CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Hendrix
S tylists and makeup artists mill about the great room off the kitchen as they pamper and ready me for the charity gala tonight. It’s our first official event as a married couple and, of course, Jase already coordinated for the same glam squad he sent to Las Vegas to get me ready. I’m grateful for the familiarity and am well aware they’re all gossiping about us being newlyweds, and that’s great for the rumor mill that no doubt is secretly going on.
The dress we’ve picked out is stunning. It’s a deep purple with a low-cut neckline that tastefully hugs my curves. My heels are high with red soles and I question if I’ll be able to walk in them without falling flat on my face.
“That’s what your husband’s arm is for,” the manicurist said when I told her I was probably going to wobble on them until I fell over.
I glance again at the door, that paranoia over where Jase went earlier still front and center. He hasn’t responded to any texts, picked up any calls, and he’s still not back yet.
When I hear boots clomping down the hall, I have to bite back the relief that floods my voice when I say, “Jase?”
But the first face that comes into the room is none other than Vince Jennings, Jase’s bandmate. His arm is around Jase who is unsteady on his feet.
Relief floods me that Jase is here and whole and okay, but at the same time, I’m a bit pissed that we’re in this position to begin with. I take him and his disheveled appearance in and hate that I’m disappointed in him.
This is our first night out as a couple, showing the world who we are, and this is how he prepares for it? I guess the marriage idea is a little more traumatizing for him than I expected it to be.
I shift my attention to Vince.
“Hi.” I say the word and then realize how stupid it sounds, but at least I stop short of officially introducing myself. I have an audience of women who should assume that since I married Jase, I’d have already met his bandmates.
It seems by the way Vince takes in the room around me that he understands this too. “Hendrix.” His eyes hold mine and he just nods as our unofficial introduction to one another.
It’s a weird feeling to be stunned by who his friends are when he’s of the same status, but I have to admit if there wasn’t worry mixed with relief, then I might be a little more starstruck.
“Cookie,” Jase says, the syllables slurring as he tries to take a step and Vince steadies him.
He’s not just drunk. He’s blitzed drunk.
Fucking perfect.
Anger fires in my blood. Memories of growing up with my alcoholic stepdad flash back.
“You’re home late. Again,” my mom yells. “And you reek of cheap perfume. Who was it tonight?”
“Oh shut the fuck up, Sandra. You’re such a stuck-up bitch. Can’t a man have a night to himself every now and then?”
“Right. Clearly, you’ve forgotten I’m your wife. Again.”
“And you wonder why I don’t come home,” he yells.
I hate when he does this to my mom. I hate the fighting. I hate how he treats her. If the walls weren’t paper-thin, I wouldn’t have to hear it at all. So, I do what I always do when I need to hide. I grab my headphones and head toward the kitchen. I have a new recipe I want to try and now seems like a better time than any.
I think I’ve blocked so much of those days from my mind, but it comes back with a vengeance when Jase meets my eyes. There’s defiance there, shame, and an unfettered not giving a fuck. Guess there’s my answer.
And the chuckle he emits? The one that almost sounds apologetic over whatever he’s done? That guts me.
“Tiger can’t change its spots,” he says. “Told you I’d fuck things up when they’re going good. Push. Push. Push.”
Vince sighs and mutters for him to shut up before looking back at me. “He had a rough day.”
“So I see,” I whisper, grateful the glam squad has quietly gone about their business with their heads down as I feel my past creeping up on me. My stomach knots. I don’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken, but the sight of Jase like this—reckless, lost—hits a deep and raw space in me.
“Even with everything tonight, you let him get like this?” I can’t help the accusation in my voice, but I’m hurt and can’t hide it.
“He’s like this and not worse because of me. There’s stuff... there’s a history here.” He pauses and sighs. “I have the doc on the way. He’ll give him an IV to sober him up. It’ll help.”
“Great. Fucking perfect,” I mutter. He does this so much he has a doctor on standby? I’m in way over my head if that’s the case.
“I’ve got it under control. He’ll be good for tonight. I promise,” Vince says as he helps him to the other room.
I stare after the two of them, trying to hide my disillusionment. I also feel mortified, because what does this say to the glam squad around me? But I steel my shoulders and straighten my spine. You’re not his confidante, Hendrix. You’re only in his life for a short time, and you can handle this.
A few minutes pass when another set of footsteps trek down the hall. A man in his late fifties with a button-down dress shirt and medical bag in his hand smiles stiffly before heading to where Vince calls out to him.
I sit in my chair as finishing touches are put on my makeup, my hands clenched into fists, unsure whether I should stay where I am or be in there with Jase.
But the ache in my chest tells me exactly what I already know.
I care. Too much . I won’t be a fool this time. I’m not oblivious to the red flags. I won’t give Jase my heart, but I do care.
And the thought is as terrifying as it is comforting.