Cooper scratches his balls as he thinks about it. “Yeah. For sure. Come on, Jace. Bite the weenie here, and take one for the team.”
When Jace’s eyes meet mine, I give him a sympathetic smile. “Want to head back to check on Layla with me and we can talk about this?”
He blows out a breath but nods. I take his hand, and he laces our fingers together as we duck into our bedroom.
Thankfully, Layla’s still sleeping. I sit on the bed and watch Jace pace back and forth. “Feel free to vent. I can take it. Say whatever helps you to go out there tonight and do your job.”
Stopping, he hangs his head. “I wrote ‘Red Light’ for Marlowe, and after she ghosted me, I hated that people loved that song. That it became our biggest hit. Wherever we played, fans wanted to hear ‘Red Light.’”
I’d be jealous he wrote her a song, but now I have one too, and it’s not about me being toxic. And okay, that song is about how Marlowe’s so hot it makes him feral, but I’m focusing on the part that makes me retract my claws. I move in front of Jace and take his handsome face in my hands. “If I had written a song about my ex, I’d hate doing something like this too.” I study his stormy green eyes, hating that he’s in distress. “I usually skip sound check, but I can go if you want me to. Layla and I can be there in the wings for moral support.”
Some of the anger drains out of him as he exhales. Glances at the crib. Closes his eyes. When he opens them, he seems resigned. “Nah. You’d have to wake up the baby. Let her get her nap. But thank you. I appreciate it.”
I wrap my arms around him, and he tucks me to his chest and rests his chin on my head. “You can do this,” I say. “You’re just playing a part.”
“Thanks, darlin’.” He nods and squeezes me tighter. “You’re right. No need to piss off Niles. It’s just a job. I don’t gotta be butthurt about this.”
Chuckling, I lean up to kiss him, wishing I could tell him I love him. But that’s all he hears from his fans. Would it mean anything if I said it? “You’re going to kick ass tonight.”
His grin goes crooked. “I kick ass every night.”
There’s the spirit. “Yeah, you do.”
When we return to the lounge, Frank holds out his arms. “How’re we doing?”
Jace shrugs. “Guess I’m singing with Marlowe.”
“Thank God.” Frank folds his hands together like he’s praying and laughs. “One more thing. I need you to sign off on the expenses tonight. I’ll leave it in the folder. You can review everything when you get back.” He glances at his phone. “Don’t think you have time to do it now.”
I absently twist my ring as Jace agrees without glancing at the folder. It always took me forever to go over the itemized expenses at the library, and I’m sure that’s the last thing Jace will want to do after a show.
But I shake off my concern as Jace folds me in his arms again. I smile against his chest, loving that he turns to me for encouragement.
I’m so caught up making sure Jace doesn’t get kicked off the tour because he won’t sing with his ex that I don’t really think about what this collaboration will mean.
It isn’t until I’m standing in the crowd at his show that it starts to sink in.
35
RORY
Since “Red Light”is one of their biggest songs, the band sometimes performs it last, which is the case tonight. Jace stands on the stage, looking so beautiful, it almost hurts to look at him. Tonight, he’s sporting more scruff than usual, and it’s a flashback to the rugged cowboy I spent time with on the ranch.
The arena is packed, and fans scream around me. I pick up my camera and start recording. I already know Frank will want me to post this footage. Without moving the camera, I peek down to check on Layla. She’s kicking her feet and chilling out.
“Some of y’all might know this song,” Jace says into the mic. “It’s called ‘Red Light.’”
Everyone screams, and I hold my breath because I know what’s coming.
He strums a few notes and leans in to add, “By the way, I have a surprise tonight.” The crowd quiets as he holds out his hand. “Help me welcome the lovely Marlowe Miller to sing this one.”
People around me lose their shit. One girl starts crying.
I suck in a breath as Marlowe struts across the stage in a short, shimmery, high-cut red dress and tall, black cowboy boots. Her hair flows down her back in thick waves.
The woman next to me shakes her head. “Damn. She’s gorgeous. Her legs are like a mile long.”
Don’t compare yourself to her, Aurora. Don’t do it. Comparison is the thief of joy.
