34. Thirty-Four
Thirty-Four
Vince
“Da da, da da, da da!”
Jasmine’s voice echoes through the monitor, pulling me from the thin edge of sleep. Beside me, Quinn stirs but doesn’t wake. Her eyes remain closed, one hand is tucked beneath her cheek. I slip quietly from the bed, careful not to disturb her. She was up late last night finishing a social media blitz—some society wedding post that needed her skills. The least I can do is handle the morning shift.
“Coming, baby girl,” I murmur, voice still rough with sleep.
The early morning light filters through the nursery windows as I push open the door. Jasmine stands in her crib, bouncing on chubby legs, her wild dark curls sticking up in every direction. When she sees me, her entire face lights up with a joy so pure it still knocks the wind out of me.
“Da da!” She reaches up, fingers grasping.
“Good morning, troublemaker.” I lift her against my chest, breathing in the sweet baby smell of her hair. “Did you sleep well?”
She babbles an incomprehensible response, patting my cheek with sticky fingers. At fourteen months, her vocabulary consists mostly of ‘da da,’ and ‘Ween’ (her version of Quinn), ‘no,’ and a surprisingly clear ‘Luna’ for Quinn’s perpetually annoyed cat. But what she lacks in words, she makes up for in personality.
“Let’s get you changed and fed before we wake Quinn, okay?”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on the kitchen floor while Jasmine methodically sorts her Cheerios into piles, only she understands. We’ve done our secret little practice of certain words as my coffee sits cooling on the counter, forgotten. I’m too absorbed in watching her serious concentration. Her little brow furrowed in a way that Quinn swears is identical to mine when I’m working on a song.
My phone buzzes with a text from Emily—something about the upcoming tour dates—but I ignore it. There will be time for business later. Right now, in this quiet morning moment with my daughter, I’m exactly where I need to be.
The small velvet box burns a hole in the pocket of my sweatpants, where it’s lived for the past three days. I’ve been carrying it everywhere, waiting for the perfect moment. I thought about elaborate plans—renting out restaurants, hiring string quartets, all the clichéd grand gestures. But none of it felt right. Not for Quinn. Not for us.
“What do you think, Jazz?” I whisper, watching her align three Cheerios with military precision. “Is today the day I ask Quinn to marry me?”
At the sound of Quinn’s name, Jasmine looks up, her green eyes—so like mine—bright with recognition. “Ween!” she says happily, offering me a slightly soggy Cheerio.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I accept the offering solemnly, pretending to eat it while actually palming it. Jasmine nods approvingly.
The soft pad of bare feet alerts me to Quinn’s presence seconds before she appears in the kitchen doorway, sleep-rumpled and beautiful in one of my old T-shirts, red hair twisted into a messy knot atop her head.
“There are my favorite people,” she says, her voice still husky from sleep.
Jasmine immediately abandons her Cheerio project, crawling toward Quinn with determined speed. “Ween! Ween!”
Quinn scoops her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good morning, munchkin. Are you being good for your daddy?”
I look up to find her watching me, her lips slightly parted. In that moment, I know with absolute certainty that this woman owns me completely. Heart, soul, whatever is left of this reformed rockstar—It belongs to her.
I clear my throat. “She’s sorting the cosmos into perfect order,” I tell her, gesturing to the scattered cereal. “Very important work.”
Quinn laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Clearly. And what’s your excuse for sitting on the kitchen floor at—“ she glances at the clock, ”—7:30 in the morning?”
“Just enjoying the show.” I push myself to my feet, crossing the kitchen to press a kiss to her temple. “Coffee?”
“God, yes.”
I pour her a mug, black, exactly the way she likes it. As I hand it to her, our fingers brush, and even after all this time, the simple contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
“Plans for today?” she asks, taking a grateful sip.
I try for casual. “I thought we might go to the park later. The weather’s perfect.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “The park? Voluntarily? Who are you, and what have you done with Vince Savage?”
I laugh, caught. “What? I can’t suggest a nice family outing without suspicion?”
“The last time I suggested the park, you said, and I quote, ‘Why would I voluntarily subject myself to other people’s children and judgmental parents who pretend not to recognize me while taking covert photos for their Instagram?’”
“That does sound like me,” I admit. “But I’ve evolved.”
She snorts into her coffee. “Right. And this sudden evolution has nothing to do with the fact that your new album drops next week, and I, being the new social media manager for the entire Wild Band, strongly suggested it would be good for the guys to be seen doing ‘normal family things.’”
I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Red. My motives are pure.”
“Mm-hmm. Actually, I’m glad you’re taking my advice.” She’s smiling, that crooked half-smile that never fails to undo me. “The park it is. But you’re on diaper duty if disaster strikes.”
“Deal.”
Three hours, one diaper blowout (handled masterfully by yours truly), and a minor tantrum (Jasmine’s, not mine) later, we’re finally en route to the park. Jasmine babbles happily in her car seat, alternating between talking to her stuffed elephant and randomly yelling, “Da da!” whenever I catch her eye in the rearview mirror.
Quinn flips through playlists on her phone, finally settling on one of my older albums. “Feeling nostalgic?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Just reminding myself why I put up with you,” she teases, but her hand finds mine across the center console, fingers intertwining with practiced ease.
Quinn took over taking Jasmine to the park when Grace moved out to help her sister take care of their mother. Grace is still, thank God, available to babysit.
The place is less crowded than I expected for a late Saturday afternoon, which is a relief. When I’m with them, public outings require a certain amount of stealth. Not that I mind the occasional fan interaction, but I’m hellbent on protecting Jasmine’s privacy for as long as possible.
We find a quiet spot beneath a sprawling oak tree, Quinn spreading out the blanket she insisted on bringing despite my complaints about carrying everything but the kitchen sink. Looking at her now, sunlight dappling through leaves to dance across her freckled skin, Jasmine settled happily in her lap; I silently concede she was right. This is perfect.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up, that same line she’s been using since the first day she caught me watching her.
“Hard not to.”
She rolls her eyes, but a pleased flush colors her cheeks. “Still such a smooth talker.”
“Only with you.” I lie back on the blanket, pulling the brim of my cap down to savor the moment—the gentle rustle of leaves above, Jasmine’s delighted giggles as Quinn tickles her belly, and the weight of the ring box in my pocket. Not yet, I think. But soon.
We spend a few hours in lazy contentment. Jasmine takes wobbly steps between us, collapsing into our arms with triumphant squeals. Quinn checks social media on her phone while I just soak it all in. A few people give us curious glances, but mostly, we’re left alone, just another family enjoying the weekend sunshine.
As evening approaches, Jasmine begins to lag, her eyes growing heavy as she curls against Quinn’s chest. “We should head back,” Quinn says softly, stroking Jasmine’s dark curls. “Someone’s running on empty.”
“Just a few more minutes?” I ask, suddenly making my decision.
She studies my face, something in my tone catching her attention. “Okay,” she agrees. “A few more minutes.”
I sit up and take a deep breath. This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for.
“Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Quinn’s eyes widen slightly. “That sounds serious.”
“It is. Serious, I mean.” I run a hand through my hair, suddenly nervous in a way I haven’t been since I walked onstage at Madison Square Garden for the first time. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us.”
“Vince—“ she begins, but I shake my head.
“Let me get through this, or I might lose my nerve.” I take her free hand, the one not cradling Jasmine. “Eight months ago, when Emily hired you as my social media manager. I fought you on it—“
Quinn’s lips curve into a soft smile. “You were such a pain in my ass those first few meetings.”
“I was,” I agree, returning her smile. “Until I realized you weren’t trying to change me—you were just making sure the world saw the real me, not some reckless rockstar version.”
Her expression softens, eyes warming with the memory of those early days.
“I never expected you,” I continue, squeezing her hand. “Never thought I’d meet someone who could see past the fame and the attitude to the mess underneath. Someone who would call me on my bullshit but still believe in me.”
Her breathing hitches, but she stays silent, letting me continue.
“I spent years hiding behind my reckless image, but you’ve taught me so much, Quinn. How to find real joy instead of chasing temporary thrills and how to be more than just a selfish, irresponsible rockstar.” I swallow hard, meeting her gaze. “Most importantly, you’ve shown me that a man who swore he’d never settle down could love one woman completely.”
A tear slips down her cheek, which she hastily wipes away. “Vince, you don’t have to—“
“I do.” I release her hand to reach into my pocket, fingers closing around the velvet box. “I’ve known for months that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I just needed to find the right moment, the right words. But I realize now there will never be perfect words for what you mean to me.”
Quinn’s eyes widen as I shift onto one knee, the box now visible in my palm.
“I love the life we’ve built together. I love watching you with Jasmine—seeing how much she adores you. I love waking up to your stuff scattered across our bathroom counter and your ridiculous cat judging me from the windowsill.”
“So, what I’m trying to say is—I love you, Quinn.”
I open the box, revealing the ring within—My grandmother’s vintage emerald engagement ring, the deep green stone surrounded by delicate diamonds. “I want to spend every day of the rest of my life showing you exactly how much you mean to me. Will you marry me?”
Quinn stares at the ring, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “This is... Reenie’s ring?”
I nod, throat tight with emotion. “She wanted you to have it. Said the emerald matched our eyes—mine and Jazz’s. Said it belonged with you.”
“When did she...?” Quinn looks stunned.
“Last time she visited. She pulled me aside and told me not to wait too long.” I smile at the memory. “Said she wasn’t getting any younger and wanted to dance at our wedding.”
“That sounds like Reenie.” Quinn laughs through her tears. Then, as if sensing the importance of the moment, Jasmine stirs against Quinn’s chest, blinking sleepily up at us both.
“Da da,” she says clearly. One small hand reaches up to pat Quinn’s tear-stained cheek. Then, surprising her, she adds a new word: “Ma ma.”
Quinn gasps, fresh tears spilling over. She looks from Jasmine to me, her expression a mix of disbelief, joy, and overwhelming love. “Did she just...?”
“She did.” My own eyes burn with unshed tears. “Perfect timing. She knows who her mother is—and we may have been practicing that word for a while.”
Quinn hugs Jasmine closer, pressing a kiss to her curls. Then she looks back at me, still kneeling before her, ring extended, heart in my throat.
“You haven’t answered me, Quinn.” My voice cracks slightly. “Will you marry me?”
Her smile breaks through the tears, radiant and sure. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, Vince. I will absolutely marry you.”
I slide the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit, just as Reenie had insisted it would be. Then I lean forward, one hand cradling Jasmine between us, the other cupping Quinn’s face as I kiss her with all the love and gratitude and promise I can convey.
Against her lips, I whisper the words I no longer have to hold back: “I love you so much.”
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her eyes—those beautiful hazel eyes that saw me at my worst and loved me anyway—shining with joy. “I love you too.”
Between us, Jasmine lets out a happy sound, her small hands patting both our faces approvingly. Quinn laughs, the sound pure delight. “Looks like we have the munchkin’s blessing.”
“Never had any doubt,” I say, gathering them both into my arms, my family, my heart, my home. “She’s always known we belong together. Even if it took me a while to figure it out.”
As the sun sets over the park, painting the sky in brilliant pinks and golds, I hold the two people I love most in the world and silently thank whatever twist of fate brought Quinn Donovan into my life. The journey ahead won’t always be easy—there will be tours and deadlines and the constant push-pull of balancing public and private lives—but with Quinn by my side, I know we can face anything.
Some people spend their whole lives searching for their perfect melody. I found mine in the most unexpected place: in a crying baby and a woman brave enough to trust in me. And I’ll spend the rest of my days making sure she never regrets it.