“You’re hurt. I was hurt. Is that all we’re ever going to do—hurt each other?” Her expression was sad, wistful, her voice shaky.
Shit. It kicked him in the gut. “We don’t have to. Not anymore.” He stepped back. “Do you want to come in? Is there a particular reason you’re here?”
Jolene eased past him, looking adorable in a tight T-shirt and jeans tucked into the boots he’d given her. She stepped in his living room. “I came to tell you that I’m selling my house. I’m selling my sports car I never drive. I’m letting go of my housekeeper and my pool guy and my landscapers.”
He felt his eyebrows rise before he could stop them. “This is a surprise. Are you leaving town?” Not that he ever saw her, but he didn’t like the idea of her being totally out of reach. He didn’t like that idea at all.
“No, I’m downsizing. After I finish my commitment to Wayne Rush, I’m going to do a small acoustic tour, and I’m looking for a guitar player. You interested? We have three-quarters of an album written, and I’d like to finish it.”
Still holding his damn sandwich, Chance shook his head. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t do an acoustic tour.”
“Yes, I can. I can do anything I want. I need to do what I want. And damn it, what I want is you. I want you and me and nothing else.” There were tears in her eyes, and she sounded so earnest, so desperate, that Chance set his sandwich down on the coffee table so he could get closer to her, put his hands on her shoulders.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure why he was comforting her. She was the one who’d walked out to sign with the king of country. “What’s wrong?” He shouldn’t care. But he did. He did and would never stop. That was something he had learned and accepted about his feelings for Jolene. They were deep and true and they weren’t going away, no matter how many arguments they had about stupid shit that didn’t matter. “Did something happen with Wayne? Did he hit on you or something?” The guy was a lecher. Everyone knew that.
She gave a watery laugh. “Oh my God, no, gross. I just…I just miss you.”
His chest tightened. “I miss you, too.” It had been a lonely four weeks filled with sleepless nights and a struggle to understand how they couldn’t make it work when they so clearly loved each other.
“I’m sorry for overreacting. For leaving. Chance, I am trying to tell you that I would give up everything. The money. My career. I just want to be with you.” She tentatively reached out, lightly pressed her palms on his chest, like she wasn’t sure whether he would let her touch him or not.
He shifted his hands to her cheeks and cupped her soft skin. He could drown in those doelike eyes. “I gave up drinking for you, I just didn’t tell you. Hearing about Tennyson made me want to be a better man for myself and for you. I didn’t deserve you before. I didn’t know what I had. Even when we were together, I was missing you, because I wasn’t letting you in.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Does that make sense? I feel like I’ve spent my whole life missing you, and I have a damn hole in my heart, Jolene, that only you can fill.”
Her hands shifted, wrapping around him so she was hugging him tightly. “Maybe it’s time to stop missing and start enjoying. I mean it about leaving the spotlight. I’ll do it if that’s what you want. I actually like the idea of doing a smaller tour.”
“We can sort all that out.” He kissed her again and again, grateful that, despite everything, they were giving each other a third shot. “But no bailing this time. On anything. No giving up on us. We’re in it. Not backing out.”
“You stomped off the first time, me the second.” She gave him a sly smile. “I think we’re done, right?”
“We’d better be.” He bent down and scooped her up into his arms. “Because next time would kill me, and I don’t think you want my death on your hands.”
“I swear on my father’s grave, I’m done throwing in the towel. Even though he’s not dead.” Jolene wrapped her arms around his neck. “Can I move in here?”
“No grass grows under your feet, does it?” Chance carried her down the hallway. “I don’t think this house is big enough. Maybe we should find a compromise house together.”
She smiled at that. “Did I interrupt your dinner?” she asked, flicking her finger over his bottom lip. She licked her fingertip, making him forget all about his stomach. “Mmm, mustard. I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” Chance took her to his bed and gently settled her on top of the comforter. His bed that had been lonely as hell and felt good only when she was in it. “And I’m not in the least bit sorry. I’ll eat later.” Reaching down, he tugged off her cowboy boots and tossed them on the floor.
“I also think we should finish our breakup album,” she said, looking up at him with shining eyes. “The last song should be about getting back together.”
“I’m going to call it Rusted Truck and a Cadillac.” He tore his shirt off and bent down to climb on the bed with her.