“You do know the last time we sat down together, you were pissed off at how much I was drinking, right?”
Hawkin slaps a hand on my back and squeezes my shoulder. “That’s because you were drinking out of misery. Not from happiness. This?” He throws his arms out. “This is all happiness. This is all good.” He nods to make sure I’m listening. “Now pick your third up. If I’m getting fucked up celebrating you, you best be doing the same.”
I laugh. “Number three.”
“To Jagger. Sometimes facing your biggest fear can be your greatest reward. I have a feeling he just might be that.” He taps his glass against mine.
The shots go up but fuck if it has to slide over the lump of emotion in my throat as it goes down.
He’s right. I stare down at the empty glass and just shake my head. He’s fucking right. How can I miss someone I just met this much?
“I can’t wait to meet him,” Hawkin whispers and pats my back again.
“He’s the coolest fucking kid in the world,” I say.
“Of course he is. He’s yours.”
I laugh and eye him when he pushes the next shot in front of me. My head is already swimming with this frat-boy hazing drinking shit.
“What’s this one for?” I ask.
“For doing this.” He slides his phone across the bar. On the screen is the Billboard Top 100 chart and sitting at number one is Sweet Regret.
I stare at it. The irony’s not lost on me that the day I let my dad go, figuratively, is the day I reached the one thing he said I could never do. My eyes blur and my throat burns.
I did it.
I hit number one.
Just me.
“Congratulations, brother. I’m proud of you.”
I lift the glass. I down the shot.
But the expected happiness barely crests. Pride is there but it hits differently.
It feels hollow.
Empty.
Because I’m missing the one goddamn dot that connects all the good things we’re celebrating. Bristol. She’s been a part, a reason, a driving factor behind all these things I’m rewarding myself for. For the courage to see that I’m not my father. For never stopping loving me. For giving me a son. For giving me this song. The song.
I wish she were here to kiss. I wish Jagger were here to high-five. It feels empty here without them beside me. But it’s not just them. It’s celebrating this huge milestone without my bandmates here. The only people who can sit beside me and marvel about this crazy, fucking life we have.
I’m happy . . . but it also makes me sad.
“You okay?”
“Yep.” I swallow it down to dissect later. It’s probably just the alcohol. Just the moment. “What’s the fifth one for?”
“That depends,” he says.
“On?”
“On if we’re celebrating you coming back to the band. We’re thrilled about your success. We never doubted you could do it. But, Vin, we want you home, with us. You’re our family. Our brother. It’s not the fucking same without you.”
I look at the shot in my hand, I look at Hawke, and then I down it without question.
“Guess that means we’re celebrating then,” he says before grabbing me and hugging my neck.
For the first time in my life, I’m exactly where I want to be in all things.
All things save for one.
And that one thing is sitting at home waiting for me. Waiting on me. Waiting to make a life with me.
This week has proven I can live without her and Jagger.
But more importantly, this time away has only cemented that I don’t ever want to live my life without them.
They are my life.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Bristol
When’s Vince coming back?
Hasn’t that been Jagger’s question of the day—hell, the past couple of days really—and the one that’s been a constant on my mind?
Because while I’ve had a blast exploring with Jagger and spending one-on-one time with him—more than it feels like I’ve been able to in forever—there’s a hole without Vince here. An indescribable something missing in the norm we’ve created over the past few weeks.
It’s amazing how easy you can fall into something—even a major life change—and never realize it.
And it’s currently the question I’ve fallen silent over because I don’t have a response to give.
“So he still hasn’t called or texted?” Simone asks.
“No.”
“And you haven’t called or texted him?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Unwanted advice alert here, but you two might just be the most stubborn people on the face of this earth.”
I chuckle. She has a point and yet . . . “I’ve thrown Vince into you have no choice but to grow up fire, and I tossed him into it without any warning.”
“You didn’t throw him into shit. His dad did.”
“Semantics.”
“Extremely important semantics. I mean, you were willing to go on your merry way and not tell him.”
“Exactly, which is a problem in and of itself if you’re standing in Vince’s shoes.” I lift my face to the sun and welcome its warmth, Jagger’s random boy noises of space invaders crashing into the top step of the pool a constant in the background.
“And this gives justification for you guys not talking to each other, why?”
When she puts it that way, it sounds silly. “He had to leave to promote the new material. I get that. But it’s also the first time since finding out about Jagger, that he’s been away from us. That he’s had time to think without Jagger front and center in his face.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Maybe he needs time to digest it all. To make decisions now that he’s had time to take a step back and process it.”
“I can understand that. But that doesn’t explain why you haven’t reached out to him, especially if he’s telling you how right it feels and all of that.”
“I’m trying to respect his time. I’m trying to show him that I believe him when he told me to trust him. That’s a hard one for me, but if I’m texting him constantly, doesn’t that say the opposite? That I’m afraid and am checking up on him?”
“Are you afraid?” she asks softly.
“I’m trying not to be. Each day that passes doesn’t make it any easier, truth be told. I mean, it was reflex to want to call him and congratulate him on hitting number one, but no matter how many times I typed out the text or picked up the phone, I put it back down.”
“Maybe you’re overthinking this.”
“Maybe I’m trying to prepare myself for life without him. For not being able to pick up that phone and for him to not be on the other end.”
She snorts. “While you’re living in his mansion.”
I laugh, her comment making me realize how ridiculous I sound. “I can hold out as long as needed. He needs to be the one who makes the next move.”
“Hopefully he’s not thinking the same thing about you.”
I scrunch up my nose and give a nod she can’t see. “Don’t make me second-guess myself.”
“Isn’t that my job?” She chuckles. “And even with all that, I know you still want to ask.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Girl, you’ve been hiding away in a mansion in the land of lakes, only answering texts, and then all of a sudden you pick up the phone and call me?”
“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t picking up because you only call late at night and—”
“And you were too busy getting railed by the rock god to pick up. I get it. I understand. I’ve got you, girl.”
I roll my eyes. “I was going to say my phone is usually on do not disturb at night so it won’t wake up Jagg, but you paint a much better picture.”
“I do, don’t I? And you’re going to have to forgive me because I might have painted that picture off skew and added me in your place for one fleeting moment when he walked past me the other day. I nearly died from his . . . looks, voice, cologne, broodiness . . . just damn everything.”
“You’re forgiven.” But . . . how did he look? How was he? Does he seem okay?
What answer will she provide that gives you any indication that he’s missing you?
None. Zip. Zilch.
He’s at work. He has the number one song in the country. Of course he’s not going to look like anything other than cocky, edgy Vince.
“He looked good, Bristol. I know you want to ask. Like a hundred pounds have been lifted from his shoulders.”