“And so you want to pay him off instead?”

“He’s asking for half a mil. I’ll give him less than half that along with the resignation of all his rights. He’ll take it. He’s a greedy fuck. And then regardless of what happens between Hendrix and me, he’ll be out of her life.”

“Regardless of what happens? That sounds like I should know something.”

“I love her, Nathaniel.” Christ, I said it again and it doesn’t hit any easier a second time. “I love her and need to make this right.”

“You already screwed up?”

I chuckle. “Yes. And I probably will several more times, but I’m trying. I’ll get it right. She’s too damned incredible to lose.”

His silence is dramatic and unnerving, and I’m just about to say fuck it and hang up. “I’ll take care of the ex. I’ll make sure you’re both covered. And . . . fuck, man, good for you. She’s a great woman. I’m . . . proud of you.”

I end the call with a lump stuck in my throat and emotions I’ve never really had before racing through me. I love her. I treated her like absolute shit, and she still put me first.

I. Love. Her.

As I pull into the airport, I feel steadier than I have in hours.

I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make this right.

Hendrix is mine.

And I’m going to make damn sure she knows it.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Hendrix

“Momma, the sun tea is done.”

“That’s not possible. It should have an hour more yet,” she calls from inside the kitchen. But the liquid in the container looks dark brown from where I stand so I move toward the front wall of her postage stamp-sized yard to check it.

She’s always liked it to steep until it’s ridiculously strong. I prefer mine on the lighter side.

“It’s awfully dark already,” I say, and then freeze when I look up to see Jase standing there.

I do a double take.

He’s in dark jeans and a white V-neck shirt. A hat is pulled low over his face, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his expression is one of pure misery mixed with hope.

Jesus.

I’m sucker-punched, seeing him standing in front of me, in a place that’s the complete opposite of him. The man who exists in a world of flashing lights and roaring stadiums is here, on the cracked and crabgrass-dotted sidewalk of my childhood home. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t fit here.

And yet, my heart thrums at the sight of him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough around the edges.

“What are you doing here?”