I’ve spent my whole life loving the idea of you but have never allowed myself the reality of it. Of there being an us.” He looks down for a beat, and it looks like the weight of the world that has been heavy on his shoulders these past few weeks has lessened. “You’re right, you know.”
“Be careful,” I tease. “Those four words might come back to bite you in the butt at some point.”
He offers me a bittersweet smile and nods. “I had every intention of sleeping with you while I was here and then going back to my regularly scheduled life when I left. But what was easy in concept was fucking brutal to actually do. I don’t know if it’s because of the time that’s passed or that we’ve both gotten older, matured, but fuck, letting you go that night—on your porch—was the hardest goddamn thing I’ve ever done. It broke me in a way that I’m more than certain I’ve broken you in the past. It was like I was in a tank of oxygen and yet I couldn’t fucking breathe.”
I nod, understanding exactly how he felt.
“But I had to walk away. Because that’s what you wanted. Because that’s the chickenshit I was. Because that’s who my dad tried to persuade me I was . . . so much so that I believed it.”
“Then Jagger happened,” I whisper, and he nods.
“Then Jagger happened.” He glances toward the stairs where our son sleeps and gives a subtle head shake. “I struggled with the enormity of the situation. And as much as I hate the fucking press for scaring the two of you, I’m so goddamn grateful they did because it gave us this time here. It forced me to be here when history dictates I might have run the other way.”
He says the words, makes the confession, but in my heart of hearts, and after seeing him now with Jagger—in hindsight—I know he never would have. How much I would have given to know this before though.
“I know you want promises and assurances, and you deserve every single one of them . . . but I can’t give them yet. That doesn’t mean they aren’t there, though. They are. They’re beside how I feel about you and how I feel about Jagger. They’re just harder for me to put words to because of me. Because of the shit I need to sort through when it comes to myself. But the fact that I’m working on them when I’ve never cared to before . . . I’m hoping that will tide you over until I can say them.”
He meets my eyes. The raw honesty in both his words and his guileless expression is like a salve to the wounds I’ve been waiting to heal over the past few weeks. Maybe even the past few years.
He’s working on his demons so he can be a better man for us. A better father. A better lover. A better partner. A better friend.
They may not have been the words I thought I needed to hear, but they are most definitely the right ones for this moment in time.
I rise to my feet and reach my hand out in the space between us. Asking. Inviting. Wanting. He draws in a shaky breath but takes it without hesitation.
I lead the way to the stairs.
There’s been enough hesitating.
We walk up them one at a time.
Enough questioning.
We move down the hallway.
Enough wondering.
We enter his bedroom.
Now it’s time to show him how he makes me feel. For me to love him with words I can’t express but desperately want to show.
For me to love him.
Our lips meet. It’s the simplest of intimate actions. The soft sighs. The tender touches. The cupping of my face and angling of my head to give him more access.