23. Justin

Chapter Twenty-Three

JUSTIN

" T hat was really good," Daisy says sweetly as I come out of the recording booth, having recorded my newest single. I feel pretty good about it and lean my guitar against the sofa before sitting down.

She joins me, looking like she's really excited about the new song. She didn't ask to make any changes either. Stuck to her word, and I'm grateful. "Thanks."

"Well, I'll handle everything else, but I think this is going to be a hit." She grins at me, and I look at her smiling face and bright eyes. I try to imagine a world where she and I could be a couple.

I'm not stupid. I've seen the interest in her eyes since we met four months ago but never pursued it. She hasn't either, thankfully. I don't think I could take having to turn her down.

And not just because we work together. Clearly, I don't have a problem crossing professional lines.

Nope. It's because of him . I should be into Daisy. She's gorgeous, but not only that, she's kind. And she really cares. She won't just dump me when she's had enough and leave me feeling cold and empty.

"Can I ask you a question?" Well, damn. Maybe I wasn't saved from having to reject her after all. Her lips are in a slight pout as she watches me carefully.

"Relax. I'm not going to jump you," she teases, and I cringe.

"Sorry. I know. I just, umm . . ."

"Well, that answers that," she says, relaxing back into the sofa.

"Answers what?" I ask cautiously, not really wanting an answer. Afraid of the answer.

"If you and Waylon were a couple."

That makes me laugh, but it comes out bitter and angry. Something I really don't like at all. "We aren't a couple."

She tilts her head to the side, her eyes appraising. "You sure seemed to be. What happened?"

"We were never a couple." I sigh, the pain too deep. "He just left."

"But he's still your manager." It's not really a question, but I nod anyway.

"Yeah, he's fine with having a professional relationship with me." And apparently, fucking me until he got bored, but I don't say that part to her. "But he doesn't want anything else."

"Are you sure about that?" Her eyes aren't on me, but she's looking behind me pointedly, compelling me to turn around.

When I see Waylon standing there in the doorway, I immediately glare at Daisy, ignoring him. "Did you know he was there?"

She shakes her head emphatically. "No. He wasn't until just now, and I had no idea he was coming today." She looks hurt, and I cringe for being such an asshole to her. She doesn't deserve that at all.

"I'm sorry. Of course you didn't."

She offers me a sweet smile and pats my knee with her hand before standing up. "You two should talk. I'm going home. Lock up when you leave, please."

She doesn't wait for me to answer, passing Waylon with a sad smile on her way out. I sit on the sofa, my arms crossed and my body tense. I hear his footsteps, my heart starting to race, but I don't lift my eyes to look at him. I'm afraid to look at him. Apparently, looking at Waylon makes me stupid.

"You two looked awfully comfy."

My eyes snap up to his now, rage soaring through me and keeping any lust at bay. "Are you fucking kidding me? What is that? Jealousy?"

He looks worn and broken, defeated in a way I've never seen Waylon before. "Yes," he answer simply, his voice quiet.

"You don't have the right to be jealous." I try to stay firm. "We're just client and manager, remember?"

His face is stoic, he doesn't move. Doesn't allow his expression to do anything, and it's infuriating.

"You should go. I don't need your assistance right now. I'm sure another client needs you though."

"They do."

"Then go." My eyes hold his, mine cold and unfeeling—I hope, at least. I don't feel anything for this man. I don't.

"I can't," he says, his voice cracking on can't .

"What do you mean?" I hate sitting while he's standing, but I don't move as I hold his gaze.

"I mean I'm not here on business. I'm here to see you."

I try like hell to calm my rapidly beating heart. "Why? You said this is just professional. And I don't need your help as my manager right now. You have gigs booked. You have my recording sessions booked. I don't need you." I hope that sounded convincing, and I think it might have because he looks almost ill. His arms wrap around his stomach, like he's in pain.

I wish I could say I don't care. But I do. Worry shoots through me. He's not actually in pain, is he?

"I've been told I'm being an idiot."

My brow furrows. "By who?"

"Jenny." He still hasn't unwrapped his arms from around his middle, looking shaky and tired. Sick almost.

My brow furrows more, and I cock my head to the side. "Doesn't she call everyone an idiot? I'm pretty sure those were her first words when she met me."

A flicker of a smile forms on his face, but it disappears so fast, I'm not sure if that's what I saw. "She's right this time. I am being an idiot. And apparently, Grady thinks so too."

"Grady?" I ask, even more confused now. "Why does he think you're being an idiot?"

He drops his arms from around his stomach and kneels, bracing his weight on my knees as he looks directly into my eyes. "Because I'm in love with you. Because I left, knowing I was in love with you. Because I didn't think I deserved love. I didn't think I had time for love and that eventually, it would fade. I don't understand love without conditions."

I swallow hard, looking into his eyes. Those are the words I wanted to hear. I mean the in love with me part. The rest just absolutely breaks my heart for him. I want to be strong, but I touch him. I brush my hand over his cheek, and he leans into it. "Love should never have conditions."

His watery eyes meet mine. "I'm not an easy man. I'm stubborn, and I'm a little bit of a workaholic."

I snort. "A little?" He smiles slightly, and I stroke my thumb over his lips absently. "So am I. I love my job, especially now that you found the perfect balance for me. You're brilliant with those sorts of things, Waylon. You really think you can't make time for love?"

"I want to. I've never wanted to before. I was busy and happy to be busy..." He leans further into my touch. "But I want to with you."

I'm trying like hell to control my breathing, but it kicks up in excitement I can't deny at his words. "My love for you has no conditions, Waylon. I love you so fucking deeply that nothing will change it. Not even you leaving me behind."

"I didn't want to leave you," he says, the pain in his eyes a crippling weight.

"Why did you?" I have to ask the question, even if I'm starting to understand what the answer is.

"I was scared." Yeah, that's what I just realized. "My parents... I play it down. I always have. Said I didn't need them. That they didn't matter, but I really thought hard about maybe just trying to be what they wanted, so they would love me." My heart aches for him so deeply, I can barely stand it. I pull him to me, onto my lap so he's straddling my thighs. I grip his face with both my hands, needing more contact as he goes down. "I couldn't do it. I left and told myself I didn't need their love. That I didn't need them. That I could have my career and I'd be happy."

"You were happy. And you built one hell of a career," I say honestly. Waylon is in the top tier of music managers. Everyone wants him. It's what young musicians dream of, having Waylon as their manager someday.

"It's not enough anymore," he says, his eyes honest and true as he looks directly at me. "Not even close to enough. I love you. I'm sorry I left. I shouldn't have."

A smile takes over my lips, and my eyes are glistening with unshed tears now. "How the hell did we get here?"

He lets out a small watery laugh. "I don't know. Apparently, Grady thinks we've been in love for a really long time. I didn't see it though."

I smile at that, thinking back to all our years together. Over him taking care of everyone around me but making sure I was taken care of too. Of bickering and arguing with him but still knowing he had my best interest in mind. Of looking up to him and admiring him, even though we were only a few years apart in age. Of being scared shitless to make my own decisions but him giving me the strength to do just that. He never told me what to do.

He was my guide.

"I didn't either, but I think maybe he was right," I say, leaning forward and brushing my lips over his. I can feel him trembling. "I'm in love with you."

He smiles sweetly. "We can make this work. If you can forgive me for leaving, I'll do everything I can to make it work."

I kiss his lips softly and a tear finally falls from my eye and trickles down my cheek. "We'll make it work."

How I started the day so damn angry and now feeling so damn happy I could burst from it is beyond me.

But he loves me. He's here.

And I'm so goddamn in love with him, I'm not going to argue.