Chapter 2
Steve
Even in the noisy kitchen heated past too warm and scented with all the delicious foods we’d been preparing for the last few hours, Jasmine wouldn’t look at me.
The kids’ laughter spilled in from the living room where Jasmine shooed them to a short time ago.
She’d noted Jenna’s fatigue and maneuvered the pretty blonde out of the large, scrubbed space.
The kitchen was tired with older countertops and oak cabinets, thick on the grain—definitely not updated and sleek like my son’s or Jasmine’s kids’ kitchens.
But this space was charming in a way those newer, chicer versions couldn’t match.
With its large Mason jars of ingredients and the bright splash of lime green for her coffee pot and stand mixer, Jasmine’s kitchen felt homey, like a safe space to sip tea and spill secrets.
What the hell was I going on about? I didn’t share my secrets; they were more like shames, anyway. I needed to get out of this room, but I couldn’t—didn’t.
Tension coiled in my belly as I willed her to face me, but she’d turned ignoring me into an art form no one else seemed to notice.
For such a tiny thing, she sure made her presence known.
She was the shortest woman in the group—probably only five-two—and I’d be surprised if she weighed more than a buck, even.
Her figure was supple, her arms lightly muscled and tanned, no doubt from the work she did with the horses she’d sold for the past thirty-some-odd years to neighboring ranches, and, more lucratively, to rodeo hopefuls.
I only knew Jasmine dyed her hair because Aya had mentioned it once, but I liked the rich mahogany she had chosen. It suited her refined features and inquisitive, insightful eyes.
I wanted to stare at her hair now, but I forced my gaze away. No sense in getting caught yearning for something I couldn’t have.
And I couldn’t have Jasmine, even if I did dream of her—often. Already tonight, I’d caught a thoughtful look from Jenna a time or two, but the poor girl was struggling under the weight of grief to pay me too much mind.
That’s how I liked it.
Not Jenna’s grief, but me, flying under the radar. Way under, if possible, where I’d be able to help my family if needed but, otherwise, people left me alone.
Still, in this instance, I wanted Jasmine’s full attention.
Each time I caught her gaze, Jasmine’s pretty eyes reflected hurt and resilience before she casually looked away.
Those emotions I understood all too well.
She’d tripped and fallen once or twice with her family, but she’d pulled them all back into her loving embrace… something I still worked on with Nash.
I shook my head as my attention turned back to my son.
My son.
A music phenomenon. Even after all these years, his fame awed me. It also overwhelmed me, and I’d hated that I’d gotten tongue-tied with other performers or felt that my humble origins made me lesser than the rich assholes Nash hobnobbed with.
Worse yet, my insecurities almost cost my boy his life.
But he was here now, hearty and happy. That was enough. As I soaked in Nash’s presence, I felt humbled, and my chest warmed. This moment, to be included in his family…what more could I possibly ask for?
Nash pressed a kiss to Aya’s temple, snuggling her tighter to his side, his hand draped over both her and the small form of their son as he slept against her chest in a strip of cloth I still didn’t trust to keep Levi’s tiny body safe.
Both Nash and Aya assured me it was, but…
fuck. Levi was so small. Defenseless. Just like Nash had been when he’d lived with his stepfather.
Emotions rose and popped in my chest, each one headier than the last, making me dizzy. I’d left my son with a monster.
Suffocating anger, grief, and regret wrapped around me, but I pushed them down again—just as I always did. None of that emotion could escape the tightly bound control I’d learned to exert on it. I’d seen what it could do; I’d felt how virulent that negativity could be.
I wouldn’t allow that to spill over into this beautiful family, onto these loving people.
One deep breath, two. Slowly, the vise eased and I could move past those feelings. Nash was safe, and Aya loved him. He loved her just as much. They had a baby boy, who I got to help raise.
In our smaller family unit, Aya held us all together, not unlike Jasmine in the Grace family. And…I was back to yearning for even a glance from the woman next to me.
My gaze swung back to Jasmine. If she only knew how much I desired her. It was a consuming passion that was more irritating at my age of fifty than romantic.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispered as she passed me, the air carrying the soft floral scent of her perfume.
I turned in a quick move, caging her between the counter and the stove.
“I can’t.” And that pissed me off.
Much as I wanted to lift my hand and caress her cheek, I didn’t, mainly because Jasmine wouldn’t like that. She didn’t like the idea of dating, something she’d told me back before I took her to bed. The bed I’d left in the middle of the night, so the kids didn’t ask either of us hard questions.
I’d made a mistake then, and my tactical error put Jasmine on the defensive. She believed I’d only wanted physical release.
She didn’t know I’d never wanted a casual fling, especially with her. I yearned for commitment. Love. Contentment. A relationship and a partnership, something I hadn’t known existed until Nash and Aya reunited.
Yeah, my son taught me things every day. I couldn’t wait for the new lessons.
“You have to,” she snapped.
“Why?”
“Because…”
“Because you’re embarrassed you slept with me?” I couldn’t help the hurt that crept into my tone. Her mouth settled into an unforgiving expression until she caught sight of my face. She sighed and shook her head, her gaze softening.
“No, Steve. I don’t regret that night. It was…”
“Beautiful. Perfect. Like you.”
A blush stained her cheeks as she forced a chuckle. “I think you hit the eggnog too hard.”
I gripped the Formica countertop on either side of her. “I haven’t had any.”
She returned her focus to me. “I’m too old for you.”
“No, you’re not.” That argument caused restlessness to dance over my skin. “And I hate that you do that.”
Levi squawked, clearly annoyed to have suddenly woken. Nash rose from the couch, clasping his squirming, crying baby to his chest as he crooned.
I stared, as I always did, shocked by the ease with which Nash showed his affection.
If I’d done that with him when he was a lost teen, Nash wouldn’t have turned toward drugs and alcohol.
If I’d known how to show him even an ounce of the love bubbling inside, he would have had much happier school years.
But I hadn’t known he was my boy—and I still didn’t know how to love properly.
“Stop that.”
I blinked, glancing down at Jasmine. “What?”
“Brooding. You and I both know you can’t change the past.”
I swallowed the too-big pill as I nodded.
“Plus,” she said, pulling out a cutting board and pointing toward some vegetables sitting in the colander, washed, and waiting to be cut. I took the hint and started chopping.
“Plus?” I asked when she remained silent.
“If things had gone differently then, they might not have the love they do now. And what these kids found is worth its weight in gold.”
I nodded again, knowing she was right, but still unhappy with my choices. Why did expressing emotion have to be so hard?
I shuddered, the steel blade of the chef’s knife coming close to my fingers. I pulled back and heaved a breath, needing a moment as I tried to force images of my father’s abuse from my mind.
I felt her hand on my arm; the warmth seeped through the cold that tried to encase me.
“You okay?”
No. I hadn’t been okay in years. Maybe ever. That’s why I signed up to join the Army before I was eighteen, desperate to get away from the suffering and pain. “Yeah, sure.”
“Steve—”
I shrugged off her hand. “It’s nothing. And you’re right. I won’t push anymore.”
I was a broken man. Thanks to my past, I didn’t know how to love. Perhaps worse, I didn’t know how to form attachments or have a relationship. I barely kept my head above water with my son—and that was because Aya ran as an intermediary between us often. Too often.
Fuck. My throat squeezed shut, the memories of my father’s fists, the slice of his belt buckle, the burn of his cigarettes fresh somehow, even after more than thirty-odd years. The sensations jittered over my flesh, heat followed by icy coldness.
Jasmine lowered her eyelashes, but I saw the flash of hurt. This is what I did to people. This was why it was better for me to stay away.
“Need some air,” I mumbled, gaze zeroing in on the back door. Get out, calm down. Don’t mess it up for anyone else.
Get outside…
I shoved through the door and inhaled the tang of freshly turned earth and mown grass. My shoulders loosened, but I gripped the railing hard. I dropped my head down until my chin touched my chest.
Keep those emotions reined in. You can’t let them out.
I wanted Jasmine, but I couldn’t have her. Opening myself up to her was so much harder than filling the role Nash needed. Aya asked so little of me. And Levi was just a wide-eyed gummy-smile of sweet baby chubbiness. But Jasmine…she deserved intimacy.
Not just love but full-on sharing of feelings—a meshing of lives and pasts. And I never talked about mine.
Ever.
Except once with Nash, briefly. Besides my son, no one knew what I’d experienced or how my father’s actions broke me. Like Jasmine said, I couldn’t change the past.
What he’d done was done. Unchangeable. And I had no intention of sharing those dirty, dark secrets.