Since that night in the Third Shift when she’d stood up to Carmine and felt the transformation in herself, Jasmine had given herself one long, continuous wake-up slap in the face. Sarge was a man with the ability to decide his own life path. He’d determined that path would be walked with her. It meant staying in Hook. It meant she had to trust him to know what he needed.
It also meant she needed to trust her own gut. Needed to listen to her mind and heart when they sang in perfect harmony for one man. There would be people, like Carmine, who took bets on how long their relationship would last. There would be laughing behind their backs—probably even a lot of uttering of a certain word that started with c and ended with ougar. But none of it would register when she and Sarge were together. Alone or in public, the outside world only ever seemed like a minor detail. What mattered was them. How they made each other feel.
And God, he made her feel so much.
It hadn’t felt right kissing him in the parking lot. Not when he thought she’d let him go without a fight. God, he’d already looked haunted, his kisses feeling so final. Tonight. She would tell him tonight. When they weren’t in a freezing parking lot, being peeped on by passersby in the parking lot.
Jasmine eased out of her coat and took a spot at the rear of the hall, just in time for Old News to walk on stage. A low thrumming started in her belly at seeing Sarge in his official front man capacity. Already he was a sexy, charismatic package, but it was amplified when he picked up his guitar. He played a few strings, winking at the crowd when they howled in response. Then he found her through the crowd and made a growling sound into the microphone.
Dios. As soon as this party ended, she was taking him home and rocking his ever-loving world. The neighbors might even call the police.
Let them.
“Okay, this first song is for my niece, Marcy, the coolest kid in Hook.” He smiled down at the front row, where all the children, including Marcy, were lined up. “Did you guys know she taught me how to play the guitar?”
A chorus of laughter went up, from the children and parents alike. Several mothers relaxed a little when it became obvious Sarge and Old News would be making the show kid-friendly. Jasmine’s smile widened when he launched into an acoustic version of “Frosty the Snowman,” signaling to his bandmates to come in on the second verse, since clearly the band hadn’t rehearsed. Somehow that made it even more special. When a man leaned against the wall beside Jasmine, she recognized him from being in the parking lot with Sarge. He was tall, with a slight dusting of salt and pepper at his temples and stress lines around his eyes, but he couldn’t have been older than thirty-five. Handsome in a hard, distinguished way. Against a backdrop of ill-fitting Christmas sweaters, his polished appearance stood out, making him look more suitable for a polo match than a casual church function.
“Merry Christmas,” Jasmine murmured, unable to stop herself from facing the stage, where Sarge was now using his fingers to mimic antlers. “How do you know Sarge?”
The man followed her line of vision and dipped his chin. “I manage Old News. Although I’m not sure who’s managing who anymore.” He extended a hand. “I’m James Brandon. Nice to meet you.”
Jasmine shook James’s hand, seeing him in a new light. This man had spent years on the road with Sarge, probably making a boatload of cash in the process. How would he feel when Sarge decided to stay in Hook? “Nice to meet you, too.”
They were quiet for a time, but there was an air of discomfort between them. She could feel James building up to something and started to excuse herself, somehow knowing she wouldn’t want to know, but he beat her to the punch. “Look. Jasmine.” He straightened his collar. “I’m going to be blunt with you. If tonight turned out to be the final time Old News played together, I wouldn’t try to talk them out of it. I could walk away.” A glance toward the stage, specifically the drummer. “From most of it.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
James appeared to be choosing his words. “It was impossible to live with Sarge and not be aware of his feelings for you. He wears them like clothes. They’re in every song, in the background noise of every interview.” The manager nodded toward the stage. “He’d give it all up in a heartbeat for you. And if it were me…before I let him do that, I would want to know exactly what giving it up means.”
Her lips felt numb, but she forced the words out, already knowing nothing would be the same when James finished speaking. “Tell me.”