23. Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Quinn
We lapse into silence for the remainder of the drive, but my hand stays in his, his thumb occasionally brushing against my skin in a way that both calms and unsettles me.
When we arrive home, the lights are on—Grace must have left them on for us. Vince carries Jasmine's sleeping form inside while I grab the diaper bag.
Vince takes Jasmine straight to the nursery, and I follow close behind. The quiet intimacy of putting his daughter down for the night—Me adjusting the baby monitor while he gently places Jasmine in her crib—feels natural yet strange.
"She looks more like you every day," I whisper softly as we stand over the crib.
"Poor kid," Vince jokes, but his smile is proud.
After we close Jasmine's door, I find myself hesitating in the hallway, suddenly unsure. Should I stay tonight? Is that too much to assume after my comments in the car?
Vince solves my dilemma by taking my hand and leading me toward the master bedroom. Once inside, I kick off my shoes and sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at him as I study his face.
“I didn't mean to freak you out in the car," I say quietly. "I just... this is new territory for me."
"For me, too," he admits, sitting beside me. "I've never done this before."
"What, had your own custom private tour bus?" I tease.
"No. This. Us." Vince gestures between us. "The longest relationship I've had before you was... Christ, probably measured in days, not weeks."
I continue to study him, my eyes searching his face. "Does that scare you?"
"Fucking terrifies me," he confesses with a harsh laugh. "Because I want you here. I want this relationship. I want to imagine you and Jasmine on that tour bus with me. I want to come home to you both every night."
Vince runs his hands through his dark hair, and I can see his frustration building. "But I'm also the guy who's never been able to make anything last. I'm the guy who gets bored, who fucks up, who walks away before things get complicated."
"And now things are definitely complicated," I say softly, understanding dawning.
"The most complicated they've ever been. And the most important." He turns to face me fully. "Before, I didn’t have this much to lose."
I take his face in my hands, my touch gentle, wanting to communicate my feelings. "That's how I know you're not the same Vince Savage from those stories tonight. That guy wouldn't be scared of losing this. He wouldn't have cared enough."
I can tell my words land like a revelation. Because he knows I’m right. The old Vince would have already been looking for the exit, already feeling suffocated by the domesticity, already craving his next conquest.
"I keep waiting," he admits, "for that feeling to kick in. The restlessness. The need to run. But it doesn't come. Instead, I just... I just want more of this."
I kiss him then, soft and sure, and he pulls me closer, desperate to eliminate any space between us. When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his chest.
"We don't have to decide everything tonight," I tell him. "About the tour, about living arrangements, about any of it. Like you said, we have time."
"Unless I fuck it up," Vince murmurs, voicing my deepest fear.
I laugh, surprising both of us. "Yes, that's certainly a possibility. Or unless I fuck it up. Or unless a million other things happen. That's how this works, Vince. There are no guarantees."
"That's not very reassuring," he grumbles.
"Yeah, I know." I run my fingers through his hair, and his eyes darken. "But it means we're choosing this—choosing each other—every day, knowing it could all fall apart. That's what makes it real."
The air between us changes suddenly, charged with electricity, as Vince's gaze drops to my lips. Without warning, he pulls me against him, his mouth capturing mine with an urgency that steals my breath. This isn't the gentle kiss from before—this is hunger and need and something deeper that makes my heart race wildly in my chest.
My fingers tangle in his hair as his hands slide beneath my shirt, his touch leaving trails of heat across my skin. I arch into him, a soft moan escaping me when his lips leave mine to trace a burning path down my neck. Every sensation is heightened, every brush of his fingers stoking a fire that threatens to consume us both.
"Quinn," he breathes against my collarbone, my name a prayer and a plea all at once. His hands move with practiced confidence, yet there's something different in his touch tonight—a reverence, a desperation that makes me tremble.
After I help him pull my shirt over my head, my hands find his belt buckle. I pull down his zipper. As he takes off his jeans, I shimmy out of my pants. He reaches out to grab my wrist, and he just looks at me. His intense green eyes seem to burn as they rake over my navy blue lace bra and panties.
Slowly, his callused hands reach out, so slowly that I shiver in response as he runs a finger along the edge of my lace bra. He grins, knowing what his touch does to me. He suddenly unhooks the front closure, and my full breasts spill into his waiting palms. His skin is warm against my cool flesh. He lightly squeezes and fondles my breasts, making me gasp.
One of his hands moves from my breast to my panties, and he does the same thing, lightly tracing the edges of the lace, then dipping under the seams to find what’s beneath. By the time his searching fingers find my core, I’m wet and aching for him. Lost to the sensations.
He slowly pulls down my panties and throws them over his shoulder. I shudder as he slowly pushes me back against the sheets. He positions my long legs over the side of the bed and kneels between my thighs.
His broad form pushes my legs further apart as he places one of my legs over his shoulder to give him better access. I feel his warm breath against my most intimate place. I quake as he moves closer, and I feel his tongue give me a slow, deep lick. He then delves in deeper, exploring my folds and lightly teething the small swollen bundle of nerves until I’m writhing on the bed, my hands fisting in his hair. My body suddenly clenches, my leg tightening around him as my orgasm overtakes me. I call out his name in a low moan.
Vince pushes me to the middle of the bed as I slowly come down from my high. Without giving me time to totally recover, he’s up on his knees on the bed, pulling my hips up and over his thighs, and I wrap my long legs around his waist. This angle allows his thrusts to be deeper and more powerful as he surges into me, and we find our rhythm. I swear I can feel him hit that spot inside me that makes my moans louder and my breath quicken until I can’t think—I can only feel.
I hold on for dear life as he continues his forceful thrusts, pushing me higher and higher until I crest that final wave, and my body clamps down on his as I milk him. I take all that he has to give until he slumps on top of me.
I feel the thundering beat of his heart against me before he shifts his weight to the side. I roll so that my leg goes over his hip, and we rest against each other. He is so close that I can feel his slightest movement, the way his chest rises and falls.
When I’ve recovered enough to move again, I reach out to lightly skim my fingers over his tribal tattoos, marveling at the hardness of his muscles.
He lifts my chin, his eyes locking with mine, and in that moment of connection, I see everything he struggles to put into words—his fears, hopes, and unspoken promises.
Without speaking, he pulls me even tighter against him, like he’s worried I might disappear if he lets me go.
It’s my last coherent thought before sleep takes me.
The early morning sun gleams across the three tour buses parked in Cass's circular driveway. I clutch Jasmine closer to my chest, her warm weight both a comfort and a reminder that Vince is leaving us behind. Grace stands beside me, her composed demeanor softened by the goodbye scene unfolding before us.
"Remember, her favorite stuffed elephant has to be in the crib with her, or she won't settle," Vince says for probably the fifth time, even though he knows Grace has everything under control.
“Vince, we’ve got this—”
"I know, Red.” He smiles, though I can see the strain around his eyes. “I’ve mentioned it three times already, haven’t I?" He reaches out to stroke Jasmine's cheek. She grabs his finger, gurgling happily, seemingly unaware this time that her father is about to leave for ten days.
Around us, the rest of the Wild Band and crew get ready to board the waiting buses.
"I really don't know why we didn't think of separate buses years ago," Luke groans as he helps Lila place her luggage on the bus. "Do you know how much of Sam's snoring we still have to endure?"
"You're one to talk," Sam retorts, hefting his guitar case. "Mr. 'Let's Practice Keyboard Runs At 3 AM.'"
"I still think it's excessive," Nate chimes in, though his eyes keep drifting back to Lacey. "Three additional buses. Where will we park them between tours?"
"Says the financial wizard who made it possible," Cass laughs, clapping him on the back. "Besides, when we do the longer stretches this fall, you'll be grateful."
Lila boards the second bus with an armload of food containers. "I've prepped meals for the first three days," she calls over her shoulder. "After that, we’re at the mercy of whatever I can pick up along the way."
"That's if Luke doesn't eat it all on day one," Vince teases, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
I pull out my phone, getting ready to snap a picture of the band boarding the buses. "Smile, everybody," I say in a loud voice. “This is for the official tour kick-off post."
All of them nod, moving to stand in front of the mammoth busses, arms around each other, as they strike a pose.
"Smile," I instruct again, though I hear the slight catch in my voice.
"Perfect," I state, checking my phone. "Though a bit too perfect, if you ask me.”
I swipe through the photos, selecting the best one for posting as they all disperse. "This'll do nicely. 'The Wild Band hits the road again! East Coast, get ready for the ride of your life.' How's that sound?"
"Like you're very good at your job," Vince murmurs, approaching to press a kiss to my temple.
"Ten days," I remind him, trying to keep my voice steady. "It'll fly by."
He nods, but I can see the doubt in his eyes—the same doubt I'm fighting against. Ten days suddenly feels like an eternity.
"Vince, we need to roll if we're going to make Charleston by nightfall," Cass calls, already boarding his bus.
Vince takes a deep breath, then bends to kiss Jasmine's forehead. "Be good for Quinn and Grace, baby girl," he whispers. "Daddy will be home before you know it."
Then he turns to me, and for a brief moment, all his carefully constructed confidence falls away. I see the uncertainty and the man beneath the rockstar persona who's not used to caring about people—let alone having to leave us behind.
"I'll miss you," I tell him, saving him from having to say it first.
His arms encircle both me and Jasmine, holding us against him with gentle desperation. "This is harder than I thought it would be," he admits quietly, for my ears only.
"Good," I say, trying to smile. "That means you have something worth coming back to."
When he kisses me, it's not the heated passion of last night but something equally powerful—a promise, a tether, a reminder. I pour everything I can't say into that kiss, all my own fears and hopes.
We break apart at the sound of a bus horn.
"Savage, let's go!" Luke calls from the bus steps. "Save the romantic farewells for your music videos!"
Vince rolls his eyes but steps back, his fingers trailing along my arm until the last possible moment. "Ten days," he promises.
"Ten days," I echo.
I stand with Grace and Jasmine, watching as the small convoy of buses pulls away down the long, palm tree-lined driveway. Jasmine begins to fuss as if sensing something important has just changed.
"There, there," Grace soothes and turns toward me. "Hopefully, he'll be back before this little one fully realizes he's gone."
But as I stare at the empty space where the buses were, posting the tour departure photo with a caption far more cheerful than I feel, I wonder if the same can be said for me.