Chapter Thirteen
Jinnie
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I WAKE UP DISORIENTATED at first, but then I feel Jack’s bare chest beneath my cheek. I hear his steady breathing and smile. Two weeks ago, I had convinced myself I would never get the chance to do this with him again. And then he called one day when I least expected it. At first, I wasn’t sure it was real. But then he sent me the airline confirmation.
He’s changed. I can see and feel the changes in him, but I also sense the Jack I fell in love with is still in there. I trace my fingertip over his chest. I knew his body so well. Even with the months apart, it was like no time had passed at all. The penthouse is quiet.
Last night feels like a dream.
Jack stirs under my touch with a sleepy groan escaping his lips. His eyelashes flutter open, and when he sees me watching, his mouth curves into that lopsided grin that still makes my stomach do a silly flip-flop.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep.
I press a kiss to his collarbone. “You snored.”
“Liar.” He catches me around the waist, flipping us until I’m pinned beneath him. “I make manly sleeping sounds.”
I laugh, shoving at his chest. “You sound like a chainsaw choking on a kazoo.”
His lips find the sensitive spot below my ear, the one that makes my toes curl. “Take it back.”
“Never.”
We’re late getting out of bed.
“I have to get going,” he says. “We have to.”
“Maybe I should just stay here,” I say. “I don’t want to intrude on your world.”
“You’re not intruding. I told Liz I’d be there at nine. She gets pissed when I’m late.”
An hour later, Jack laces his fingers through mine, tugging me down a hallway with several doors. Red lights were above a few.
“You sure they’re cool with me being here?” I ask.
He squeezes my hand. “Dex owes me for the last three all-nighters. Trust me, these sessions are like a party. People hang out in the studio all the time.”
That gives me pause. “People?”
He shrugs. “Executives. Writers. Other producers. Sometimes I’ll have another guitar player in there with me.”
I’m relieved it isn’t groupies. I’ve been imagining him surrounded by half-naked women all this time. To know he’s just hanging out with a bunch of guys playing music and singing is a relief.
“I’ll get your usual,” a woman says.
I turn to glance over my shoulder and my earlier relief is gone. A young woman wearing a very short skirt, thigh-high boots, and a black sweater is watching us.
“Thanks, Cora,” Jack says. “Can you bring in a Diet Coke as well?”
The woman looks at me. “Sure.”
“This is us,” Jack says.
He opens the door and I’m not sure what I expected, but the studio looks more like a living room. A man is sitting at a massive board of what looks like a thousand buttons and controls.
“Dex, this is Jinnie. Jinnie, this is the pain in my ass who makes my songs sound good.”
Dex wipes his hands on his jeans before offering one. “Nice to finally meet the muse.”
I blink. “The what?”
Jack coughs loudly. “All right, let’s get to work.”
Dex grins, clearly amused, as he turns back to the board. Jack leads me to a plush couch against the wall where I can sit and watch.
“I’ll be in the booth,” Jack says.
I nod, completely in awe that all of this is real. Jack picks up his old guitar. “You still have it,” I say.
He laughs. “Much to the irritation of Dex and everyone else. I don’t get to use it when we record, but I need it to warm up.”
“It’s his security blanket,” Dex says. “He’s got his choice of the best guitars and that old thing is what he chooses.”
His guitar is an extension of him. I get it. I understand why he needs it. These guys are used to all the glitz and glamor and don’t understand what good, raw music is.
Jack goes into the booth and puts on a pair of headphones. He starts to play a melody on the guitar. Dex adjusts knobs on the board, nodding along to the beat. I watch Jack’s fingers move effortlessly over the strings. This is the Jack I know—the one who loses himself in the music, who doesn’t need a stage or an audience to shine.
Cora returns with a tray holding an iced coffee for Jack and a Diet Coke for me. She sets it down on the table in front of me with a smile that doesn’t quite feel honest. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my stomach twists. She lingers for a moment longer than necessary, glancing at Jack before finally leaving.
As they dive into the session, I sip my Diet Coke and try to relax. I love watching him play. I would prefer it being just me and him sitting on the porch, but I have a feeling those days are long gone. I’m happy for his success, but there is a selfish part of me that wishes Liz never saw him in Aggie’s bar. She took him away. Yes, he’s living like a king here and this is everything he wants, but the light in his eyes seems to be just a little dimmer.
His head dips slightly as he starts to play. He closes his eyes and begins to sway. It’s a song I don’t recognize, something new, and though I can’t hear the full richness of it yet, I know it’s going to be good. It’s always good when Jack plays.
Dex is at the board, his fingers dancing over knobs and sliders, adjusting levels I don’t understand. Every now and then, he nods to himself or mutters something into the mic that only Jack can hear through his headphones.
But I don’t watch Dex. I only watch Jack.
He leans into the microphone, his lips brushing close to it as he starts to hum. The sound is low and gravelly, rough around the edges in that way that makes my stomach flip. He’s not singing words yet—just feeling out the melody, letting it build in his chest before it spills out. I watch as he finds the rhythm. I know it when he’s got it.
This is the Jack I remember. I smile watching him sing. Dex holds up a hand, indicating Jack should stop. He makes another gesture and Jack starts over. That continues for an hour. The same song, over and over. I don’t mind watching him sing, but I can see he’s getting tired.
Thankfully, Dex calls for a break.
Jack comes out and flops onto the couch beside me, sweaty and grinning. “What’d you think?”
I pluck at his t-shirt—black, worn thin, definitely not designer. “You sounded like you.”
His smile softens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a new song. I’ve been working on it for a couple of weeks. It’s not quite what I want. The label is pushing me hard to get another album in the works.”
“Do you like the song?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Yes and no. Got any suggestions?”
I smile. “I think you’ve got an expert to give you suggestions.”
He leans over and gives me a kiss. “But yours is the only opinion I want to hear.”
Dex clears his throat from the doorway. “As touching as this is, we’ve got one more track to lay down, lover boy.”
Jack groans but stands, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “Stick around?”
Like I could leave.
After the session, Jack takes me down Beale Street. The air smells like barbecue and spilled beer, the sidewalks pulsing with music pouring out of every open door.
“Here.” Jack shoves a paper tray into my hands. “Best ribs in Memphis.”
I take a bite and nearly moan. “Oh, my... Wow.”
“Told ya.” He wipes sauce from my chin with his thumb, then licks it off.
We eat perched on a curb, passing a bottle of sweet tea back and forth as street performers set up around us. A blues guitarist starts playing nearby, and Jack’s foot starts tapping automatically.
“You gonna go show him up?” I tease.
Jack watches the old man play, something wistful in his expression. “Nah. He’s earned his spot.”
When the song ends, Jack tosses a twenty into the open guitar case. The musician tips his hat. “Much obliged, son.”
Jack just nods and pulls me to my feet. “Come on. I wanna show you something.”
I notice a couple of people taking pictures of us. It’s a lot to get used to. And it makes me feel like I should have thought about putting together a better outfit. And more makeup. I ignore it and focus on the fact I’m with him. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.
We go back to his penthouse, but that’s not what he wanted to show me. He wraps me up in a flannel that is supposed to look...common, but it’s designer. Then he lead me outside. The terrace stretches around the corner of the building. There are various chairs and couches with patio heaters and a gas firepit.
He turns on one of the patio heaters and we sit down together on one of the outdoor couches. His arm wraps around my shoulders. I nestle into his side, my head resting on his chest. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, and for the first time in months, I feel like I can breathe.
“Do you miss it?” I ask quietly, staring up at the stars. “Home?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers tracing patterns on my arm. “Yeah,” he admits finally. “Sometimes. Mostly the quiet. And Aggie’s coffee. And... you.”
I smile faintly at that, my heart squeezing in my chest. “It’s not the same without you either.”
“Jinnie, I know I’ve been distant. And I know this whole thing is a lot. But you’re still my anchor. You’re still the person I want to come home to.”
My throat tightens, and I nod, unable to find the words. He leans in then, his lips brushing mine. Our kissing intensifies, and soon he’s dragging me back inside. We land on his bed with our arms and legs tangled.
The next morning, he wakes me with a kiss.
I don’t want to go.
The visit was too short.
The airport is too bright, too loud, too full of people moving in every direction except the one I want. Jack holds my hand all the way to security, his grip tight like he doesn’t want to let me go. I don’t want to go, but I know I have to. He’s got work and I have... I have nothing, but I’ll pretend I do.
“You’ll come back soon?” he asks for the third time.
I adjust the strap of my carry-on. “As soon as Stephanie gives me time off and you have some time in your schedule.”
The line inches forward.
“Call me when you land,” he says.
“I will.”
“And text me when—”
“Jack.” I squeeze his hand. “I’ll be fine.”
He exhales sharply, then pulls me into a hug, his face buried in my hair. “I’ll miss you”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
He gives me a quick kiss. Neither of us cares that people are watching us.
When it’s my turn at security, I glance back one last time. Jack stands there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking more like the boy I fell for than the star on magazine covers. He raises a hand in farewell.
I wave back; my heart lighter than it’s been in months. This can work. Once he finishes this album, he’ll have more time. I can visit more often.