21. Twenty-One
Twenty-One
Quinn
The late afternoon sun filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Vince’s home as I sit cross-legged on the plush living room rug, my attention fixed on Jasmine. She’s on her stomach on her play mat, still attempting to crawl. My heart swells as I watch her—those emerald eyes, unmistakably Vince’s, focused with such intensity that I can’t help but laugh.
“Still trying, sweetie?” I coo, snapping a quick photo that I’ll undoubtedly spend way too much time staring at later. “You’re going to be crawling before we know it.”
“She’s stubborn as hell,” Vince says from the doorway, two glasses of iced tea in his hands. His hair is still damp from his shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. “Wonder where she gets that from.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Certainly not from her humble, accommodating father.”
He grins that same heart-stopping smile that used to make me roll my eyes but now makes my pulse quicken. Vince hands me a glass before settling beside me on the floor, his shoulder brushing mine. Such casual intimacy, yet it still feels surreal sometimes.
“I finished scheduling all the tour announcement posts,” I say, sipping my tea. “Emily said the engagement numbers are already through the roof with just the teasers.”
“That’s because you’re the best social media manager in the business.” His fingers trace lazy patterns on my knee, and I work hard not to show how such a simple touch affects me.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Savage.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” He winks, then leans over to kiss my temple, a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache.
Three months ago, if someone had told me I’d be practically living with Vince Savage and his infant daughter, I would have laughed in their face. The notorious womanizer of The Wild Band settling down? Impossible. Yet here we are, in this strange, beautiful reality where I spend most nights tangled in his sheets and most days helping him navigate the unpredictable terrain of fatherhood.
As if reading my thoughts, Jasmine lets out a frustrated grunt, abandoning her attempt to crawl and instead rolling onto her back. She immediately grabs for her feet, shoving them into her mouth with impressive flexibility.
“That’s my girl,” Vince laughs, tickling her belly. “When in doubt, eat your toes.”
My phone chimes from the coffee table. I stretch to grab it, seeing my cousin Bridgett’s name on the screen. Speak of the devil—I was just thinking about calling her.
“Hey, Bridge,” I answer, moving into the kitchen. “How’s Minnesota treating you?”
“Cold, as usual. How’s the Florida sunshine and your rockstar boyfriend?” There’s an edge to her voice that I recognize all too well—her protective tone.
“Both are shining brightly,” I reply, watching as Vince lifts Jasmine into the air, her gleeful giggles filling the room. “Everything okay?”
“I saw the Wild Band’s tour announcement teaser you posted. It looked intense, Quinn.”
I sigh. “Yeah. It’s their job, Bridgett.”
“I know that. I’m just...” She hesitates. “Have you two talked about what happens when he leaves?”
The question lands like a stone in my stomach. Of course, we’ve talked about it—sort of. Vague conversations about maybe me joining for certain legs of the tour—about Grace and I both scheduling FaceTime for Jasmine. Nothing concrete, nothing that addresses the gnawing fear that keeps me awake some nights.
“We’re figuring it out,” I say, turning away from Vince so he can’t see my expression. “It’s complicated. But Emily, the band’s manager, has worked hard to make the tours shorter. She alternates between the band flying to the West Coast or using the tour buses for the East Coast—“
“Quinn.” She interrupts, and then her voice softens. “You know I adore you, which is why I have to say this. Vince Savage doesn’t exactly have a reputation for stability. Every gossip site has a different woman linked to him at every tour stop.”
“That was before he found out he had a daughter… and before… me,” I argue, though the defensive tone in my voice betrays my own insecurities.
“People don’t change overnight. Even for their kids, and that baby’s too young to know anyway. Forgive me, but the only person I’m worried about here is you.”
I watch Vince as he gently lays Jasmine back down on her play mat, placing her favorite stuffed elephant near her. There’s such tenderness in his movements, such attentiveness in his eyes. Is this the same man who once had a different groupie or two in his bed every night?
“I think he has changed,” I say quietly. “But even if you’re right... I’m going into this with my eyes wide open, Bridgett.”
“Having your eyes open doesn’t make it hurt any less when things start to unravel,” she replies. “And it’s not just him I’m worried about. You’re already in love with that little girl, aren’t you?”
My heart constricts as Jasmine looks over at me, breaking into a smile that melts everything inside me. “How could I not be?”
“That’s what scares me. If things go south with Vince, you’re not just losing a boyfriend. You’re losing—“
“I know what’s at stake,” I interrupt, more sharply than intended. “But some things are worth the risk.”
After a few more minutes of conversation that feels increasingly like an intervention, I hang up. Returning to the living room, I collapse on the sofa with a sigh. Vince looks up from the floor, his brow furrowed.
“Everything okay?”
I force a smile. “Yea. Just family stuff. My cousin likes to stay in touch.”
He nods, though his eyes tell me he doesn’t quite believe me. “I was thinking about tomorrow at Nate and Lacey’s. Should we bring wine or beer?”
“Both, probably,” I say, grateful for the change in subject. “Lacey mentioned Lila is making her famous lasagna.”
“God, I love Lila’s lasagna.” He groans dramatically. “Almost as much as I love your spaghetti.”
I laugh, but Bridgett’s warnings echo in my mind. This domestic bliss we’re living in—how long before he starts missing his old life? How long before the novelty of playing family man wears off?
Later that evening, after dropping off some fresh work clothes at my apartment, I find Luna, my perpetually disgruntled calico, sitting atop my bookshelf, systematically pushing my collection of sea glass toward the edge.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, dropping my bag to lunge forward just as she sends a piece of blue glass flying. I catch it mid-air, shooting her an accusatory look. “This is why I can’t have nice things.”
Luna blinks slowly, utterly unrepentant, before jumping down to weave between my legs—equal parts affection and a passive-aggressive reminder that I’ve been neglecting her.
“I know, I know,” I sigh, scooping her up. “I’m a terrible cat mom lately.”
The apartment feels strangely hollow as if no one truly lives here anymore. I glance around at the knocked-over picture frames, the scattered throw pillows, and the unmistakable evidence of Luna’s protests throughout the space.
As I refill her food and water bowls, making sure to change her litter box, my phone pings with a text from Vince.
‘Jasmine doesn’t seem to want to sleep until her Quinn comes back with goodnight kisses. She’s becoming a tiny dictator.’
Attached is a photo of Jasmine in her crib, wide awake and clutching the little stuffed lamb I bought her last week. My heart does that familiar flip.
‘On my way back. Tell the dictator her demands will be met.’
I pause before adding: ‘I would have a hard time sleeping without a goodnight kiss, too.’
I smile as I mentally see his arrogant, sexy smirk in response to my reply. I set my phone down, gazing around my apartment. This place used to be my sanctuary, my perfectly curated space of independence. Now, it feels like a way station—somewhere I stop by occasionally out of duty to my cat and gather supplies before returning to where I actually want to be.
The realization should bother me. Instead, as I scratch Luna behind the ears one more time and promise her extra treats tomorrow, I feel a strange sense of calm. Yes, I’m falling—diving headfirst into something that has all the warning signs of potential devastation. Yes, my heart is on the line. And yes, it’s not just Vince who has the power to break me now, but the tiny green-eyed baby who’s wrapped her fingers around my heart.
But for once in my meticulously planned life, I’m choosing to leap without knowing where I’ll land. Sometimes, the things most worth having are the ones that require the biggest risks.
As Vince pulls into Nate and Lacey’s driveway, I let out a low whistle. Their oceanfront home stands like a modern sculpture against the fading daylight—all sleek lines and massive windows reflecting the darkening sky.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” I murmur, unbuckling my seatbelt.
Vince chuckles, shutting off the engine. “Nate’s taste was always aggressively minimal until Lacey came along. Wait till you see what she’s done to the place.”
I climb out and watch as Vince opens the back door to retrieve Jasmine from her car seat. She blinks sleepily at him, having dozed during the drive, her tiny hand immediately reaching out to grip his t-shirt.
“Hey, baby girl,” he whispers, kissing her forehead. “Ready to see your uncles and aunties?”
Vince grabs the diaper bag, and I grab the wine we brought, his free hand finding the small of my back as we approach the front door. The casual possessiveness of his touch still sends a thrill through me, even as Bridgett’s warnings echo in my mind.
Before we can ring the bell, the door swings open to reveal Lacey with her movie-star smile as dazzling in person as it is on screen.
“You’re here!” she exclaims, immediately reaching for Jasmine. “Give me that baby. She’s so adorable.”
Vince surrenders Jasmine with a laugh as Lacey coos over her, leading us through the foyer into the vast open-concept living space. The last time I was here to go over Lacey’s social media about six months ago, the interior had been all stark furniture and empty surfaces except for a lava lamp bubbling with purple goo on the otherwise pristine coffee table. Now, evidence of Lacey appears everywhere—colorful throw pillows, framed photographs, and more than a few plants.
“The lava lamp was non-negotiable,” Lacey explains, catching Vince’s amused glance. “I had one in college. Nate hates it.”
“I don’t hate it,” Nate protests, emerging from the kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder. His usual drumstick-twirling fingers now hold a wooden spoon. “I just think it belongs in a 60‘s time capsule, not our living room.”
He embraces Vince in one of those back-slapping man-hugs before turning to me with a smirk. “Quinn, good to see you’re still with Vince—hope you’re keeping him in line.”
The rest of the Wild Band family trickles in from the beachside deck—Cass and Kendrick with their teenage daughter Cassidy, who immediately asks to hold Jasmine; Sam and Emily with their daughter Presley, who’s determined to show everyone her new light-up sneakers; and Luke with his fiancée Lila, who cooked the lasagna that smells so divine.
I’ve met them all before, of course, but being here as Vince’s—whatever I am—feels different. There’s an ease between all of them, a shorthand built on years of friendship and shared history that I’m just beginning to decipher.
“So Quinn,” Emily says, settling beside me on the sectional while the men huddle around Nate’s new sound system, “how are you handling life with our former bad boy?”
I laugh, watching as Vince takes Jasmine back from Cassidy, his entire face softening as he holds his daughter. “It’s... not what I expected.”
“None of us expected this,” she confides, gesturing to the domestic scene around us. “Five years ago, these guys were the wildest act in rock. Now look—playdates and dinner parties are becoming the norm.”
“Speak for yourself,” Luke calls over. “I’m still wild. I stayed up till 2 AM last night.”
“Working on a new song,” Lila adds, rolling her eyes affectionately.
The conversation flows easily as we move to the dining room, where Lila’s famous lasagna steams in the center of the table. I find myself between Vince and Kendrick, laughing as Cass recounts a story about their early touring days.
“Remember when Vince nearly got arrested in Austin?” Cass asks, passing the salad.
Vince groans. “Do we have to do this in front of Quinn?”
“Oh, we absolutely do,” Nate grins wickedly. “She should know what she’s gotten herself into.”