I pull him against me and just hold on. His little hands press against my back and his warm breath hits my chest. “Don’t ever feel silly telling someone you love them.” I press a kiss to the top of his head.
Did my dad ever do this to me? Did he ever tell me he loved me?
It doesn’t matter, Vin.
This is what matters. Jagg is what matters. Doing it right this time is what matters.
“What do you say?”
He looks up at me with eyes identical to mine. “You’d have to marry her, you know.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “That’s the plan, buddy. That’s most definitely the plan.”
“Jagger? You okay? I heard . . .”
Bristol stops in the hallway when she sees me standing there. Her hair is piled on top of her head. Her face has the barest hint of makeup. Her skin is golden from the sun.
She’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
And then she’s jogging toward me, jumping in my arms, and wrapping her legs around me. I stagger backward from the force of her momentum, my grunt making Jagger giggle, but welcome every single inch of her clinging to me as if she thought she’d never see me again.
For a man who likes to wander, I’ve finally found the one thing that makes me want to stay put. To settle.
“You’re here,” she says, her face nuzzled against the curve of my neck, her lips moving against my skin as she speaks. “You came back to us.”
My hand is in her hair as I breathe in everything about her. This is the shortest amount of time we’ve ever been apart and yet it feels like it’s been for-fucking-ever.
“I told you I would.” She lowers her legs and my hands are on her face, brushing loose strands of hair away. I brush my lips against hers, the sob in her throat making my chest swell.
If Jagger weren’t sitting here watching us, I’m pretty sure the kiss would turn into us stripping out of our clothes and frantically fucking on the kitchen counter.
“I know you did, but . . .” She shrugs sheepishly and blinks back tears.
“Momma, you’re not supposed to cry when you’re happy.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
“He hasn’t even told you the good part yet,” Jagger says.
“What good part?” Bristol eyes me.
I laugh and shake my head at Jagger. “You’re stealing my thunder here, Jagg.”
He shrugs. “Then tell her.”
“Vince?” Bristol asks.
“So I did this thing while I was gone, Shug.”
“What type of thing?” Her eyes narrow.
“I bought us a house in Los Angeles.”
Bristol blinks rapidly as she tries to take in what I just said. “What do you mean, you bought a house?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. Six bedrooms. Four baths. A big yard with an incredible pool and view of the city. A detached granny flat for when either of your parents want to stay over. A house. Something for us to start new in.”
“That sounds like a palace, not a house.” Laughter bubbles up in her throat as Jagger sucks in a breath.
“You told me we always strike the match but then it burns out. I figure, a house is made of wood. Wood is considered kindling. So this time when we strike the match, we have enough to keep it burning for a lifetime.”
“You’re serious?”
“I’m serious.” I run my hands down her sides and link my fingers with hers. She glances over to Jagger, who has his hands clasped over his mouth in excitement.
“Buddy?”
“He’s ready for my awesomeness, Momma.”
She chokes over another sob and looks at me. “That’s the best way I could tell you that this is real,” I murmur and brush my lips to hers again, reveling in their softness. In the moment as a whole.
“You sure?” she asks cautiously.
“I’ve never been surer of anything. I’ve let you walk away one too many times in my life. You’ve let me, too, and for damn good reasons. But not this time. Not ever again.”
“You’re putting roots down,” she whispers.
I nod. “The only person I’ve ever wanted to put them down with is you. Is with Jagger. Are you ready to strike that match with me?”
“I’ve never wanted anything more.”
EPILOGUE
Vince
One Year Later
Jagger’s nervous laugh carries across the room.
“It’s okay. Try again,” Gizmo urges as he steadies the vibrating cymbal that Jagg just hit, which messed up the beat he was learning. “Stiffen your wrist this time.”
Jagger draws in a deep breath and tries again. He creates a groove on the drum kit. It’s juvenile in nature but pretty damn fucking good for an eight-year-old who’s just learning.
“That’s fucking perfect,” Gizmo says and then scrunches his nose. “Sorry. Your mom will have my ass for that.”
Jagg laughs again but then puffs his chest out, trying to be cool. Older. He loves being backstage with us.
“It’s okay. I’m used to it. My dad says it all the time.”
Dad.
The goddamn word still squeezes my heart like a vise every fucking time he says it—but in the best way.
I catch his eye. He grins and holds up the drumsticks that seem so big in his little hands.
“Looks like you’ll have to buy a set of drums next,” Hawke says as he looks Jagger’s way. “We better watch out or he’s going to come after all our jobs.”
“No shit,” I say and take a pull of my beer.
To say we’ve had to make an adjustment to our past backstage antics is an understatement.
Is there still drinking and partying? Yes. Are women still brought back for Rocket and Gizmo? Definitely.
Just a little more on the sly these days.
But I’m fine with all that because fuck if I’ll ever get used to looking up and seeing my bandmates—my brothers—hanging with my son and treating him like he’s one of their own.
You failed, old man. You thought a son would break me. Wrong. He made me more of a man—a better man—than I ever could have imagined.
Hawkin nudges me.
“What?”
He lifts his chin toward the doorway. “Look who made it after all.”
I still do a double take every time she walks in the room. It’s impossible not to when you spend years telling yourself you can’t have someone, then make it so you have a lifetime to spend with them.
And yes, the proposal is coming. She knows it. I know it. But there’s no fucking rush because us being together forever? That isn’t a question. What is though, is how to propose? How do I make that moment as special as she is?
Have I fucked up over the last year? Slipped a little in worrying about who I am? Yeah. I’m not proud of it, but it takes more than one year to undo a lifetime of abuse.
But Bristol has waited me out each time. She’s talked me through it. She’s held my hand—or poured me a drink—and not stopped loving me. Often reminding me that my different is my beautiful.
Just like hers is.
She high-fives Jagger where he sits at the drums—he says she can’t hug him around the guys—and then looks up and meets my eyes.
That look still packs one hell of a punch.
I rise from my seat and walk over to her.
“Hey, look,” Rocket says as he enters the room. “Crystal’s here.”
Bristol just gives him the side-eye and shakes her head at this running joke and then says, “Real funny, Rock. Real funny.”
“Crystal. Crystal,” Jagger chirps, having no idea the significance behind the term.
“Hey, you,” I say, hooking my fingers in her belt loops and pulling her against me so I can brush my lips against hers.
“Hi.” She brushes my hair off my forehead, her smile holding some kind of secret.
“You’re dressed up. You look incredible. And you have that look in your eye. What’s going on, Shug?”
“We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating?” I ask, before brushing another kiss to her lips and then whispering in her ear. “Is this the kind of celebrating that makes Uncle Gizmo watch Jagg while we go ‘celebrate’ in the dressing room alone?”
She lifts her eyebrows and trails a finger down my chest. “This is the ‘Bristol just got accepted to law school’ type of celebration.”
“No way.” All my thoughts fade away as her words hit me.
She nods frantically with a smile that could light up the whole goddamn state. “Really. I just found out. I’m stunned. Shocked. I mean . . .”