Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
JC
Drifting gently toward the surface of reality, I find Gia kneeling beside me, hair cascading over pale shoulders, pupils flecked with gold. A mythical nymph from some fairy tale who makes me feel everything.
“I guess I did alright, huh?” she asks.
I laugh, low and easy, my limbs liquid and floaty with dopamine. The last time I felt this out of my body owed a debt to some fine mezcal. And that was a decade ago. My hand reaches for hers, our warm fingers settling, grounding me while I’m still spinning in some faraway galaxy.
“That was … intense. And, yes,” my voice comes steadier now, “nothing compares to you.”
Gia brushes a kiss on my lips. So featherlight, and yet it ignites a fuse straight into my veins.
“Your side hustle was keeping me out of trouble, which meant you were basically set up for failure.” She attempts a smile, but her mouth trembles slightly at the corners as her hand tightens around mine.
“I don’t want to make you feel bad, ever.
I love you. In the deepest part of my guts.
It terrifies me how much I come apart around you. ”
The fuzzy euphoria starts to lift, bringing my thoughts back into sharper focus. I caress her flushed cheek, falling prey to the still visceral memory of her mouth around me. But she means so much more.
“I feel the same way.”
“You do?” Her voice curls with longing.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I do.”
Sunlight pours in through the stained-glass window high above the sink, casting hues of violet, ruby, and sapphire across the tiles and her skin. We’re inside our own private kaleidoscopic house of magic. Private and intimate. Gia waits, holding space for me to say more.
When nothing comes, she asks, “Do you need help getting up?”
I laugh, then immediately wince as dull pain shoots up my spine into my skull. Twice in one week, she’s knocked me flat on my ass. What kind of wreck will I be in a year?
“That ended in disaster last time,” I remind her. “I think I got this. Can you start the shower? Crank it real hot.”
Gia steps into the walk-in and turns it on, keeping an eye on me. I want to stand, but I get the impression she might need to hold me up. Pride kicks in, pushing me to prove I can. I rise slowly, legs unsteady, still floating.
“C’mon.” Gia tugs my hand. “Time to get clean.”
She leads me into a wall of humidity where billowing steam blurs everything into a dreamlike haze.
But I can see her so clearly. Water from the rain shower cascades down Gia’s shoulders, tracing every curve, spilling down between her breasts.
She reaches for the body wash, squeezing a trail over my chest, lathering me up.
Her hands explore with purpose, skin more slippery, touch gliding differently.
A low moan slips out. There’s a specific intimacy in caring for someone else’s body.
And the only thing better than Gia is wet Gia.
“We need to do this every day,” I murmur, my words almost swallowed by the steam.
Gia lifts her eyes to mine. A long minute passes before she asks, “Will you finish the tour with us?”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s the only idea,” she whispers back. “We need to be a united front. But I’ll take the lead in making things right for you and the boys.”
Oh, my sweet rebel with a cause. On the smooth column of her neck, the bruise I left behind last week has darkened into deep purple. We’re leaving marks on each other, but I ache for a world where we play without drama.
Tonight won’t be that world.
Not with the swirling rumors and my phone lighting up with interview requests. It will be that way every night until the tour wraps. With Gia at my side, I don’t have to face this alone.
But I don’t want to face it at all.
I rest my forehead against hers. Water echoes off the tiles, the drumbeat of my heart syncing to the rhythm.
“I have to say something. If I don’t, we’ll be hounded.”
Gia studies me, all the gears grinding behind my tired eyes. “Don’t be scared. Tell your truth. You did what you could at the time,” she says softly.
I stroke her hair, wishing we had more time in the suite. Wishing we could live in this Roman holiday forever. I feel so fragile that, if she breathes on me, I might disintegrate. But Gia won’t let that happen. Her belief in me is steadier than my own.
And she’s right. The secret has sat in my mouth too long.
I’m ready to let it go, even if I have to live with the fallout.
Because men like me don’t get the benefit of the doubt anymore.
We get remembered for the worst thing we ever did.
And who’s going to believe a nineteen-year-old rock star decided, once he got his head straight, to embrace fatherhood?
No one.
“I’ll be there for you no matter what,” Gia says, reading my fear. “So just do it.”
She stands on her tippy-toes, brushing her lips against mine.
I can taste my salty earthiness on her tongue when it twirls and tangles with mine.
We kiss and feel, give each other wings.
I wash her hair with deep massaging strokes, and she soaps up my growing erection between us, both of us laughing.
Time slows to a crawl.
When the last of the lemon-scented lather swirls into the drain, we towel each other off and slip into matching thick terry robes.
I’m stone-cold sober but feel intoxicated by her proximity.
Even though I wanted her to learn a lesson, she turned that dynamic on its head.
Gia was powerless to resist and yet somehow the one in control.
I suppose I’d better get used to that.
Her palms slide over my chest, her arms tightening around me like a vise. If the boys agree to push sound check, we have three more hours. But I’m in no hurry. And neither is she.
“Fuck ‘em all, Jameson,” she whispers with that fierce Gia conviction. “Fuck ‘em all but us.”
I breathe into her damp hair. I wish I knew what was happening inside my heart, other than it reminding me of hopes and wants.
And I don’t feel entirely sure where my head is, but when I say, “Then let’s give ‘em a show, Regina. One they’ll never forget,” I’m as surprised as anyone to hear the edge of a grin in my voice.
“Yo! Look who’s back.” Brady drops his phone and struts across the lounge, shirtless and grinning. He hugs me as if nothing in the world has ever bothered him. “The bus missed you, dude. Best-smelling guy in the biz.”
“Thanks, man. Creed is my go-to.”
“I looked that shit up,” he banters back. “For five hundo a bottle, that cologne better come with a lap dance.”
Hmm. Not the best analogy with his spangly stage things drying across what looks like many yards of dental floss strung between the bunks.
Gia steps in beside me. She’s rosy-cheeked from the cold air and my thorough destruction of her. “Hi.”
Brady pins her with a look. “Can’t say I missed you much.”
I can’t tell if he’s being serious, although I expected some static. That’s why we pushed our sound check by an hour. We need time to discuss.
Tai exits the bathroom, hands stuffed into his jeans. Energy standoffish. He eyes Gia, then chin-nods at me. “How you holding up?”
“You know, basking in the fame. The latest viral TikTok star.”
He gives me a wry smile. “Shae said tonight’s going to be mental. Hope you have a plan.”
“We do,” I say. “We talked and—”
“Talked?” Brady’s eyebrows shoot to the sky, that lazy little smirk curving up the corner of his mouth. “You guys are giving major hook-up vibes.”
“Seriously?” Gia sighs. “Can we not go there?”
Tai and Brady exchange quick, furtive glances. We could trade barbs all afternoon, but Dad always told me, before I face the press to read the room. I understand what's needed here.
“Well,” I say. “We did shag like maniacs, and it was amazing. But then we talked.”
Gia smacks my arm with a spirited “Excuse me?” but, hey, it was amazing. Atomic heat still pulses through every vein and muscle because we burned that bed to ash.
Brady whoops. “See? Don’t pretend you’re better than us. It’s okay to have needs.”
“I’m not any better.” Gia’s voice brims with earned self-recognition that I might take a sliver of credit for. “In fact,” she clears her throat, “as of now, the tour bus sex ban is done and dusted.”
Tai squints at her. I get the sense there are layers here that I'm missing. But I don't know him well enough to read through the murk.
“No more rules,” Gia adds quietly. “I promise.”
Tai nods with deliberation. “Considering you never followed your own rules, that’s big.”
“Guess there is someone in this world who can wrangle the Queen.” Brady turns to address me. “Does this mean you’re in the band permanently?”
The day hits me all at once—the roller coaster of emotions, the upcoming show, the weight of everything I need to fix. But Gia, after some convincing, agreed to the only conclusion that made sense. “No, actually. I stick around until the tour ends as planned. After that, you continue without me.”
A fast twitch, like an electric shock, buzzes around the lounge, a tiny inhale of breath from the boys. Tai’s cool composure slips a notch.
“Really?” he asks, suspicious.
“That’s the other thing,” Gia says. “Shoot me Kayla’s info. I think she’d be a great fit.”
Brady blinks, processing. “Wow. We kinda thought this was like … the end of the road. You two riding off into the sunset.”
Ah. So that explains Tai’s energy. He thought we were staging a band coup. But the tight line of his shoulders still hunches close to his ears.
“What about all the shit from last night with your ex?” he questions. “How’s that playing out?”
Over the next twenty minutes, I lay out the plan. Sawyer’s arranging an interview to appease the media, and it happens with Amber involved, because this is the ending of our story, and she needs a voice in it.
Collectively, I explain, we keep our mouths shut. Play every show like it's business as usual. And make it clear the Pop My Cherry chapter for JC officially ends after the tour.