But the tour was only the backdrop for me learning to live with it. She helped me—her presence, her absence. It always comes back to her.
Annie’s the rose overtop, bridging the scars.
The one that holds me together.
The doorbell has me jogging to the front door. I open it to reveal Jax Jamieson, irritated half musician and half soccer dad, in jeans and a black T-shirt, baby Mason stirring in the carrier lifted by one tatted arm. His wife capably fixes a stray pigtail on Sophie, a miniature of her mom who nearly reaches Haley’s waist now.
“Morning,” Haley says cheerfully.
“How was your flight?” I wrap an arm around her, and she returns the hug.
“Charter was bumpy as hell,” Jax gripes.
“Sophie’s stomach was upset, but we got a cookie when we landed and she’s better than ever.” Haley shoots her daughter side-eye. “Funny how that works.”
I feel Annie’s presence behind me before Haley and Jax lift their eyes.
“Hey, kid.” Jax’s voice is warm and gruff at once.
“Dad.”
“The grownups should talk. Let’s get the kids inside and the bags upstairs first,” Haley suggests.
We take care of that, and Annie fixes coffee for everyone, then we take seats around the living room.
Haley shifts forward to the edge of the couch. “Your dad and I are so happy we can be here with you this week.”
“Thanks.” Annie sets a mug in front of Haley but holds Jax’s away. “You want to tell me when you decided to offer my fiancé a golden investment opportunity the week of our wedding?”
Everyone starts to talk at once.
“How about we take turns?” Haley grabs a tour shirt off the counter. “Whoever’s holding the shirt gets to speak.” Jax reaches for it, but Haley holds it away. “Annie, you start.”
“Okay.” My fiancée takes the shirt and folds it neatly in her lap. “When did you ask Tyler to get involved in this deal?”
Jax starts to speak, and Haley clears her throat. “Annie, want to pass the shirt?”
“No. Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you think of doing this at a time that wasn’t my wedding?”
Jax gets another shirt. “You were too busy planning your wedding. The last thing you’d have wanted was shop talk.”
“Jax, that defeats the purpose,” Haley says, exasperated as she reaches for the shirt and her husband holds it away.
“Labels don’t time their sales around weddings, kid. I wish they did.”
“But—”
“The company is going into the ground. We have a chance to revive it.”
“You have a label!” she exclaims.
“A small one with limitations I ran into pretty damned quick. Space, for one.” He turns to his wife, who nods reluctantly. “Can’t expand operations if they’re gonna eat into my backyard anymore. Wicked is the biggest name in the industry. They’ve got a reputation—hell, used to even be a good one. And there’s a family connection.”
Annie looks between us. “So, you needed Tyler’s money.”
I rise. “I wanted—”
Jax cuts me off. “You don’t have a shirt.”