Jasmine Taveras. His lifelong obsession and curse.
Did he want her to be inside? Hell yeah. Because four years away should have gotten Jasmine out of his system. That’s what he’d intended when he’d bought a one-way ticket to Los Angeles after graduating from Hook High. Forgetting her. Now, however, when faced with the prospect of meeting her face-to-face, the traitorous organ within his rib cage had already found a rapid baseline, which increased in pace the more he allowed her image to surface. Jesus H. Christ. As a teenager, whenever she was breathing in his vicinity, every fiber of his biology would stretch, begging to wrap around her and harden into cement so she could never escape. He’d been too young to cope with those rushes of hormones then, but that damn sure shouldn’t be the case now.
But it was. She was the reason he’d picked up a guitar freshman year of high school, wanting to be the background to that voice. Wanting to support it, enhance it, be a part of it any way he could.
Not that he’d ever told anyone. When asked by journalists, talk show hosts, or online music blogs, his answer was always the same patented mistruth. It seemed like an easy way to get girls. If he closed his eyes, he could see the way her lips had curled on each end the first time he’d played a string of notes on his busted Gibson. He’d played every day since, never failing to see her mouth during that first strum.
Enough. With a curse, Sarge snatched up his guitar case in one hand, the amp in the other, and climbed the creaking wooden stairs leading to his childhood home. His parents had transferred the deed to his sister, before retiring and moving to Florida, knowing she could use the space for raising her now-three-year-old daughter. The niece Sarge had never met in person, thanks to a demanding tour schedule.
Damn. Starting now, he had a shit-ton of making up to do, didn’t he? With a bracing breath, Sarge lifted his fist to knock on the door, but it swung open before he got the chance. The guitar case slipped from Sarge’s fingers, landing with a thud on the hollow porch. “River?”
Across the threshold, someone who resembled his sister gazed back at him, looking baffled. Baffled and exhausted, to be more accurate. And no—it was his sister. But she’d stopped dyeing her hair blond, bringing it back to woodsy brown, along with lopping off the long, bouncy ponytail that had always been her trademark. He could count on one hand the times he’d seen River without makeup since she’d hit middle school, but she didn’t have an ounce of it on now. Even worse, her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying.
Guilt smacked Sarge in the face like a metal mallet. This wasn’t a bad day she was dealing with. This was more. And he’d been completely absent. Four years’ worth of absent. “Riv,” he prompted. “Hey. You all right?”
A sharp, pained laugh stumbled past her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I just—you’ve changed so much. I’ve seen you in magazines and on talk shows, but I thought it was just the cameras making you seem larger than life. I-I didn’t realize you could grow so much after eighteen—” When she noticed the luggage at his feet, she cut herself off. “Wait. What are you doing here?”
Pretty much feeling like a tool. Showing up without any forewarning had felt fine ten minutes ago. It was a house with five bedrooms; surely there was a spare corner to crash. Family is family and all that. Now? His unexpected arrival on his obviously harried sister’s doorstep seemed on par with puppy trafficking. “I…huh.” He scratched his stubbled chin. “The band is taking some time off. I wanted to see you and meet my niece. A plan that sounded way better in my head. Are you okay? You don’t seem okay.”
River’s eyes widened a little…and filled with tears. Without warning, she launched herself at Sarge, throwing her arms around his neck. He barely had a chance to fold her too-skinny form in a hug before she pushed away and stepped backward into the house. “Um.” She turned in a circle, as if looking for a tissue, before giving up and falling sideways against the doorjamb. “It’s good to see you. The band…I still have the SNL performance saved in my recordings. You were amazing…I knew you would be.”
The fact that she hadn’t answered his question of are you okay? alarmed him even more. “Yeah. Thanks—”
“And I know, I know you’ve been sending the money every month and I’m so grateful. You have no idea—”
“Come on, Riv. Don’t even mention it—”