JACK: Las Vegas Bad Boys(49)
“Teri’s a tea drinker, too,” JoJo says. “She literally brought her own tea in her luggage.”
“That’s funny,” I say. “Not everyone understands my addiction. When we went to London for Claire’s wedding, I was so excited about having real English tea—but, honestly, I make it better myself.”
Teri looks through my basket and pulls out the lavender-chai blend. “I’ve never seen this kind,” she says.
“Could I make you a cup? You will be in heaven.”
“If it’s not too much of a bother.”
“No, not at all.” I fill my kettle and set it on the burner.
“So how was it at Jack’s parents place?” Emmy asks. “I remember Ashley telling me how it was in the middle of nowhere and boring as all get-out.”
I tell them about Roscoe’s and my clothing options and they crack up. “But honestly,” I say, taking the whistling kettle off the burner. “It was magic. I’d live there forever if I could.”
“That is so sweet,” Claire says, sticking out her bottom lip. “Tess, can you even believe you and Jack are a thing? It’s like you finally got everything you wanted.”
I smile tightly, not feeling that way at all. Sure, Jack is a complete gift, but there are so many unsettled parts stirring inside me. Those dream like memories that keep surfacing, and knowing my father is somewhere looking for me, plotting revenge. It doesn’t feel like I’ve gotten a happily ever after. Not even close.
Lost in my thoughts, I pour the boiling water in two mugs, but it overflows and burns my finger.
“Damn it,” I say, setting the kettle down. “That was so stupid of me.” I squeeze my hand, already feeling the blister.
“Oh, shush, sweetie,” Teri says. “Don’t say that about yourself. I think I have something to help with the burn.”
She roots around in her purse and pulls out a tube of ointment. “This eucalyptus cream helps with everything; I swear by it.”
She takes my hand, and dabs the cream on my burn. As her hands hold mine, my heart seizes, my eyes fill fast.
The smell of the ointment fills my nose and my senses explode, triggered by the memories of my past.
These soft hands on mine, rubbing this oil on my chest when I was sick.
My birthday party, and a much younger Teri holding a cake, telling me to make a wish.
“Make a wish, Rachel.”
The lullaby I remembered being sung, always thinking it wasn’t a lyric about an angel, it was a lyric about Rachel.
I look at Teri, McQueen’s mother—and, in a panic, I remember that his sister was kidnapped when she was four.
His sister Rachel.
Me.
“Tess, are you okay?” Emmy reaches for me as I faint. Teri catches me as I fall.
My eyes close, and all I see is my mother.
Not the one I murdered.
The one I never knew I lost.
Chapter Twenty
JACK
Kirby meets me at my loft, along with Lola, my PR lead. They flew in this morning from Los Angeles, and now sit around my dining room with a catered lunch spread on the table.
“You’ve got to make a decision,” Kirby says, flipping through the pages of the contract. “This offer from KMG is once in a lifetime.”
“I get that,” I tell him, looking through the contract myself. Lines jump out at me: Controlled Composition ... Advance shall mean prepayment of royalties ... KMG shall be the exclusive, perpetual owner.... “I just don’t think I can sign this yet. It’s too fast.”
“You’ve had a month to think about it, Jack,” Lola says. “This offer won’t stay on the table forever.”
“We’ve waited a month, though, and the offer only improved,” I counter.
“Yeah, well, do you plan on releasing monthly sex tapes?” Kirby asks. “Because that’s a surefire way to improve your brand.”
Lola scoffs. “Right, until the press decides the sex scandals are unappealing to consumers. Then it will completely destroy everything. You got lucky this time.”
“Lucky is right,” Kirby laughs. “But seriously, Jack, why are you hesitating?”
“I don’t necessarily want to tie my life up this way.”
“What way would you prefer?” Kirby raises his eyebrows, no longer good-humored. “Because contracts like this don’t come around for musicians every year.”
“Or every lifetime,” Lola adds.
“I’ve been working on other stuff, and I want you to shop it around.”
“Jack, we’ve been over this. You can’t rebrand yourself as some indie singer-songwriter. You’ve built a brand as a pop musician.”