Sweet Regret: A second chance, single mom, rockstar romance
Sweet Regret: Chapter 45

“Make a wish and blow out your candle,” I say, catching Jagger’s flash of a grin, dramatic squeezing of his eyes, and then his theatrical whoosh of breath on video on my cell.

Since the boat ride the other day, it feels like things have shifted again. With Vince. With us. Things just feel different.

There seems to be less . . . darkness, less pensiveness, in Vince’s expression.

He seems more at ease. Lighter. Dare I say, more hopeful?

I’m the queen of reading into things, so I’m trying not to infer too much into what I’m seeing. I’m scared to hope. Scared to wish for the more I see when he looks at me.

But I am.

“What did you wish for?” Vince asks, coming up behind him and tickling him so that he wiggles.

I take mental pictures of the moment. Images I can burn in my memory to never forget.

Click. Vince behind Jagger. Their faces side by side. Their heads with matching party hats on. The grins both lopsided and happy.

“I can’t tell you that,” Jagger says. “If I did, it wouldn’t come true.”

Click. Jagger faces Vince. Their profiles identical.

“Then I guess you don’t get your presents,” Vince teases.

“That’s not fair. Wait—”

Click. Jagger’s shocked expression and Vince’s knowing one.

“—you got me a present?” Jagger asks.

“Yes. Seven of them,” Vince says.

“Because I’m seven?” Jagger asks.

Vince nods but also looks at me.

Click.

Bittersweet happiness in his eyes.

Seven presents—one for each year he missed.

“If you’re not going to tell me your wish, then what should you do to get them?” Vince asks, the slipped guard he let me see, he let me capture, now firmly back in place, replaced with a grin for Jagger.

“Tackle hugs,” Jagger says and launches himself at Vince so that he falls backward. They erupt in a tickle fest.

Click. Vince’s arms wrapped around Jagger. His face buried in the curve of his neck. His eyes welled with tears. His smile, one I think I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

Cake is followed by opening presents, by then playing with presents (riding his new bike everywhere), and then a quick FaceTime to my mom and dad so Jagger could talk a million miles a minute, telling them all about his presents and that he now knows how to drive a boat.

It killed me not being able to share his birthday in person with them this year, but they both graciously didn’t tell me how hard it was for them. They both know how important this time is for me, for Jagger, and for the possibility of our future.

I did catch my dad giving a little look to Vince though, before he ended the session. The kind of look that says don’t fuck this up or you’ll have to answer to me.

The family FaceTime party was then followed by a campfire and s’mores on the back deck. The last thing Jagger needed was more sugar, but his one wish was a campfire under the stars so a campfire he was going to get.

The s’mores were Vince’s idea. No doubt he’s never had to wipe heated marshmallow off a squirmy kid’s face and hands, but he handled it like a pro by making a game of it.

“This has been the best birthday, ever!” Jagger says, the sugar hitting him soundly by the way he can’t sit still.

“It has?” Vince and I ask in unison.

Jagger nods emphatically. “Why’d you get me so many presents?” Jagger asks Vince.

“Jagger,” I admonish. “The words are thank you, not—”

“It’s cool. He can ask,” Vince says.

“So why did you? I usually get one or two, but you got me seven. SEVEN.”

Vince chuckles. “Because you’re seven, buddy, and as your d—” Vince stops himself as my heart skips a beat. He clears his throat and shakes his head, almost as if he can’t believe how easy that was to say. “As your best buddy, I get the right to spoil you. Seven presents for seven years.”

Buddy. The word sounds so strained. The struggle on Vince’s face real.

The word he almost spoke, the most real of all.

He looks up at me over Jagger’s head and smiles. It’s a tentative smile that hides truths I’m desperate to know . . . but at least he’s showing them to me.

More baby steps.

Each day that passes, every moment that’s spent, our relationships are building. Vince and Jagger’s. Vince and mine. The three of us together.

This feels right, Shug.

It sure as hell does.

“I’m gonna go put this stuff up in my room,” Jagger says, interrupting our connection.

“Your bike can stay down here,” I say to which I get a very teenagerish roll of his eyes. I’m definitely not ready for that yet. “Do you need help?”

“Nope. I got it.” He loads his arms up with a Lego set, a new game to play, and some guitar picks among other things. He hits the house and turns back. “Hey, Momma?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“I hope we never leave here,” he says before walking into the house and shutting the door.

Me too. This bubble away from the outside world is magical. Me-freaking-too.

I stare at the shut door because it’s so much easier to look there than to meet the weight of Vince’s stare.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For making his birthday special.” For this time. For . . . the forgiveness I hope you’ll grace me with.

“No need to thank me.” In my periphery, I can see him shift in his seat. It moves him a bit closer to me so he can grab another piece of wood to toss on the fire.

“Yes, there is. You didn’t have to buy him presents.”

“I have seven years to make up for.”

His words are there but they don’t feel as cutting as I’d expect. They feel resigned and resolved, if there even is such a thing. “I know, but you didn’t have to make up for anything. The last thing I want is for you to think that I—”

“Stop talking.” His lips are on mine and his hands cradle my face in that way that I love. The way that has always made me feel like I’m his whole world.

I should be surprised by the action, but I’m not. It feels so real, so natural, so perfect, so us.

I don’t let my heart begin to hope, but rather I simply let myself enjoy the moment. Enjoy him and the simplicity of being in front of a fire and under the stars with a man I’ve always loved, regardless of the shitty circumstances life has thrown at us.

His kiss is soft and tender. A touch of tongues. A few brushes of lips. Short and brief . . . but the meaning behind it is so much more poignant than I have ever felt before.

When the kiss ends, I reach my hand up to his cheek and meet his eyes. He speaks before I can overthink everything.

“We’re figuring this out, Shug. At our own pace. In our own way. We’ll figure this out.”

The quick inhale of breath has the two of us jumping back and looking to meet Jagger’s wide-eyed stare.

“Jagg?” Shit. What do I say? What do I do?

“I knew it,” he says and laughs with a carelessness that I’ve rarely heard from him.

“Knew what?” I ask as Vince chuckles under his breath.

“That you wanted to be boyfriend and girlfriend.”

I sputter for a response. A responsible response that won’t get his hopes up for something that might not happen—especially with our history.

“Vince looks at you like the way people do on Nana’s shows.” He makes a blech sound. “The ones where sometimes she has to cover my eyes so I don’t see things I’m not old enough to see yet.”

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. Vince just laughs until he doubles over to hide it. “You’re not helping.” I jab him with my elbow.

“Sorry. Your face though. That expression is priceless,” he says and then tries to have a stern expression before he turns to Jagger. “You okay with that?”

“Vince, you just can’t—”

“Yeah. I’m cool with it,” Jagger says and then fist-bumps Vince like he’s sixteen years old.

“See?” Vince says. He stands and grins, proud of himself for handling the situation. “You ready for me to show you how to pop a wheely on your bike?”

“But it’s dark out,” Jagger says, grabbing Vince’s hand like it’s so natural. Like we didn’t just have the conversation we had, and he didn’t just see us kissing.

“Don’t ever let the dark spoil your fun. That’s what lights are for.”

I stare after them, a huge grin on my lips, and feel settled for the first time in weeks.

This just might work out.