Jace (Kings of Country 1)

“I’m hoping you two didn’t drive here?” she asked. “You smell like a liquor cabinet.”

That was it? Five minutes of some lame-ass explanation and he was supposed to accept that what they had, what he knew was real, wasn’t? No way. He wasn’t buying it.

“Can you two keep it down?” Travis groaned.

Jace frowned.

“Did I forget to mention my brother passed out, drooling, on my custom, hand-tooled leather love seat shaped after my favorite guitar?” She sighed.

“We had Jerome with us. Driving.” Travis’s words were muffled. “I’m not a complete moron.”

“Why do you have a love seat shaped like your favorite guitar?” Jace inspected the love seat, looking for something—anything—to lessen the ache in his chest.

“More inspired by it?” She shrugged.

He forced a smile. “Sure. Of course. Why not? I have a recliner designed around my grandmother’s favorite banjo.”

She laughed. “It was some sort of endorsement for a leather company. Momma used them to help outfit the Kings’ Coach II and Daddy’s man cave, and because the owner’s daughter liked me and Emmy, he made us each something one-of-a-kind.” For a minute, she was smiling at him. “Do you play the banjo?”

He nodded. Bruised or not, she was beautiful. Damn, but he loved her. Even when she was doing her best to drive a wedge between them.

“I didn’t get shit,” Travis added. “In case you were wondering. The girls both got stuff. Not me. Did you hear me? About Jerome? All of it? Don’t mind me—no one ever does.”

Jace laughed, then grabbed his head. “I am never drinking again.”

“Good plan.” Hank King walked in, looking bone weary and…old. “Alcohol is the root of many a mistake. Glad everyone is up.”

Jace had a hard time looking at the man who had turned his back on his daughter. There was no excuse for it, none. And, as much as he’d like to deny it, it changed the way he saw the man.

“Krystal, you’ve got about two hours before Molly Harper gets here.”

“Wait, hold up.” Travis sat up, groaned, and flopped back onto the couch. “Why is she coming?”

“Morning,” Emmy singsonged, carrying in a large tray. “I made breakfast.”

Travis waved his hand. “Shh, you’re too frigging happy. And loud.”

She sat the tray she’d been carrying on the coffee table in front of Krystal’s love seat. Loudly. The thump and rattle of china made Travis scowl and moan. “You’re not getting any sympathy. Keep snapping and you’re not getting any muffins, either.”

“Emmy said she was doing your makeup?” Hank asked. “You sure?”

Krystal nodded. “I’m not really ready to face people, in my face and business. Not yet. But this way it’s only on TV. Even with hair and makeup, I look terrible.”

“You are beautiful.” Jace said it before he thought better of it. No, dammit, she needed to hear it, audience or not. She was beautiful.

Her gaze met his and held.

“I’m still lost.” Travis tried again to sit up. “Someone turn off the spin cycle in here. Hottie Harper is coming here, why?”

“Did you just call her Hottie?” Emmy Lou was horrified.

“Am I wrong?” Travis looked at him. “Back me up here.”

Jace held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Damage control. Misumi’s idea—and she set it up.” Krystal turned away, eyeing the muffins Emmy had brought with disinterest. “She’s kind of amazing. Like, needs-a-raise sort of amazing.”

“Fine. I’ll let you sort that out.” Hank nodded. “Gonna need all the damage control we can find since that son of a bitch already issued a statement saying Krystal invited him back to her bus, then attacked him in a fit of jealousy.”