32. Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
Vince
Morning sunlight filters through the half-drawn curtains, painting stripes across our rumpled bed. I wake slowly, guided into consciousness by the absence of the usual morning symphony—no baby monitor crackling with Jasmine’s babbling, no Quinn’s soft footsteps padding around the nursery.
Monday. Grace’s day to take Jasmine to the park for their morning ritual is a tradition Grace suggested, and Quinn and I both look forward to.
A look over at Quinn, admiring the bright flame of her hair fanning across the pillow and the soft curve of her cheek. She’s lovely even in sleep. She looks so innocent. It’s hard to believe she was such a wild woman last night. I give a smug smile. I need to remember to thank Reenie for her wise suggestion to figure out what mattered to Quinn—and then do something about it.
There was a tension between us, that isn’t there anymore. Burned away by last night’s passion. I’m glad I’m finally doing something right. As I continue to watch Quinn, she slowly stirs, and the sheet slips down, revealing a lush, peach-tipped breast.
Leaning over, I cover it with my mouth, gently tugging the nipple between my teeth. I feel Quinn slowly come awake as I continue to nuzzle her warm skin. I feel her hands in my hair and glance up to see her hazel eyes blink open in awareness. She gives me a soft, sleepy smile.
I follow the line of her freckles until she’s on her side, and my lips continue down the silky path scattered across her back.
As I continue to caress her, my body becomes hard with desire, the satiety of last night’s lovemaking forgotten. Her back still towards me, I reach down and lift her leg, making room for me to slide between her thighs and enter her from behind. As wild as last night’s sex was, this morning, it’s slower and sweeter as I start off by rocking steadily into her. Her passion slowly rises to meet mine. She arches her back to meet my thrusts, pushing back against me, and I increase the tempo, my strokes becoming more forceful.
As I hear her give a low moan, I reach down her front, my calloused fingers finding her swollen clit, and I thrum it like a guitar string, then press down on it hard. I hear her keening cry as she shatters in my arms. The clenching of her forceful orgasm wrenches a response from my body, and I quickly follow her, emptying myself into her—spent.
I feel her back vibrate against mine with her soft laughter. She then turns in my arms to face me, her eyes sparkling. “Good morning to you too, lover.”
“It’s Monday. We have a couple of hours before Grace gets back with Jasmine.”
Her voice is husky as she responds, “Let’s spend them in bed.”
“You’re serious?” My voice tightens as I grip the phone, pacing across the outside deck, the ocean breeze cool against my heated skin.
Michael’s tone is calm and professional—the complete opposite of how I’m feeling right now. “She says she wants to meet you face-to-face, Vince. Just once, to discuss the custody papers before signing.”
“Why?” Frustration simmers beneath the question. It was supposed to be simple: papers drawn, signed, and done. No messy meetings, no awkward conversations.
Michael sighs. “She says she just wants to ensure Jasmine’s going to a good home.”
“I’ve been raising Jasmine for months,” I snap, barely keeping my voice low. “She abandoned our daughter on my doorstep—now she suddenly cares?”
Michael hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Look, this is the final step. If a single meeting reassures her enough to sign over full custody, it’s worth it.”
I pause, rubbing a hand over my eyes. He’s right. I know he’s right. “Fine. Arrange it. I’ll let Quinn know we’re flying to Nashville tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll meet you at the airport.”
The plane cuts through the Nashville sky, descending in a smooth arc toward the runway. I stare out the window, watching the landscape transform from specks of green and brown to distinct shapes—trees, buildings, the winding ribbon of the Cumberland River.
Behind me, Michael Garret reviews notes on his tablet, occasionally murmuring into his phone. He’s been doing this since we took off from Jacksonville over an hour ago, preparing for a meeting I never wanted to have.
My stomach knots at the thought of facing Daisy—the woman who left our daughter on my doorstep with nothing but a hastily scribbled note. The woman who’s been like a ghost haunting my life since I found out I had a daughter.
“We’re landing in five,” the pilot announces over the intercom. “Weather in Nashville is clear, 74 degrees.”
Michael puts away his tablet, fixing me with that steady gaze that’s gotten me through more than one legal crisis. “Remember what we discussed. Let me do most of the talking. Don’t make promises. Don’t get emotional.”
I nod, though we both know the last part might be impossible. “And if Daisy changes her mind? If she doesn’t want to sign?”
“Then we proceed with the court filing as planned.” His tone is measured, confident. “The precedent is on our side, especially given the abandonment. But Vince—“ His expression softens slightly. “Try to understand her position. Sometimes people need closure before they can move forward.”
“Closure.” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. “She left our daughter like she was returning an unwanted package. What kind of closure does she need for that?”
Michael doesn’t answer as the plane touches down with a gentle bump. Minutes later, we’re climbing into a waiting SUV with tinted windows, heading toward the meeting place Daisy chose—a café in East Nashville, trendy but not so popular that I’d be immediately recognized.
“We’re here,” the driver announces, pulling up in front of a rustic building with plants spilling from every windowsill. The sign reads ‘Earthbound: Coffee & Community.’
“Fitting,” Michael murmurs as we step out. “She said they’d be in the back garden area.”
I follow him through the café, nodding tersely at the barista, who does a double-take when she recognizes me. The back garden is a small oasis—wooden tables scattered among potted trees, fairy lights strung overhead though they’re not lit in the afternoon sun.
And there she is.
Daisy looks familiar. My eyes take in her appearance—thin, blonde, with daisies splashed across her t-shirt, the perfect picture of a girl who’d wander away from a rockstar’s doorstep without a backward glance. Beside her sits a guy who introduces himself as Ash. Hair pulled into a man-bun, hemp bracelets, loose tie-dyed shirt—the epitome of hippie chic. The Farm, the commune they live on, has clearly left its mark.
“Thanks for coming all this way,” Daisy says softly, her gaze avoiding mine as she stirs her tea. “I just needed to see you. In person.”
“Why?” I ask bluntly. I don’t have patience for games.
She lifts her eyes, meeting mine briefly before glancing away. “To make sure I’m doing the right thing. Jasmine deserves a real father.”
“I am a real father.” The edge in my voice surprises even me. “I’ve been there for her, changing diapers, endured sleepless nights, teething—all of it.”
“I know,” she says, voice trembling slightly. “I just had to see for myself. I… I spied on you a little. At that club when your band was in town. I saw you leave alone that night.” Her cheeks flush. “I thought you might’ve gone back to your old ways. I’m glad you didn’t.”
My jaw clenches tight. She spied on me? But part of me grudgingly respects her caution. She wants Jasmine protected, too—at least that’s something.
“Then you know Jasmine’s my world,” I say evenly. “This isn’t just some whim.”
“I see that now.” Daisy swallows hard, nodding slowly. “I’m ready to sign. You’re obviously a good dad.”
Relief floods my chest, only to vanish abruptly when Ash clears his throat, interrupting her softly-spoken promise. “Hold on a minute, Daisy.”
She glances at him, startled. “What?”
Ash leans forward, elbows propped casually on the table, his gaze sharp, calculating. “Let’s be practical here. Jasmine is technically your daughter. You deserve some sort of compensation.”
Daisy’s eyes widen in shock. “Ash, The Farm isn’t about—“
“Everyone cares about money,” he interrupts, voice calm and unruffled. “Even if they say they don’t.”
I exchange a wary glance with Michael. We’d expected Daisy to be the one demanding payment, not this guy.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Michael asks cautiously, pulling out a pen and notebook, clearly ready to negotiate.
“Just wondering,” Ash drawls, glancing between us, “what exactly is Vince here willing to offer in exchange for Daisy signing those papers? This isn’t exactly a small favor.”
Anger flickers in Daisy’s eyes, but she says nothing, her expression conflicted. The silence stretches painfully between us, and I realize Daisy never intended to ask for money. This guy, though—he sees an opportunity.
Michael clears his throat. “We could perhaps discuss a settlement—as a gesture of goodwill, not as payment for parental rights, which would be both unethical and potentially illegal.”
Ash raises a brow. “How much?”
Michael glances at me, silently asking my permission. My jaw tightens, but I nod sharply. He names a figure that makes Daisy gasp softly, her hand trembling as it grips her teacup.
Ash grins, satisfied. “Now we’re talking.”
“There won’t be anything else,” Michael warns firmly. “No future demands, no contacting Jasmine. Not a penny more. Ever.”
Ash starts to object, but Daisy places a hand on his arm.
“It’s enough,” she says quietly. “More than enough.”
“You could ask for more,” Ash insists. “He’s worth millions.”
“I don’t care about that, Ash.” She turns to me. “This isn’t about money. It’s about doing what’s right for her.” She looks at Michael. “If Vince could make a donation to the Farm. I’d be grateful because it means a lot to me. But I’m signing these papers because it’s what’s best for Jasmine.”
Michael produces a pen, and one by one, Daisy signs the pages he indicates. With each signature, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders—and a new one settling in its place. This is real. Final. Jasmine is legally, officially mine alone.
“There’s one more thing,” Michael says when Daisy finishes. “This agreement includes a confidentiality clause. You won’t discuss your relationship with Mr. Savage or the child with media outlets or on social platforms—to anyone. Additionally, the settlement we’ve discussed is a one-time payment. There will be no further financial compensation in the future.” He turns to Ash. “We have a NDA for you to sign as well.”
“I understand,” Daisy says softly. “I won’t try to contact Jasmine if that’s what you’re worried about. I made my choice.”
Ash seems less pleased, his mouth set in a hard line but grudgingly signs the document. “Fine. I’ll sign, but we probably could have held out for a lot more, babe.”
“No. He’ll give her what I can’t,” Daisy corrects him, then looks at me. “A parent who wants her. Who’ll fight for her.”
“I will,” I promise, meaning it more than I’ve meant anything in my life. “Always.”
“I know.” She pushes her chair back, signaling the end of the meeting. “That’s why I came today. To be sure.”
She stands, seeming relieved. But Ash merely shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Fine by me. Honestly, I don’t want kids right now. And when I do… well, they sure as hell won’t be someone else’s brat.”
His words hit like ice, and my fist clenches beneath the table. Jasmine deserves better than this.
Daisy turns to go but pauses, looking back at me. “She’ll ask about me someday. When she’s older.”
“I’ll tell her the truth,” I say. “That you loved her enough to make sure she had what she needed. Even if that wasn’t you.”
Something like gratitude flickers across Daisy’s face. “Thank you.”
She walks away then, Ash following with a last suspicious glance at us. Michael gathers the signed papers, tucking them carefully into his briefcase.
“That went better than expected,” he observes. “Though I could have done without the hippie boyfriend’s negotiation tactics.”
I barely hear him, my mind already racing ahead to what this means. No more shadows hanging over us. No more uncertainty about Jasmine’s future.