Page 30 of Sweet Surrender

“No fucking shit,” Vince says and helps himself to that whiskey that’s definitely now calling my fucking name.

“I promise you, she’s chill, normal, and won’t fuck up the chemistry or vibe or any of that shit.”

“Uh-huh,” Vince says, eyes now back to being closed. “Nothing screams opportunist like the rando who’s suddenly okay with marrying a strange man for no reason.”

I know what he’s saying. Even I’d probably think the same thing if the roles were reversed. “She didn’t come looking for this. She has no Hollywood aspirations. I’m telling you, you guys will like her.”

“How do you know that when you don’t even know her?” Rocket adds.

“Kind of like the same way I knew to trust you assholes and your word when you shook hands over letting me in the band way back when,” I say. Their expressions relay their disbelief.

Vince lifts his glass toward me. “We’re holding you to this, Giz. Your promise to make this work.”

“I know. My word is good,” I say and hate that my voice almost breaks.

Silence settles in the room as the three guys I care about more than anything stare at me. I won’t let them down.

“We know it’s good. We were there that night.” Hawkin tosses the half-eaten pack of Starbursts onto the table beside him. “But we’re going to reserve judgment for this Hendrix chick until after we meet her. That’s only fair.”

“It is.” I nod. “I’ll make this right.”

I meet each of their eyes to let them know I mean it.

“Fuck. Does this mean we have to throw you a bachelor party?” Vince asks, his eyes wide as we all recall how wild his was. And that’s saying a lot with the life we lead.

“Nah, man. We’re all good,” I say. “Besides, we’ve been living in one for the past ten years.”

“True. Very fucking true,” Vince says and walks over, holding the glass out to me. I take a drink. “Thanks for coming clean and doing what needs to be done.”

I clear my throat and hate what shame tastes like. “Anything for you guys. You know that.”

“We do,” Rocket says.

“Never a doubt.” Hawkin pushes up out of his seat. “Is the kumbaya moment over? Can we get the fuck back to work now? The plan is to get this new material written before the tour starts.”

“Please,” I say, thrilled to have this off my chest and out in the open. To have the guys be cool with it.

And what do you know? I don’t miss a beat the rest of the fucking session.

CHAPTER TEN

Hendrix

“What do you mean, just know everything is okay?” my mom asks in that searching tone of hers that says she’s about to jump on a plane to make sure I am, in fact, okay.

And that’s exactly why I’m telling her this. I know if she hears reports about Jase and me, or gets calls from the nosy neighbor across the street, Natalia, who sits on her front porch scanning the gossip sites all day, she’ll be standing on my doorstep.

“There’s a lot going on here, and I just wanted you to know that everything is okay.”

“That fucktard Paul isn’t messing with you, is he?” she asks. She went from one hundred percent Team Paul to Fucktard Paul in a matter of a month. Gotta love moms who have your back.

“No. Yes.” I sigh and scrunch my nose. “He’s being the prick I’ve learned that he is.”

“You’re okay though, right? You don’t need any money or help or—”

“I’m fine,” I lie. The woman lives paycheck to paycheck but would send the whole amount to me if I asked. “It’s just . . . I have a few celebrity clients right now so you might hear a few mentions of me or the bakery, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Why would I worry?” she screeches. “That’s fabulous, honey. Wonderful. Maybe it’ll get you seen by the right people, and the bakery will take off through the stratosphere.”