Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
All he cared about was getting home to Brinton.
So, he bypassed the afterparties and skipped his greenroom, where God-knew-who-wearing-God-knew-what waited with whiskey and a smile.
He didn’t even pose for pictures at the front barricade, where fans had gathered for hours to see him.
He regretted that, but he’d find some way to make it up to them.
Post-show adrenaline propelling him, he drove faster down the highway than he should have, took the curves of those dirt roads a little too sharply. He couldn’t bear another moment without Brinton wrapped in his arms.
When he pulled into the family compound, the driveway was empty, save for his father’s GMC Sierra 1500 Denali. The lights were on in his second-floor office. His father had waited up to properly flog Jamie following his seditious act.
He too would have to wait.
Jamie sprinted to the back of the main house. He didn’t stop when the motion detector lights sprung on and made an Olympic leap over the sprinklers showering the zucchini patch.
When he reached the guest house, the front door was ajar. Something was off, he could feel it. It terrified him.
He shouldered the door open.
“Brinton?” he called out, breath lodged in his throat.
It was quiet and nearly pitch-black, with only the coffee table light flickering softly.
Brinton’s laptop, notebooks, and scratch paper littered the kitchen table.
On the counter, there were two glasses, an empty bottle of Pinot Noir, and remnants of cheeseburgers and fries in takeout boxes.
In the morning, he’d hug Sammi for looking after Brinton when he couldn’t.
But he was there now.
“You came,” Brinton rasped, voice thin as gossamer.
He scanned the living room, but he couldn’t see her.
“Sweetheart, where are you?”
“Down here…”
He inched into the living room, heartbeat a grenade in his ears, and followed her voice. She lay on the floor, curved into the three feet of space between the couch and coffee table. He wasn’t sure what he was walking into, so he waited.
His hand hovered over a switch by the stairs. “Can I turn on a light for you?”
She groaned. “Please don’t. My head—I have a bad migraine. The lights will make it worse. Or the wine made it worse?” She laughed tepidly.
Relief power-washed his nerves. He could handle a migraine.
“Do you have any medicine? Tell me where, and I’ll get it,” he said, crouching down next to her on the floor.
“Upstairs in the bedroom, on the dresser,” she whispered.
“It can’t be comfortable on the floor. Can I please take you to bed?”
She made a strange sound: part sigh, part wail. Shit, she was sobbing. It crushed him to see her engulfed in pain. Once again, he felt powerless.
“I ruined everything tonight—this was such a huge opportunity for you,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry…”
He blotted her cheeks with his thumbs. “Baby, please don’t cry. That’s not even close to true.”
She tottered like a three-legged table but tried to lift herself. He caught her as she swayed, hugging her against his chest as he lowered himself to the floor.
“The best part of my night—hell, of this whole summer—is you,” he murmured against her ear.
Turning her head, she gazed up at him through tear-slicked eyelashes and a faint smile.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she whispered.
He gave her the most tender kiss he could muster in his stage-weary body, moaning softly as one hand slid through her braids while the other clutched her back. She met each glide of his lips, though she trembled and gripped his shoulders like a life preserver ring.
He wanted to be that for her.
It pained him to do it, but finally, he broke their kiss.
His eyes were still closed, but he almost felt her smile against his lips. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
Jamie laid her on the bed and lit a few candles around the room so he could get to work.
He retrieved her medication from the dresser, a small artillery of prescription bottles, pain patches, heating pads, ice rollers, and balms. He brought her water and two ice-cold cans of Coke, which she shared had mystical healing powers for migraine attacks.
Brinton decided the pain was bad enough that he needed to administer an injectable dose of sumatriptan from a syringe that looked like an EpiPen. He balanced it between his fingers, eying it curiously.
“I hate how much it hurts to do this, but it works fast,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“Do I stab it in your chest Pulp Fiction–style or…”
She laughed weakly. “I swear to God—”
“I’m messing with you,” he said, smiling down at her. “Show me what to do.”
She bunched up the hem of her dress to expose her mid-thigh. He ignored the black, lacy edge of her panties and focused on the top of her thigh, where she slid his hand.
He nodded to his bicep. “Squeeze as hard as you need to. Ready?”
She nodded. He applied light pressure with his leveraging hand, positioned the syringe, and released the spring-loaded trigger. She winced, gripping him hard.
Lord, he’d take all her pain if he could.
“Okay?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and exhaled, still gripping his arm. “I think I’ll live to see another day.”
“That’s my girl, so strong.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Everyone thinks Black women are strong because we’re born this way. But when you’re constantly tested, undermined, or ignored altogether, you have no choice but to be strong.”
His eyes grew glassy. “Oh, honey…”
She smiled earnestly. “It’s fine. I’ve grown to live with it. I think…I want to be strong now, for us.”
His lips brushed against her forehead, and she moaned gratefully.
“Can I run you a bath?” he murmured.
“Yeah, that would be amazing.”
He lit a few more candles in the bathroom and added some fancy lavender Epsom salt he found in the medicine cabinet to the extra-deep clawfoot tub. He scooped her up from the bed and carried her into the bathroom.
“I’m gonna give you some privacy, but holler if you need me.”
Her eyes dipped to the white marble floor. “Oh, I thought…well, it’s a very big tub.”
Despite the pain he knew she felt, she was blushing. It was almost too endearing.
“Mmm. That is tempting,” he said, fully knowing that tempting didn’t come close to the irrefutable longing he felt. “I have the same one at home, and it comfortably fits two.”
She looked at him sideways.
“If I had to guess,” he added quickly, suddenly feeling like he was digging himself out of quicksand with a plastic spoon.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
Before thoughts of her naked body overrode his last rational brain cell, he pulled out two plush, white towels from the linen closet. He set them on a small ledge next to the tub.
“But there will be plenty of time for us to test that theory,” he said. “Very soon, I hope. Right now, I wanna help you feel better.”
“I knew you were a prince, but you’re also an angel.” She smiled, hugging a towel to her chest.
“That’s because I haven’t told you all the dirty things I wanna do to you in that tub,” he chucked over his shoulder.
#RIP to that last brain cell.
As he shut the bathroom door, her unmistakable giggle floated into his long-term memory. That, combined with the spark of possibility in the air, made his heart swell like a hot air balloon.
After showering in one of the spare bathrooms, Jamie changed into a clean pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt he kept in his truck. He brought her something to sleep in and waited for her on the bed while she changed.
Dramatically, Brinton flung open the bathroom door.
“You had to pick the most unflattering one from the pile?” she asked, shrieking with laughter through each word. She wore an oversized pink T-shirt dress that hit above the knee, which didn’t deter Jamie from musing about how sexy her knees were.
Because apparently, that was a thing he did now.
“This is my binge-Bridgerton-and-instant-ramen look. Not at all suitable for cuddle-party-with-hot-country-star.”
“So, you do think I’m hot, huh?”
“Shut up,” she teased, sticking out her tongue. “You know what you look like. Though, I still haven’t seen your…”
She let the wicked thought hang in the air.
He grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “Woman, I’m trying to behave myself, and you ain’t making it easy.”
She turned around and popped out her butt, unhurriedly smoothing her hands over telltale panty lines. “It’s the granny panties, right?”
Jamie laughed so hard he tipped on his side, then gestured for her to join him. When he could breathe again, he said, “You’re damn right.”
Later, they lay together in bed, her head in his lap as he blotted her forehead with a cool washcloth. He marveled at how everything he thought he’d never have—stability, mutual respect, and contentment—was right there in his arms. And he was gratified to bathe in her healing light.
She laced her fingers through his and kissed his palm. “If you weren’t this huge country star, what would you do instead?”
It’d been so long since he’d thought about it. He spun his ring, suddenly self-conscious about his woefully unrealistic pipedream. Jamie chose to tell her anyway.
“Before I dropped out of college, I was a business major. Had a dream to start my own label and independently release my music. That meant I could shape the business from the inside and get out of my dad’s shadow.
” He slid the cloth from her right temple to the left.
“But everybody thought I should just sing. They said it was my destiny. Don’t get me wrong; I love it.
But sometimes, I wish I’d stuck with my plan. What about you?”
She sighed deeply enough that her shoulders bounced in his lap. “There’s this book I’ve been trying to write since college.”
“What’s it about?”
Brinton squeezed her eyes shut, as if it were a still-tender bruise.
“It’s about an anxious Valedictorian who accidentally gets locked inside her high school with her free-spirited nemesis the night before graduation.
The experience makes her question her perfectly curated future.
Ultimately, she discovers there’s more to life than straight-As and Ivy Leagues. Corny, I know.”
“No, that sounds awesome. Is this about you?”
“It’s inspired by my relationship with my sister.
Shay never had to try hard at anything. All I did was try.
But it’s a vicious cycle: I work on it for a few months, and then trash it.
I’d love to publish it one day and use my lit degree for once.
Journalism was easier. Well, at least until it wasn’t. And I became a joke.”
“You’re not a joke. You talk to people and tell their stories. Make them trust you—me included. That’s brave as hell.”
He rubbed his palms down her shoulders, and she sighed blissfully. He loved that his touch could melt away her pain.
“And why can’t you quit Landmark and finish that book? You don’t gotta be afraid to start over.”
“Well, no offense, but I’m not a Grammy-winning music sensation, so I have to work. Those student loans won’t repay themselves,” she said, opening her eyes.
He nodded but didn’t speak. Even if he wanted to pay off her debt—which he absolutely would—she wouldn’t want that. She was the kind of woman who wanted to solve her own problems. He wanted that for himself too.
“But, Jamie, I believe in you. You could still start a label or put something out independently, without your dad. Everything you want is right there, waiting for you.”
“I feel trapped too. No one takes me seriously—not unless he says so. I’ve felt it my whole life.” Yet, he had no one else to blame. This was the cost of his Faustian bargain with his father.
She winced and rubbed her left temple.
“Well, you have so much more life ahead of you,” she said. “I can’t wait to see what you do next.”
“That’s incredibly sweet of you to say,” he said, kissing the spot where her fingers lingered. “But now, I need you to relax and let me ice your head.”
She exhaled, dropping her shoulders.
He grinned down at her. “Hey, we didn’t talk about it earlier, but when I called you my girlfriend, I meant it. Even if there’s still a lot to figure out, like handling how to go public.”
“You mean, you don’t want to soft launch on Iris After Dark?”
His heart sank like a feather tied to a boulder. “You saw that?” He expected her to be hurt, or worse, angry. Instead, her lush lips curved into a playful smirk.
“I did. I was doing some research for the article, and it came up in my feed. I don’t know, it was kind of funny. I’ve been called many things, but a Yankee interloper was…refreshing.”
“Well, I took care of it. Sammi had that post pulled down. It won’t be like after the Grammys. I won’t let that happen to you.”
“You know you can’t, like, control what people say, right?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t want what’s happening in the outside world to control who we are. I’ve lived through that enough in my life. I got a lot of regrets, but wanting you, and protecting what we have together, ain’t one of them.”
She reached up and caressed his jaw, smiling as he kissed her palm. “So…do you wanna read the article, now that it’s done? I’ll email it.”
“Absolutely. I’d love that.”
He slipped her phone into her palm. She quickly tapped the screen, rubbing her weary eyes with her free hand.
Jamie smiled down at her. “Now that’s settled, how about I take you on a proper date tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some rest?”
She pulled him in for another languorous kiss, igniting a torch that chased away the fears in the dark recesses of his mind.
“So, I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispered.
“That’s a hell yes,” she breathed.
“Wanna watch something?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she said, the promise of sleep coating her voice.
He pressed play on 10 Things I Hate About You, which she had said was her favorite movie.
Thankfully, it wasn’t too bright or too loud for her over-sensitized body.
When he ran his fingers through her braids, massaging her scalp the way she liked, she released a low, rumbling moan that enveloped him like a prayer.
After she fell asleep, her head resting on his chest, Jamie pulled out his phone. He opened Brinton’s email. As he read each meticulously crafted word, a tapestry comprising his story, he radiated with awe. It was breathtaking. Exactly like her.