10. Ten
Ten
Vince
“You ready for this, little star?” I adjust Jasmine in her carrier as we walk up to Cass’s front door. She’s wearing another T-shirt; this time, it’s one that Quinn picked out—it says ‘Future Guitarist’ with tiny music notes scattered across it and the same jean leggings that Emily got her.
The door swings open before I can knock. “There’s our newest star!” Emily exclaims, reaching for Jasmine. “Come to Aunt Emily, sweetie.”
“Let us at least get inside,” I grumble, but I’m grinning. A week ago, if someone had told me I’d have a kid—let alone one that people would be cooing over—I’d have laughed in their face. Hell, I was more likely to run from a baby than toward one.
The house is full of familiar voices and laughter. Jasmine’s eyes widen at all the new sounds, and her tiny fingers gripping my T-shirt.
“Look who finally showed up!” Sam calls from the kitchen. “The man who swore he’d never be tied down.”
“Karma’s a bitch, isn’t she?” Luke adds, earning himself a smack from Lila.
“Watch the language around the baby,” she scolds, but she’s already moving toward us, that same look of baby fever I’ve been seeing on everyone’s faces lately. “Oh, Vince, she’s adorable.”
I spot Quinn hanging back near the sliding glass doors, talking with Kendrick and Lacey. She catches my eye and gives me an encouraging smile. Something in my chest does that weird flip it’s been doing lately when she’s around.
“Those eyes,” Cass says, joining our growing circle. “Definitely yours, brother. Poor kid.”
“Please,” I scoff. “These eyes always got me plenty of—“ I stop myself, suddenly aware of my daughter in my arms. Damn. Gonna have to watch that.
The guys crack up. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” Nate says, wrapping an arm around Lacey as she walks over to see the baby. “Just wait until your daughter starts dating.”
I feel the color drain from my face. “She’s never dating. Ever.”
“Karma,” Sam sing-songs as he adjusts little Presley on his hip, her red curls bouncing. Emily elbows him in the ribs.
“Uncle Vince!” Cassidy, Cass’s teenage daughter, appears from nowhere. “Can I hold her? Please?”
Something must show on my face because Quinn laughs as she steps forward. “Better get used to it, Vince. Everyone’s going to want a turn with her.”
I carefully transfer Jasmine to Cassidy’s arms, hovering like I might need to dive in for a rescue at any moment. Kendrick smiles, taking pity on me. “She’ll be fine,” she murmurs. “Cassidy’s great with Presley.”
“I know, I just...” I run a hand through my hair, unable to finish the thought.
“Who would’ve thought?” Sam says, grinning. “Vince Savage, the guy who used to disappear with groupies between sets, turned helicopter dad.”
“Remember that time in Miami?” Luke starts, but Lila clamps a hand over his mouth.
“Not appropriate for little ears,” she warns, but she’s fighting a smile.
“Speaking of sets,” Cass cuts in, “studio’s all set up. Thought we could lay down some tracks while everyone’s here.”
My eyes immediately go to Jasmine, now being passed to Lila. “I don’t know...”
“Go,” Quinn says softly. “We’ve got her. Besides, she should get used to hearing her daddy play.”
There’s something in the way she says ‘daddy’ that makes my stomach do a slow roll. Before I can analyze the feeling too closely, Sam drags me toward the stairs.
“Seriously though,” he says as we head over. “How are you handling all this? The Vince I know would’ve—“
“The Vince you know didn’t have a daughter,” I cut him off, maybe a bit sharper than necessary. But Sam just nods, like he gets it. Maybe he does—he’s got Presley, after all.
The studio still has that speaker and amp smell mixed with the familiar scent of coffee and testosterone. I grab my favorite guitar—the one I always leave here for sessions—and start tuning it.
“Look who’s finally staying home and not partying all night,” Nate teases, twirling a drumstick.
I shoot him my patented death glare, the one that usually sends groupies and reporters running. “Shut up and play, Stone.”
“Aw, is someone grumpy because he had to share his baby girl?” Luke drops down in front of his keyboard.
“I’m always grumpy,” I remind them, but my fingers are already finding the chords to a melody that’s been haunting me lately. Something softer than our usual stuff. Something that reminds me of green eyes and tiny hands.
“Hold up,” Cass says, leaning forward. “Is that new? Because that’s not your usual style at all.”
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, but Sam’s already picking up the bass line, and damn if it doesn’t sound perfect.
“Our resident bad boy’s going soft,” Nate grins, but he’s laying down a gentle rhythm that makes the whole thing come together.
“I can still kick all your asses,” I growl, but my heart’s not in it. Behind us, I can hear Jasmine’s laugh floating down through the hall and the open door, mixing with the music. And fuck if that isn’t the best sound I’ve ever heard.
“You know,” Luke says thoughtfully, “this could be exactly what the next album needs. It sounds deep, man.”
“It’s just something I’ve been messing with,” I say, but I don’t stop playing. The melody’s been stuck in my head since the night Jasmine fell asleep in my arms.
“Since when does the great Vince Savage get modest?” Cass raises an eyebrow. “Usually, you’re telling us how your riffs are going to change the face of rock and roll.”
“Usually I’m right,” I shoot back, but there’s something different about this song. It’s more vulnerable than anything I’ve written before. More real.
“Think about it,” Luke continues, adding some keys that make the whole thing soar. “Our fans are growing up with us. They’ve watched Cass reconnect with Cassidy and Sam become a father...”
“And now everyone’s favorite bad boy has a baby,” Nate adds with a smirk. “The press is going to enjoy this. They’ll have a field day.”
I hit a discordant note. “I’m not using my daughter for publicity.”
“That’s not what he meant,” Cass says quickly. “But this song... It’s honest, Vince. When’s the last time you wrote something this real?”
Before I can answer, there’s a commotion upstairs. Jasmine’s cry cuts through the air, and I’m on my feet before I realize I’m moving, guitar forgotten.
“And there he goes,” Sam chuckles behind me. “Remember when the only thing that could get him to stop playing was a hot groupie?”
I flip him off without looking back, taking the hall at a run. The mighty have fallen, all right, but watching Quinn sway with my daughter, calming her tears, I can’t bring myself to care.
“She’s fine,” Quinn says before I can reach them. “Just overtired from all the excitement.” She’s doing that bouncing thing that sometimes works, and Jasmine’s cries are already settling into hiccupy little breaths.
I hover anyway, hands twitching at my sides. The rest of the band files in behind me, and I know without looking they’re all wearing shit-eating grins.
“You know,” Emily says, way too innocently, “I remember when you told me babies were like ticking time bombs of puke and poop, and you’d rather gargle glass than—“
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut her off. “I was an idiot. We’ve established this.”
Quinn’s eyes dance with amusement. “The great Vince Savage admitting he was wrong? Should I be recording this for posterity?”
“Don’t you start,” I warn, but there’s no heat in it. Can’t be when she’s holding my daughter like that, like she belongs there.
Jasmine’s eyes are getting heavy now, her little rosebud mouth opening in a perfect ‘O’ as she yawns. Without thinking, I reach out to stroke her cheek with one finger.
“Careful there, rockstar,” Lacey teases. “Your reputation is officially in shambles.”
“Good,” I mutter, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “Never was worth much anyway.”
The room goes quiet, and I realize everyone’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. Even Quinn looks startled.
“I mean...” I clear my throat, trying to recover some of my usual swagger. “Obviously, I’m still the baddest motherfu—“ I catch myself glancing at Jasmine. “The baddest guy in rock. Just... with different priorities now.”
“Right,” Sam drawls. “That’s why you spent twenty minutes this morning texting me about the best baby nail clippers.”
“Those things are dangerous,” I protest. “Have you seen how tiny her fingers are?”
More snickering. Great.
“I need a drink,” I announce, heading for the kitchen. Maybe if I’m lucky, there’s still a bottle of that expensive brandy Cass keeps around.
Quinn follows me, Jasmine, now fully asleep against her shoulder. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?” I pull open cabinets, deliberately not looking at her.
“Pretend you’re still the same guy you were before Jasmine came along.” Her voice is soft, but it hits me like a punch to the gut. “Being a good father doesn’t make you less of a man.”
“I’m not...” I turn around, and the words die in my throat. Quinn’s swaying slightly, an unconscious movement that parents seem to develop. My daughter’s dark hair is stark against Quinn’s pale shoulder, one tiny fist gripping her shirt.
The sight does something to me, something I’m not ready to examine too closely.
“Found it!” Cass appears with the whiskey, breaking whatever moment was building. “Though maybe we should water it down for the new lightweight parent over here.”
“Fuck off,” I say automatically, but there’s no bite to it. My eyes are still on Quinn and Jasmine.
“Language,” everyone choruses, and I throw my hands up in defeat.
“I hate all of you,” I grumble, accepting the glass Cass hands me.
“No, you don’t,” Quinn says with that knowing smile that drives me crazy. “You’re just grumpy because you’ve gone soft, and everyone knows it.”
“I have not gone soft—“ But Jasmine chooses that moment to make a little snuffling noise in her sleep, and I immediately step closer to check on her.
The laughter that follows is probably deserved.
Dinner with the band has always been chaos, but now it’s a different kind of chaos. Jasmine sleeps peacefully in her carrier nearby while we pass dishes around and swap stories. The conversation flows easily and comfortably, as it always does.
“I can tell you’re ready to get her home,” Quinn says after a while, and I hate how quickly I nod. There was a time I’d have been the last to leave any party, usually with company I wouldn’t remember in the morning.
“Already?” Lila asks, but she’s smiling as if she knows exactly why we’re bailing early. “We haven’t even had dessert yet.”
“Next time,” I promise, already gathering Jasmine’s things. When did I become the guy who packs diaper bags instead of guitar cases?
“Don’t forget her elephant,” Emily calls out, handing me the stuffed toy. “Heaven forbid she wakes up without it.”
“That was one time,” I mutter, but I take the elephant. One meltdown over a missing stuffed animal was enough to last a lifetime.
As Quinn carefully transfers Jasmine to her carrier, I catch Cass watching me with an annoyingly knowing look. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, but then adds quietly so only I can hear, “It looks good on you, man. All of it.”
I want to argue, to maintain some shred of my former image, but what’s the point? They’ve all seen me jump at my daughter’s slightest whimper. They’ve watched me transform from the guy who’d sleep until noon to someone who’s up at dawn for feedings.
“Yeah, well,” I shrug, adjusting Jasmine’s blanket. “Things change.”
“Some things,” Quinn agrees, appearing at my side. “But you’re still you, Vince. Just... a better version.”
Something warm spreads through my chest at her words. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She freezes, eyes widening slightly.
Someone —probably Luke—whistles low, and the moment breaks. Quinn steps back, adjusting her purse strap.
“I should get going,” she says softly. “Text me when you get her home safe?”
“Yeah, of course.” I try to sound casual, but there’s nothing casual about the way my skin tingles when her fingers brush mine as she squeezes my hand goodbye.
“Goodnight you two,” Emily calls from behind us, grinning like she knows something I don’t. “Don’t forget you have that photo shoot tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off, watching Quinn head to her car before turning my attention to getting Jasmine settled in her car seat.
Through the window, I can still hear the others talking and laughing inside. Once upon a time, leaving early would have felt like missing out. Now, checking the straps one more time and making sure the stuffed elephant is within reach, it feels like I’m where I’m supposed to be.
Even if it means my reputation as rock’s biggest badass is officially dead and buried.