Page 80 of One Time Only (One Time Only 1)
His decision comes from something bigger. From honor and duty.
From respect.
From identity.
Jackson Pearce wants to be a man who leads by example. One who follows the rules. Who supports his friends, who does the right thing, and who helps other guys become better men. A man who shines with honesty.
That’s his personal code.
I understand codes. I have my own, and I leaned on mine today with my dad.
I’m the kind of man who tells his father to back off his brother.
Jackson’s the kind of man who doesn’t screw his employer and ignore the consequences.
If I could fix this situation for my man, I would.
But Jackson always had more to lose than I did.
I get to live in a rock-star bubble. I reside in a land of Grammys and riches and music and fame.
The only thing I’ve lacked is love.
Ironic, since I never knew I was missing it until now. I never knew I wanted it. And now I want it more than anything in the world.
And I’m losing that epic, soul-searing, write-a-song-about-it-and-sing-it-to-the-world kind of love.
The love I felt last night with him.
The love I’m going to miss like hell.
My chest aches in a whole new way, like someone has excavated my insides, shoveled out my organs, and left me with a gaping, raw hole.
That hurts so damn much.
“You’re right. We should stop,” I say, forcing out the hardest words I’ve ever had to say.
He shrugs, his voice filled with potholes too. “We always planned to.”
“We always did.”
He draws a shaky breath. His eyes are miserable. I bet mine look that way too. “I guess this is it,” he says, and I can tell his voice is breaking too.
I have to do this. Have to be strong enough for both of us.
I lift my chin, find the guts, and act some more. “I guess it is. I’ll see you when your shift begins.”
As I show him out, I fight like hell not to kiss him goodbye at the door, not to touch him one more time, not to say a word.
I do what I know I have to do.
And because I love him so damn much . . .
I let him go.32JacksonThe concert that night is electric.
Stone jams hard in front of thousands of fans, belting out the tunes that have made him a legend.
He croons “Make It Last,” he sings “Bedroom Eyes,” and he plays the hell out of “Take Me as I Am.”
With Candi next to me, and my arms crossed over my chest, I watch every number from my spot in the wings. It’s my usual place, where I’ve been for the last several months as I’ve toured with Stone.
Before I joined his detail, this is what I did in my other jobs, working with actors in LA.
I waited backstage for them too.
Not once was I tempted. Not once did I break the code. Never was I compromised.
In five years on the job, Stone Zenith has been my only transgression.
One.
This should be easy, going back to basics. I can return to the man I was before.
Stone strums the last chord, holding it as the music reverberates across the theater. When it fades into the night, he shouts, “Las Vegas, I love you like crazy!”
Someone screams back from the audience.
The sounds are hard to make out. Maybe they’re saying New song?
He cups his ear. “What’s that you said?”
Someone else shouts again, then another fan, and another, until it becomes an echoing chorus throughout the theater.
“New song, new song, new song.”
Stone freezes for a few seconds.
Then he casts a glance to the side of the stage, and my heart springs in my chest.
He’s looking for me.
I’m sure he’s going to lock eyes with me, but then he snaps his gaze quickly back to the crowd.
My heart thuds. Stupid organ.
He’s not searching for me. Hell, he didn’t even fight for me in his suite. I told him I couldn’t do my job with the way I felt for him. What did he think? That I just liked him? That I had a simple crush? I said I’d fallen for him. Did he think I’d tumbled into the kiddie pool?
He’d have been wrong.
I fell into the ocean, and I’m drowning in the middle of the sea.
All he said was You’re right. It’s against your code.
My jaw clenches, and I grit my teeth. Tension skewers me. I will myself to shuck it off because I don’t deserve anything more. I didn’t ask for his heart. And God knows I can’t want it.
But still, Stone’s uncharacteristically quiet for a few seconds onstage, and strangely enough, his silence gives me a flicker of hope.
Like maybe he’s tormented too.
Maybe he feels this empty ache the same as I do.
Candi mutters under her breath, “Just sing it.”
I turn my gaze to her, desperate to know if the new song is my song. “He mentioned it on his Instagram, didn’t he? That he was writing a new song?”
