—
Chance just stared at the door after Jolene left and fought the urge to go straight to his liquor cabinet. It was what he had always done, and look where it had gotten him. Trying to explain away behavior he didn’t even remember. And Jolene had broken up with him. A second time.
He wasn’t as angry this time around. He was more mystified and, frankly, hurt. What the hell had happened to being partners? To being more mature this time around? She could blame this on him and his indiscretion with Tennyson when they were broken up, but Jolene bore just as much responsibility, in his opinion. She was jumping ship to work with Wayne Rush, the biggest douche this side of Los Angeles, after zero discussion. This was worse than her stealing Dolly their last go-round.
He hoped that her duet with Wayne tanked and that she lost her house he hated.
Which was a total lie. That was how he might have felt before, but without anger driving the train, he couldn’t wish her ill. If anything, he hoped that she got what she wanted. He had wanted that to be him. The two of them. But if that wasn’t her goal, her desire, her need, then he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Holy hell, he was resigned to losing Jolene. Already. Chance rubbed at his chest, where he felt like he had acid reflux.
It occurred to him that maybe he’d never had her. He was step one on the ladder to her success. Her fear of failure outweighed her love for him, and he couldn’t do anything about that. He wanted success, too. Hell, he wanted people to see him as carrying on the Rivers legacy—but he didn’t have the same drive. Maybe she was right. He’d never been broke. He didn’t know that burn.
Maybe their collaboration had run its course. Maybe he hadn’t told her soon enough how he felt. Maybe he shouldn’t have opened up a sexual can of worms with her at the cabin without telling her he’d never stopped caring about her and that sex would never be enough.
He stared at the empty space on his mantel where the Grammy had sat. It had been the only thing on the mantel, so the piece of wood was stark and glaringly empty. He had moved into this house, but he hadn’t moved on.
He didn’t want to move on. He wanted Jolene.
With her, he’d found meaning in his life beyond his work.
Which made it even more insane that he’d screwed this up not once but twice.
The whiskey called to him. It beckoned, promising to soothe the tightness in his throat, to ease the tension in his shoulders, to remove the pressure from his chest.
He went to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the open bottle. Then he turned and poured it down the kitchen sink. It was altogether too tempting. He bitched all the time about not having control. So why in the hell would he let booze control him?
Instead of drinking, he picked up his guitar and poured himself into his music.
Their music. His and Jolene’s.
It was their breakup album, after all.
Chapter 18
“Jolene,” Elle said, her voice soft. She reached out and tucked Jolene’s hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, baby, I know how much you’re hurting.”
That comfort from her sister made her cry even harder. Elle wasn’t one to offer comfort. There wasn’t a whole lot of nurturing instinct in her, so to have her, of all people, touching Jolene tenderly like she was dying, was both wonderful and awful. Jolene was lying on her couch, clutching a throw pillow. Her eyes burned from crying. Her skin was itchy, her cheeks swollen. Her nose was leaking.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth? That he doesn’t remember?”
“I don’t know. Probably. I mean, I never thought of Chance as a liar. But that isn’t the point, is it?”
“What is the point, then?”
“I have no idea.”
“The point is you don’t feel like Chance has your back, that he doesn’t understand your ambition or respect your feelings.”
Right. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that she wasn’t even sure anymore. She just knew she felt like crud. “I should have talked to him more.” All at once she was doubting everything. “Shouldn’t I have?”
“Don’t look at me for advice.” Elle perched on the coffee table. “I have not had a functioning relationship with a man in the last three years. I wouldn’t ask me, if I were you.”
“Who am I supposed to ask?” Jolene wiped her cheeks, then scrubbed them even harder. They were so damn itchy.
“Um, no one. You should trust yourself for once. You walked out of there yesterday for a reason. Do you want to go back? Do you want to finish the album, be with Chance, have him move back in?”