5. Jayce
FIVE
Jayce
“ W hat now?” I say and cross my arms, leaning back against the counter, as Rosie shoves her phone toward me, screen lit up with Vaughn’s name at the top of a thread filled with messages.
“Vaughn’s been texting all night,” she mutters.
I don’t take the phone, just watch as her thumb scrolls through the messages, her eyes darting back and forth over the screen. There’s a pang in my chest I can’t explain, and I hate it. Hate that I care about what some pompous pop star is saying to her. Hate that Vaughn even exists in her orbit.
And then, I shouldn’t have feelings about that. I shouldn’t care about her love life.
Rosie suddenly hits Call, and the sound of the ringing line makes me shift awkwardly. I hobble to my kitchen counter and grab a cleaning rag from the corner, though the kitchen doesn’t need cleaning. I haven’t used it in ages. Still, I busy myself with the counter, moving the rag in lazy circles and trying to act like I’m not paying attention when I absolutely am.
“Hey.” Vaughn’s rasp filters through the phone. Gag.
I see Rosie wince. She stands up and starts pacing the room. “Hey, I’m sorry I missed your calls. It’s been crazy. Can you tell me what happened after you left?” she asks, her voice quieter than usual. “I…I honestly don’t remember much.”
“Not surprising,” Vaughn drawls, and I can practically hear the smirk, making me clean even faster. “You were on another level. I think you took some ketamine, went wild.”
Her shoulders stiffen, and I pause mid-swipe.
“I did? Vaughn, I don’t do that stuff. You know I don’t,” she says, her tone unsteady, and I notice her shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“Well, you must have because you acted weird, babe.”
“Look. It’s so strange. I can’t remember anything. Not a single minute from the party. Where were you? When did we part?”
She slumps onto the bar stool across from me, looking completely wiped. The smooth granite counter is the only thing between us, but it feels like miles. Seeing her like this…so hurt and worn out…twists something in me. I just want my Rosie back, the one who’s all sunshine and bubbly.
Vaughn clears his throat. “Rosie, I can’t believe you. I told you a hundred times. I had to leave for my flight, but you wanted to stay with Charlie. So I left. That’s all there is.”
I realize my hand has clenched around the rag, water dripping from it onto the counter in steady streams, leaving a messy puddle behind. Great. I hate this guy. Always have. Always will.
Rosie stumbles over her words. “Okay, well…the thing is, I woke up and—”
Before she can finish, I’m on the other side of the counter, yanking the phone from her hand and pressing Mute as quickly as I can.
“Jay!” she yells. “What the hell?”
“Don’t tell him anything,” I hiss. “Just say I picked you up. End of story.”
“What. Why?”
“Because we’re not sure if he has his hand in this or not. Maybe he’s the asshole behind all this. What if he mixed something in your drink?”
For a moment, it looks like she’s going to fight me on it, but then her shoulders slump. She nods, holding out her hand.
I give her back the phone and she unmutes it.
“Sorry,” she tells Vaughn, her tone shifting like she’s trying to sound nonchalant. “Jay’s—uh—Jay’s cat. It’s big and fat. Knocked over a lamp. You know, Garfield vibes.”
“Who’s Jay?” Vaughn’s voice drips with suspicion and I can’t hold back a smirk.
“He’s my brother’s best friend,” Rosie says quickly, and that’s when my stupid smirk vanishes as lickety-split as it came. Yep. Riley’s best friend. Not the one who seduces his way younger sister. No. I’m not that kind of man. “He lives nearby, so he picked me up this morning. I just wanted to let you know I’m safe and…that I don’t know what happened to Kix Lyle’s place either. I’m shocked.”
“Hmm…Funny you mention him,” Vaughn says. “I got pictures, Rosie. Of you and him. Actually, that’s why I called you over and over. Why do you have pictures with this asshole?”
Her face drains of color, and my stomach twists. Pictures? I take another step closer to her until my knees touch hers.
She briefly looks down at where our bodies are touching, but then her pained expression returns.
“You were at his house,” Vaughn continues, his tone sharper now. “With him and some other guys. Got the proof right here.”
Rosie stammers, “I-I never talked to him before. I don’t know how that’s possible.”
“Well, I’ll send those pics to you then. Maybe they’ll jog your memory.” He pauses. “Look, the cops are sniffing around, and they asked about you. I don’t want this to blow back on me, Rosie. We’re not in a relationship, so you owe me nothing, I get it, but my guys can’t think I’m some sore loser. Kix Lyle and I may be fighting, but it’s a playful back and forth, like us singers do sometimes. And now I have to go to the police, answering questions about assaulting him and damaging his house. I’d love to know what you did there.”
I cringe. God, what’s happening? I didn’t do anything. I would never have hurt him. Would I? Was I that wasted? Did I really drive drunk and trash his house? No. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
“I don’t need this to blow up either, Vaughn,” she snaps back.
“Well, looks like you did some shit there. Bye.”
The call ends, and Rosie drops the phone onto the counter like it’s burned her. She rakes her hands through her hair. “My parents called. Even Riley and Liora. This is a mess, Jay.”
Her phone vibrates and we both stare at her phone, wide eyed at the pictures Vaughn just sent. Rosie, visibly dazed, slouched against Kix Lyle. Another man is standing nearby but his face is blurred.
“This doesn’t look good,” I mutter.
“Did you…do you think you may have taken drugs that made you do this? Or someone spiked your drink?”
She shakes her head. “Jay. I don’t know. I’ve never done something like this. Never. I can’t believe this. I couldn’t have trashed his house.”
I touch her arm. Fuck. This is messed up. I don’t know much about drugs. I always had too much respect for losing myself in it to ever try, and I never would. I don’t like losing control. Or at least, my old self didn’t. It feels like you could do anything on drugs. But could Rosie trash a house, assault a man, and then crash into a tree with him?
That’s when my stomach drops.
Fuck, I helped. I erased the evidence. I tampered with it.
If the police catch her, I’m screwed too.
“It can’t be real,” she says, her voice breaking. “Look. My eyes aren’t open in any of these pictures. God, Jay. This feels so wrong. What did they do to me? What did I do?”
That’s when I notice her shivering and I suddenly feel something I never felt before. It’s a deep anger. Hatred. I’m going to rip their heads off.
Whoever set her up like this is going to pay if it’s the last thing I do.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Rosie. I promise you, we will.”
She nods and releases a heavy sigh.
“Do you feel…hurt? Somewhere?” My hands ball into fists just at the slightest thought about what they could have done to her.
But much to my relief, she shakes her head. “No, except my knees, but I remember falling in the woods. I don’t feel hurt, or sore. I don’t think anyone physically harmed me. At least I hope not. God, Jay. That feeling of not knowing what I did. I can’t.”
That’s when a tear runs down her cheek and I collect it with my thumb.
I pull her into my arms as she breaks into sobs, gently stroking her back. “Please, promise me. Stay away from those drugs.” It’s not the first time I’ve asked her to.
“I usually don’t take hallucinogenic drugs. I’m afraid of losing my free will. This is a horror scenario. I don’t think I took them myself. Jay, I think someone drugged me and then I acted out. What if I really hurt him!”
I swallow and look at the whiskey bottle next to my sink.
Her eyes follow me. Just seeing the bottle stirs something deep inside me, a craving I’d almost forgotten about while talking to her. Being with her was the only time I hadn’t felt the pull in weeks. I know it got out of hand. I willingly let it get out of hand. Just like she did. Fuck, we’re messed up.
“I think it’s Vaughn,” I say, steering the conversation away, not wanting her to mention the booze.
For a second, I brace myself for her to push back, to call me out. But instead, her shoulders drop, and she just shakes her head, defeated.
“He wasn’t there. He had a recording in LA.”
“Sure about that?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. His jet left that night. I remember him leaving and sending me a snap from the plane.”
“Figures,” I grumble. “Why does everyone have their own jet? Do none of these idiots care about climate change?”
Rosie doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t even crack a smile. She just looks at me, wide eyed and desperate. “What do I do, Jay? The cops will be at my door sooner or later. If someone sent those pics to Vaughn, it’s just a matter of time before they get posted. And now social media is linking his assault to me. Right now, the articles don’t mention me or anyone else.”
“I need Ethan.”
“Riley’s manager?”
“He’s practically family. If anyone can help me, it’s him. I just…I need those photos gone before they hit the media. And I need to find out if I did this. If so, I will tell the police, but I think…” Her voice wavers. “You helped me erase evidence. I don’t believe I have anything to do with hurting Kix Lyle or with destroying his place, but the fact is, I basically don’t have an alibi. I can’t remember what I did, I used illegal drugs, and I tampered with evidence. And if this comes out, you’re in it too. Shit. Jay, I…tampered with evidence!”
She’s panicking and I think I’m close too.
No. She didn’t do anything. I just can’t believe it.
She’s right. Considering all the shit we did, we need to find out what happened. Fast.
“Relax. I’m your alibi. I don’t believe you had your hands in this. I think someone set you up. I mean, we both know you take what you find, and I hate that you do, but you’re no criminal. A pig is after you and I won’t let that happen, ever. So, we come up with a plan on our own. Whoever set you up needs to come with solid proof that you actually destroyed something or hurt this singer. Until they have anything new, we say I picked you up and you slept in my house.”
“Jay, you can’t lie for me. Making false statements means up to five years in prison. I won’t allow that.”
I wince. “How do you know that?”
“True crime podcasts. I love them.”
I wince. She shouldn’t tell anyone that, considering what happened. “Well, then let’s speed things up and find out what’s happening, maybe we have enough and don’t have to lie to anyone.”
I glance at the phone again, at the damning photos staring back at me. “Think Ethan can check if all cameras were destroyed and, if not, wipe Lyle’s cameras?”
“He’s pulled off crazier stunts,” she says. “Remember when he deleted the photo of Riley naked on the yacht?”
“Oh yeah, when he was reenacting that scene from Titanic ? That was wild.”
I can’t help but grin at the memory.
Ethan was panicking about Riley’s penis being all over the internet, but somehow he managed to delete the image. It worked out in the end because no one had shared it yet. If we act fast, maybe he can help us with the camera footage too.
Plus, Riley has been sued multiple times, and only one trial attracted media attention, so there’s still hope to stop things from getting out of control. If anyone can get us out of this mess—both me and Rosie—it’s Ethan.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my keys. “Let’s go.”
“What?” she asks, startled.
“You’re not doing this alone. Something shady is going on. First, that car wasn’t properly adjusted for you, the seat was set for a taller person. Second, all the photos show you either asleep or being dragged around, and third, that villa was a whole mess. We can’t tell anyone because we did some illegal stuff there, too, but there’s no way you destroyed all the cameras, wrecked his house, and trashed his car. Someone wants to pin this on you—maybe for your family’s money, or maybe it’s Vaughn being stupid, but whatever the reason, we need to go visit Ethan.”
“But you—”
“I what?” I point around me. I don’t have anything to do in my life, Rosie.”
She cracks a wince. “You should rest, I don’t want your injury to become worse.”
“Well, actually, my physician told me to get my ass up last time, so that’s what we gonna do. To Ethan,” I say and rush to the door—well, I limp there—and throw a hoodie over and a leather jacket. I reluctantly take my cane, but I fear that fucker is just part of me now. The shoes are another thing, and I cringe as I look at my sneakers. Oh for fuck’s sake. I can’t walk around the city in my Birkenstocks.
But then I see her.
Rosie runs to me from the kitchen.
She—I blink and blink again—she crouches down in front of me, and before I can even think about protesting, she helps me put on my sneakers.
My heart stutters and my chest tightens. No. I don’t want her to do this. I don’t want her to take care of me like this. I’m not a grandpa who needs his nurse. I’m not.
Even though every part of me wants to tell her to stop, I can’t bring myself to move. I just stand there, frozen, as I process the sight of her kneeling in front of me. The soft, tentative brush of her fingers against my foot sends a jolt through me, making everything feel too raw, too real. Rosie, bent down like she’s been taking care of me her whole life, like it’s the most natural thing in the world while she wears my hoodie. Her fingers move with purpose, careful, almost like she’s treating me like something fragile, and I’m back. God, no. I don’t want this. Not like this. I don’t want her to see me like this, weak and in need.
“Stop it,” I bark, the words slipping out sharper than I meant.
I hear the bite in my voice and instantly regret it.
She freezes for a second as well, her eyes flashing with something I can’t quite figure out. Then, just as quickly, she smirks and snaps back, “Oh. Okay. If you don’t need help, then prove it.” She leans back, resting her weight on her heels as she sits comfortably on the ground beneath me. “Prove it, big guy.” She pulls the shoe off my foot again, then places it in my hand.
I stare at her, my jaw tightening. That witch.
She’s pushing me, pushing me to do something I know I can’t. But there’s a part of me, my damn pride, that wants to show her she’s wrong. So, I try. I let the shoe drop just next to my foot. My knee protests every second as I attempt to lift it and get in the shoe, hands shaking as I try.
I grit my teeth and give it my all, focusing, ignoring the scream in my leg as it refuses to bend the way I need it to. Then there’s this unnerving pain. I bite it back.
“See? Got it,” I mutter, more to myself than to her.
But the sharp pain cuts through me like a hot knife. My knee locks up, a jolt of agony shooting up my leg, and I stop dead.
“Fuck,” I hiss and accidentally kick the shoe away to another corner. Fucking shit. I try to flex my knee again, but it’s no use. The damn thing won’t move.
She watches me struggle, and then the smallest hint of something soft flashes in her eyes. A moment of understanding.
I glare down at her. Part of me wants to yell at her, to tell her to stop playing with me. But another part…another part wants to prove her wrong.
But I can’t. And she knows it.
“Thought so,” she says softly. “You need me, Jay. And I’m not going anywhere. You can be as grumpy as you want. I won’t go anywhere.”
The way she says it—so sure, so unbothered by my resistance—it strips away the last of my pride.
She doesn’t bother asking for my permission. She continues on, leaving me to be the one who retreats. But I don’t move. I stay still and allow her to slip that stupid shoe back onto my foot. She ties it again with a sense of quiet determination.
And then she’s looking at me, her eyes soft but teasing. “Don’t pout at me like that. You’re still a sexy man, you know.”
That’s when I lose it.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. How is she able to say things like that? How is she able to make everything feel so damn…real?
“I don’t want you to think I’m sexy. I’m way too old for you. Look, I can’t even walk. What do you want? To change my diaper in a few years?”
“Don’t exaggerate, it’s eight years. That’s nothing.”
“That’s a lot. I bet you don’t even know shows like Alf or The Nanny . We wouldn’t have anything in common.”
“You know,” she says softly, and stands up, “asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength.” She holds my gaze. “I know it’s cliché, but it’s true. If you keep pushing yourself, you’ll just break. You need to let people help, Jay.”
And that’s when I swallow and stare at her eyes way too long. She holds my gaze with such intensity that I can’t look away, even though it pulls at something deep inside me. And there we are, just inches apart, feet barely brushing. My heart hammers in my chest, and all I can think is how badly I want to reach out, cradle her face, and kiss her. Just once. Maybe twice.
I’ve thought about kissing her—countless times, replaying that almost-kiss in my mind, the memory seared into my skin. It was just a peck, but it was there. And I thought she didn’t remember it, but, well…I guess she did.
But it’s not just that.
It’s the fact that she’s younger. That damn age difference I can’t escape, the way I’ve known her since she was thirteen. How could I ever explain that without sounding like some kind of monster? How could I convince anyone that I never saw her like that—never wanted her like that—until she blossomed into this woman before me? How could I explain it when I knew, the moment she stole my heart, dressed in a way that made me see her for who she had become, that my thoughts changed forever?
That shift, the change that happened when she turned eighteen, when she grew into her own. It left me raw with desire. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if it’s all too much, too soon. She’s still so young, so full of potential, and here I am, caught between the man I was then and the man I am now, who is a complete stranger to me.
My gaze drops to her bare feet again.
“Okay,” I grunt, snapping back to reality way too quickly. “Go get dressed. I’m not going anywhere unless you’re actually fully clothed.”
She spins on her heel. “I am dressed.”
I raise an eyebrow, glancing her over. “Your butt’s hanging out.”
She turns back to face me, eyes glinting with that mischievous fire I’ve always loved. “You wish. And the only other thing I’ve got to wear is my shredded dress. I don’t think that’s better.”
“Well, go into my room. Find some pants. I would get them for you, but…” I trail off, the words hanging in the air. “The stairs…they kill me.”
She pauses, her eyes softening again. “Shit, you had to climb them yesterday. God, Jay, I’m sorry for what I made you do. I wasn’t myself. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t want you to walk so far and then even—”
“Don’t apologize,” I cut in. “I’m happy to help. At least I was of use to someone. What would I have done otherwise? I’d still be rotting away. But we need to hurry now before those damn photos get out.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and I see that quiet gratitude, that deep, unspoken thanks. It hits me harder than I want it to. “Thank you, Jay. You don’t even know what this means to me.”
And then, she does that thing. That smile. That teasing, heart-stopping smile that never fails to mess with my head. “And as a way of making amends, I’m happy to get you dressed every day,” she says, her voice light, but there’s an edge to it now, a promise I actually don’t want to get.
“Go,” I murmur. “Or I’ll bite you.”