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Jack snorted at that one. He’d been compared physically to Brett Young, who, Jack had to admit, he did have an uncanny resemblance to. Only Jack’s eyes were hazel, whereas Brett’s were blue. He was also a lot shorter than the other guy, standing at only five-seven.
Jack also lacked tattoos. Not that he was afraid of needles. He was just told by his mom that if he ever got one, she’d kick his butt. Jack was twenty-nine years old, yet he still feared that woman. Lena Dane was not a woman to cross.
Homesick. That was what Jack was. He’d grown up in Willow Point, the best damn hometown anyone could ask for, in Jack’s opinion. It had been a shocker to find out that Mendez called Willow Point how now, as well, though Jack had left before Mendez ever arrived. Small world.
“Here you go.” Mendez set the food in front of Jack on the table, but Jack’s morning appointment was still stuck in his head. An appointment not even his manager knew about.
For weeks Jack had had pain in his chest. The last leg of his tour damn near wiped him out. His energy was at its lowest, and he found himself napping a lot more than he should at his age.
Fucking bone marrow cancer. Shit. Jack rubbed his sternum as he stared at the food. He needed to get home to see his mom and sister, needed to spend some long overdue time with them. In the past ten years, Jack had been home only twice and only for short periods. Lately he’d been flying his mom and McKenna out to see him, because he’d been too busy to go back to Willow Point.
Now Jack had a break. His next concert was in five weeks. Plenty of time to find some peace and quiet and figure out the clusterfuck his life had turned into.
When he’d first started out, Jack had been hungry, pushing himself to the limits with nonstop tours, writing songs in his spare time. Now? Never would he have thought he wanted to slow down. Fuck. He was in his prime, but even before this morning’s visit to a private doctor—who Jack had paid a gross amount of money to in order to keep the doctor quiet—he’d started feeling the pressure.
The loneliness.
The kind of emptiness that sat in your chest and sometimes made it impossible to breathe.
He’d been called the hottest bachelor, and Jack had dated many women, none seriously, to keep up appearances. But he was sick and tired of hiding who he truly was. Sure, more and more famous people were coming out, but that wasn’t happening in Jack’s world.
Because you don’t have the guts.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Mendez went to the bar and poured Jack a soft drink.
“I got a better idea.” Jack stood, resolved in his decision. “How about we take a trip?”
Mendez set the soft drink next to Jack’s food. “A trip? But you just got off your tour. Don’t you think you need to rest?”
Jack arched a brow. “What have I told you about being my nanny?”
The guy frowned and shoved his hands into his front pockets. His gaze clashed with Jack’s. Fuck, such pretty gray eyes. Too bad Jack was in the closet, because there was a perfectly good bed in the other room.
Even if he was out, Jack wouldn’t sleep with hired help. That would make things awkward, and he genuinely liked Mendez. He wouldn’t want to ruin their budding friendship. He also didn’t want Mendez distracted while doing his job. Jack had some great fans, wonderful fans, but some garden-variety nutjobs, too.
One in particular that kept sending Jack letters proclaiming his love, saying Jack’s songs were specifically made for him. The world definitely had its share of crackpots.
Jack’s songs were about life in general, his upbringing without a father, and songs that just made people want to get up and dance, to feel good and want to celebrate life.
Right now, his song “Strong Man’s Journey” was his number-one hit. It had gone platinum. A song about how he’d had to struggle in this world, teaching himself to be his own man with no father figure in his life, and how the journey had made him who he was.
Any man without a father could relate. That was always Jack’s goal. To be relatable. To let his fans know he was just a regular person who’d struggled just like everyone else. He hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Jack had worked his ass off for everything he had. He knew heartache and pain, knew what it was like to grow up poor, and never forgot where he came from. His roots.
“Do you have a destination in mind, and have you cleared this with Huck?” Mendez had that traditional bodyguard stance, legs apart, hands now clasped in front of him.
“I don’t have to clear shit with anyone,” Jack argued. “I have the next five weeks off, and I can do what I want with my downtime.”
Mendez just stared at him.
“Well, it’s true.” He wasn’t going to argue with Mendez. Jack set his own course, even if his manager worked relentlessly behind the scenes.
The guy actually sighed. “Fine, where did you want to go, Mr. Dane?”
“Jack.” He ground his teeth. “Stop being so formal.” He wasn’t sure why that bothered him so much. “And how does a trip home sound?”
Mendez’s dark brows furrowed. God, he looked gorgeous as fuck when he did that. Brooding, fierce, sexy. “Memphis?”
“No, home,” Jack stressed the last word. “Just toss our bags into my ride and take off.”
