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That’s what he felt like. Not love. Just…home. Warmth. Comfort.
Love.
Ugh. She was in so much trouble.
twenty-three
Jett hated himself. Hated that he’d scared her, and hated that he’d done anything to make her second guess their relationship. Hated that he’d fucked up.
But most of all, really fucking hated that she’d been scared.
It was the one thing he knew to be aware of. It had been drilled in him from a young age. He was always the biggest guy in the room, always the one people sought out to fight first, or to protect them.
He knew what to do, and today he’d done the opposite of it.
He knew to make himself smaller, less intimidating. Knew to talk softly, to keep his voice level and calm. Knew to never whirl on someone suddenly, not unless he was ready to fight. He knew a lot of things. But he’d been so blinded by his own shit, that he hadn’t stopped to think.
And he’d scared her.
He hadn’t meant to terrify her. She was a little thing compared to him, and he never wanted her to feel like she had today. Never wanted her to question her safety around him.
But today, he fucked up. Today, he almost lost his girl.
He shook his head, disappointed and pissed off with himself. It was the middle of the night, and Abbie was soundly asleep in his bed, right where she belonged.
He couldn’t sleep, though. So he’d snuck out of bed, grabbed a beer, left the back door open a crack so he could hear if she needed him, and was sitting on the porch staring up at the stars. This was the best thing about living in a small town. No lights to hide the stars.
When he lived in New York City, it was the thing he’d hated. Even though that’s where he’d been raised, he still always longed to see the clear sky. To stare up at the moon, the constellations. To be away from the loud noises and overcrowded streets.
Thinking about his past made him think of Beck. That’s what he went by now, but when he was a kid, he’d always been called Beckham. Now he was a famous rockstar, traveling the globe and selling out venues every night with his absolute best friends.
He was proud of his baby brother. Was proud of everything he’d done with his life. Even if Jett had spent a few years locked up for his brother, he’d do it again.
There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for the kid.
With his brother on his mind, he grabbed his phone but hesitated. Beck was in the UK, so he knew he’d be awake right now, but what if he was busy?
Ah, fuck it.
He pressed the call button and rested the phone against his ear, listening to it ring. He didn’t think Beck would actually answer, so when his voice filtered through the phone, he was genuinely surprised.
“Big bro. How the fuck are you?”
“Nice greeting, man,” he snorted. “Good. How are you?” He took a long swig of his beer as he listened to Beck go on and on about traveling, and how amazing Europe had been. He listened to him talk about selling out Rome a few nights ago, and how insane the crowd had been. He listened to him talk about taking Roxy, the lead singer of their band, to the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
His life seemed amazing.
No, it didn’t seem that way. It just was amazing. Unreal.
Jett wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t the traveling type of guy. He definitely wasn’t the fame type of guy. He liked his solitude. Liked his privacy.
He wanted a simple life, preferably with the girl in his bed right now.
“Anyway,” Beck sighed. “Roxy and Keiren just left, so Wade, Des, and me were about to head down to the gym.”
“Oh, right. Of course,” Jett said gruffly. “I won’t keep you.” There was a beat of silence, then Beck cleared his throat.
“What’s new with you? I spent the whole time talking about myself.”
