Jace (Kings of Country 1)

It took far too much energy, and a hell of a lot of nausea-inducing movement, to roll from his stomach to his back. But he did it. He pressed the palms of his hands to his temples, providing enough counterpressure to offset the throb behind his eyes. A few blinks and he could see.

“You were snoring.” Krystal loomed over him, sitting in a large black-and-white chair, her legs curled beneath her, a laptop balanced on her knees.

He was at the Kings’.

And she wasn’t in the hospital. Maybe, here, she wouldn’t be so quick to shut him out. Her face was an angry train wreck of color, but she looked so damn beautiful to him. “I’m sorry.” He sat up and instantly regretted it, sliding back to his elbows until his head eased.

“Whoa there, cowboy.” She was fighting a smile. “You’re in for one hell of a hangover. You’re the color of my Aunt Linda’s pea soup. Meaning green. Bright, putrid green.”

“And this makes you happy?” If poking fun at his expense made her happy, bring it. Seeing her smiling was balm to his shaken soul. He managed, slowly, to push himself into a sitting position.

“As long as you don’t throw up all over Emmy’s rug, sure. She took a lot of time decorating our office.” She glanced at him. “I thought you didn’t drink?”

He leaned forward, laying his head on the edge of a nearby chair, staring around the large room. There was a large glass desk with computers on either side. A wall covered in family photos—photos of Clementine too. Books, lots of books, a large TV and stereo, massive speakers, and a floor-to-ceiling rack of CDs and records. “I don’t. Now I remember why.”

She laughed.

What headache? She was laughing. Beautiful. Close. Safe. That was all he needed.

He’d spent most of the night, what he remembered of it, trying not to think about what had happened to her. Not to erase it or pretend it hadn’t happened, but to give him time to process it without going after the man who embodied true evil. While Travis talked, fuming and raging and sharing details that cut deep, they’d polished off an entire bottle of Whiskey Honey-Jack.

Tig Whitman had done the unspeakable. And Krystal, according to Travis, had owned it, been shamed by it, for years.

And her parents? Her mother? Sending Krystal away… He hadn’t exactly been a fan of CiCi King. Now? Well, he hoped there was a special place in hell reserved for her—and Tig Whitman.

Staring at Krystal, even banged up, offered some comfort. The bruise darkening her upper cheek and eye wasn’t easy to look at, but it was still Krystal. Same bright green eyes, same sarcastic smile, same crazy, mussed blond hair he loved to run his fingers through.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “Better than yours, I’d imagine.”

Clementine chose that moment to run across the room and hop into his lap, her paws on his chest as she panted in his face. “Morning,” he managed, rubbing the white poof on the top of the little dog’s head.

Krystal was watching them, looking strained. “Leave Jace alone, Clem.”

Now the dog was off-limits? She was playing hardball. “Travis said you had a concussion. Why’d they release you?”

“I’m fine.” She rolled her eyes, then winced—making him wince, too. “I couldn’t stand being there. And, yes, I worried Clementine would be missing me.” Her voice trailed off. “At five, the morning shift started and they discharged me. I came home to my dog, my work, and you snoring face-first into my sheepskin carpet.”

“Is that what it is?” he asked, pulling lint from his mouth.

She nodded, her smile wavering.

It was amazing what that did to him. That flash of vulnerability had him up, aching to hold her close. She didn’t have to be strong for him. Whatever she needed, he’d do it.

“Jace.” She held her hand up. “Stop.”

He stopped, running a hand over his face. “What changed? Why are you shutting me out?”

She stared at him. “I’m not sure we’re on the same page, Jace. After last night…” She tore her gaze from his. “I need space. My family and I have a lot going on. You and I both have a job to do, the final leg of the tour. And the single. Let’s focus on that.” No inflection, nothing. “The whole pretend relationship makes things complicated—”

“Complicated?” Was she serious? Last night had been hell. Traumatic. She was skittish for good reason. He’d accept that she needed space, but he wasn’t going to act like what he felt wasn’t real. The throb behind his eyes rivaling the throb in his chest. “It wasn’t complicated. It was…” Real. For him, anyway. But now definitely wasn’t the time for that.

She stood, crossing the room to a large couch. Travis was there, mouth open, passed out. Not that Jace cared. “We’re not going to talk about this?”

“I just did.” She glanced his way. “Drop it, Jace. We’re friends. I don’t have room for…more than that. Can you be my friend?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

He nodded, reeling.