Jesse reared back. Jesus, she was one-fucking-hundred percent right. Hollow was exactly how he felt when he woke up next to a body he knew intimately with a face he barely remembered.
“And when was the last time you wrote music?” Kimber went on. “Then recorded it with heart? That used to mean everything to you.”
Another truth bomb.
He winced. “What are you saying?”
“Your new album is great. Catchy and fun. Edgy. Clever. But…it doesn’t sound like you.” Kimber flushed. “That came out wrong. I know you can be fun and clever and all that. It’s just…some of your best hits were those soulful ballads about being true to yourself and following your heart. You wrote those before you hit it big, and I haven’t heard a song like that from you in forever.”
She was right again. The worst part was, he’d known it. He’d felt it in the studio—the difference between writing something that came from his chest and assembling something designed to chart. At the time, he’d told himself it didn’t matter.
He’d been blowing smoke up his ass.
Between Deke and Kimber, Jesse heard the message loud and clear that he’d lost his way, personally and professionally, maybe in every way that mattered. Thirteen months ago, he’d thought getting sober would fix what was broken. End the restlessness he hadn’t been able to name. And it had helped. The hangovers were gone. The blackouts. The mornings that had left him feeling both empty and full of regret. But sobriety had merely cleared the fog. It hadn’t filled the void behind it.
This sabbatical away from the limelight couldn’t just be about waiting for the noise to die down. Not because Candia thought that was the best way to save his career. Right now, that wasn’t even on his radar. No, he needed to focus, figure out how to finally be fucking happy—whatever that meant.
“You’re right. And I needed the honesty.” Jesse stood, then kissed Kimber’s cheek softly. “I’m going to go. Let me know when you have that baby. Thanks, both of you.”
Texarkana, Texas
“How have you not committed double murder?”
Bristol Reese stared into her beer, then glanced at her best friend. “They’re not worth twenty-five to life. But don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.”
Jayla scowled, her dark, expressive eyes both disapproving and dismissive. “Girl, that’s restraint. He’s a player and she’s batty as hell.”
“Which is why they deserve one another. I’m sure they’ll have a short, miserable life together,” she shot back, then chugged some of her brew, ignoring the clapping and laughter from the group gathered at the large table in the center of the restaurant.
Her friend’s expression softened, her mocha skin glowing under the muted amber lights above the bar. “What about you? You gave that man sixteen months of your life. I really thought he was going to propose to you.”
“I did, too. But I guess Hayden decided that Presleigh is better wife material.”
Jayla snorted. “No, he thought having Miss Lafayette County on his arm would make him look like the shit with his old football buddies. That beauty pageant skank might look good in Victoria’s Secret, but she’s not you.”
Bristol nodded. “Actually, I think that’s something Hayden appreciates about her. And she’s not a skank. It pains me to admit it, but she can be sweet…sometimes.”
“Sweet? She stole your man!”
“I don’t think she had to try very hard,” Bristol pointed out. “Hayden was dazzled by her short skirts and her lash-batting adoration…and that was that.”
Jayla pulled what she would have called her stank face. “His bitch ass needs to be taught a lesson.”
Her friend was probably right, but Bristol had to shoulder part of the blame. She hadn’t been heartbroken when she realized Hayden was pursuing her little sister. He’d stung her pride—totally. But she’d buried her head in the sand and ignored her instincts about him because she’d foolishly convinced herself that Hayden could be everything he wasn’t—kind, helpful, caring, capable of compromise. It was her fault for assuming he’d get there if she cared and encouraged him enough.
An old dog never changes its spots…
God, she’d been stupidly idealistic. But all she wanted was someone to choose her. Because they wanted her above all others. Was that asking so much? She ached for her own Mr. Darcy to move heaven and earth to marry her. For Edward Lewis to conquer his fear of heights to rescue her so she could rescue him right back. For Johnny Castle to tell her mom that nobody puts Bristol in a corner. For her personal Edward Cullen to take one look at her and realize she was “The One.”
Ugh, she was a hopeless romantic who couldn’t resist a good sweeping, romantic gesture. That foolishness had brought her nothing but misery.
“He’s not worth my effort.” Bristol sighed.
“And Presleigh has no spine for the job.” Jayla was getting indignant on her behalf, slamming a fist on the bar.
“Another fact Hayden appreciates, I’m sure. I wouldn’t conform enough for him. He always tried to change the way I dress, and all but bullied me to shut down my ‘silly’ business. He would have much preferred that I teach Sunday school at the church, maybe sell some Mary Kay on the side, and be blissfully happy to be Mrs. Hayden Vincent the Third.”
Jayla looked disgusted. “That’s not you. You’re too passionate about life to merely keep a clean house, spit-polish up the kids for Christmas photos, and scrapbook your life away.”
