22. Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
Vince
As they launch into increasingly outrageous tales of my former exploits, I glance over at Quinn. She’s laughing at the tales they tell her, but I can feel the heat as it fills my face. I can’t tell if I’m feeling embarrassment, shame, or something else. When I catch her eye, there’s a question in my gaze, and I hate the vulnerable feeling that washes over me. Here I sit, listening to my friends tell some pretty awful stories—and they are all true. But it almost feels like they are talking about someone else. The arrogant, cocky guitarist I used to be. But I’m not that guy anymore... am I?
I run my hand through my hair, feeling a confusing mix of emotions. I’ve actually never been in a real relationship this long. Hell, I typically just played the field. I never asked the same girl out more than twice because I didn’t want her to get attached. Now look at me. Bouncing my baby on my knee and hoping to God she’s too young to understand any of the words my friends are speaking.
“Don’t worry,” Quinn whispers, leaning close enough that only I can hear. “I know who you are now. That’s what matters.”
Relief washes over me, and I squeeze her hand under the table. But I can’t shake the uneasy dread that lingers like a storm cloud—threatening and ominous. It’s easy to say that I’ve changed, that I’m different from the guy they’re all talking about… laughing about. But have I? Have I really?
The conversation shifts to tour preparations, and I feel a cold knot form in my stomach. I remember the blonde that showed up in my dressing room uninvited. It was easy to get rid of her, but what if I hadn’t realized when I did that she wasn’t Quinn?
I’ll be gone for over a week on this next tour. Emily tried to keep the tours short and leave plenty of breaks in between performances, but many of our events were already scheduled well in advance. I feel lucky that she’s arranged quite a few flights and hotel stays instead of the tour buses—but even so, there will be plenty of days and nights on the bus—without Quinn and Jasmine. My stomach clenches at the thought. This next tour is the longest we’ll have been apart since this whole relationship thing began.
Jasmine suddenly lets out a small wail, her face scrunching up in distress. I immediately stand, bouncing her gently.
“I think someone needs a diaper change and maybe her bedtime bottle,” I state. “Lacey, is there somewhere I can...?”
“Guest room down the hall,” she points. “Everything’s set up for her.”
“I’ll help,” Emily offers, following me with the diaper bag.
In the quiet of the guest bedroom, away from the laughter and conversation, I place Jasmine on the bed. As Emily hands me a fresh diaper, I turn to her.
“How did you and Sam cope with being away from Presley when she was this age?”
Emily smiles. “It wasn’t easy. But I tried doing the same type of small tours we’ve got booked now.” She reaches out to give my arm a reassuring squeeze. “It was a little easier for us because my parents were so good with Presley. The longest we were away was a week—but it was the longest seven days I can remember.”
I nod. “Yeah. I never thought it would be this hard.” I glance at her again as I finish with Jasmine and lift her into my arms. “Emily, I didn’t give a single thought about how hard it was for you back then. Or even now. Presley’s only a toddler. How do you manage?”
“Now that Presley’s older, it’s easier to bring her with us, but it’s still hard leaving her. Even now.”
“Here, will you take Jazz while I get her bottle ready?”
As Emily follows me to the kitchen holding Jasmine, I shake my head, trying to clear the doubts swirling like a tornado. The Vince Savage they were all laughing about in there—the guy who had a different woman in every city, who couldn’t remember their names, who lived for the thrill of the chase—he feels like a stranger now. Yet he’s still part of me, isn’t he?
“You look a million miles away,” Quinn says, appearing in the doorway. “Need some help with that bottle?”
Her voice pulls me back to the present. I glance up, warmth spreading through my chest at the sight of her, cheeks flushed from laughter and wine, those hazel eyes that seem to see straight through me.
“Just thinking about the tour,” I admit, testing the temperature of the formula against my wrist. Perfect. I take Jasmine back from Emily, who gives us both a knowing smile before returning to the dining room.
Quinn leans against the counter, arms folded across her chest. “Want to talk about it?”
I don’t, actually. I want to keep pretending that nothing will change when I’m back on the road again, that temptation won’t be everywhere, that I won’t miss Jasmine so badly, it’ll feel like physical pain, and that Quinn won’t realize she deserves better than a recovering womanizer, single dad with a baby.
But I just shrug. “Later,” I promise. “Let’s get back before they start sharing even more embarrassing stories about me.”
Her laugh is light, but her eyes remain questioning as she follows me back to the dining room.
“There you are!” Nate calls out. “We were just debating who has the best tour rider demands.”
“Vince’s used to be legendary,” Sam chuckles, struggling to wipe tomato sauce from Presley’s chin as she squirms in her booster seat. “Remember the time you demanded a different color M&M for every day of the week?”
“That was strategic genius,” I protest, settling back into my chair with Jasmine contentedly drinking her bottle. “I could tell which day it was by what color M&Ms showed up.”
“Because looking at a calendar was too difficult?” Luke teases.
“When you’re in a different city every night, sometimes you need edible reminders,” I shoot back with a grin. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”
Quinn laughs beside me, her hand resting casually on my thigh under the table. Such a simple touch, yet it grounds me in the moment.
Sam sighs, finally giving up on cleaning Presley as she triumphantly smears more sauce across her face. “I don’t miss trying to parent on tour. It’s a nightmare. Last time, we left her with Emily’s parents for the longer stretches, but she comes with us on the shorter runs.” He ruffles his daughter’s hair affectionately. “Worth it, though.”
“It’s hard either way,” Emily admits. “Leave them—miss them desperately. Bring them—exhaust everyone, including yourself.”
I glance down at Jasmine, her eyelids growing heavy as she works on her bottle. The thought of leaving her for days at a time makes my chest physically ache. At least Grace or Quinn will be there when she wakes up in the middle of the night. But I’d rather it be me. Me, making her laugh with the stupid faces that only I seem to know how to make.
And Quinn... what about Quinn?
“I don’t get it.” Cassidy pipes up, setting down her soda, “Why doesn’t each guy just get their own tour bus?”
The entire table falls silent, everyone turning to look at Cass and Kendrick’s teenage daughter.
“What?” she continues, apparently oblivious to the bombshell she’s just dropped. “Each ZZ Top musician has their own custom bus.”
“Yeah, but there’s only three of them,” Luke points out.
Cassidy rolls her eyes with the special brand of teenage condescension. “So? There are five of you. Aren’t you all filthy rich? That’s what the tabloids say. Dad’s always bragging about all the money Nate’s made you in the stock market.”
Another beat of silence before we all burst into laughter.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Sam wheezes, wiping his eyes.
“I mean... she’s not wrong,” Cass admits, looking thoughtful. “We could afford it, especially now that the band’s more popular than ever.” He glances around the table. “Might be nice for the rest of you. I know it’s great for my family. Why should I be the only one with my own bus?”
Emily, who has been thoughtfully listening until now, states, “We have the means. We would still book a jet and hotels for the West Coast… but for all the rest? It could work.”
My brain latches onto this possibility, spinning it around. My own bus. A space where Jasmine could sleep safely, where Quinn could join me, and where I wouldn’t be constantly surrounded by temptation, noise, and chaos.
“Actually,” I hear myself saying, “that’s not a bad idea.”
“Did Vince Savage just advocate for less partying on tour?” Lacey gasps in mock horror. “Someone check if hell has frozen over.”
“Funny,” I deadpan, but there’s no heat in it. “I’m just thinking practically. Jasmine needs routine. If she had a stable environment on the bus...”
“You’d bring her?” Quinn asks, and something in her voice makes me turn to her.
“Not for the longer tours,” I clarify. “But maybe for some of the shorter ones. If...” I hesitate, suddenly aware of everyone watching us. “If you’d come too. Sometimes. When your work schedule allows. Otherwise, Grace could accompany us.”
The expression that crosses her face—hope mingled with uncertainty—nearly breaks me. How can she still doubt what she means to me?
“The more I think about it, the more I believe we could make it work,” Emily says encouragingly. “Private, customer tour buses for each band member.”
"God, we really are getting old," Luke groans, but he's smiling as he says it, his hand finding Lila's. “Maybe our bus could have a bigger kitchen? And who knows, maybe we’ll also need more space eventually…”
At his words and suggestive look at Lila, red floods her cheeks. “Be careful what you wish for,” she murmurs and suddenly it’s Luke who looks startled, making us all laugh.
As the conversation shifts to the logistics of multiple buses and private couple accommodations, I notice Quinn has gone quiet beside me. Jasmine has fallen asleep in my arms, her tiny hand clutching my shirt.
“You okay?” I murmur, just for Quinn’s ears.
She nods, but there’s hesitation in her eyes. “It’s just... I’ve never been part of that world before. The touring life. It’s your space.”
“There’s room for you in my world—my space,” I tell her, and I mean it more than I’ve meant almost anything in my life.
The rest of dinner passes in a blur of laughter and plans, with Lacey’s incredible chocolate torte for dessert. By the time we say our goodbyes, Jasmine is fast asleep in her carrier, and the night has grown cool enough for Quinn to borrow one of Lacey’s sweaters.
“Thanks for tonight,” I tell Nate and Lacey at the door. “And tell Cassidy she might have just solved our touring dilemma.”
“She’ll be insufferable when I tell her,” Cass groans good-naturedly, arm around Kendrick’s waist.
As we drive home through the quiet streets of Ponte Vedra Beach, Quinn stares out the window, still unusually silent.
“Talk to me,” I finally say, reaching over to take her hand. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
She takes a deep breath. “It’s just... this is happening so fast, Vince. The tour buses, me coming with you, Jasmine on the road. We haven’t been in this relationship that long.”
Her words hit me with unexpected force. She’s right. We haven’t been together all that long. Though it is the longest I’ve spent with a woman—ever.
“Too much too soon?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light even as something cold settles in my chest.
“Maybe.” She turns to look at me, her hazel eyes reflecting the passing streetlights. “I mean, we’d be in incredibly close quarters. That’s a lot of pressure on a new relationship.”
“The buses won’t be ready right away,” I offer. “We’ve got time to figure things out.”
But even as I say it, a voice in my head whispers: But do we? Will we still be together by then? Or will I have found some way to sabotage this? Fuck it up—like I always do?’