Sweet Regret: A second chance, single mom, rockstar romance
Sweet Regret: Chapter 46

“Things couldn’t look better,” Greta, my contact at Sony Music, says. “The single is killing it. Rising up the charts. Getting more airtime each day.”

“Just as we anticipated,” Xavier chimes in on the conference call. “When can we expect you back? You need to be visible right now and escaping off to the wilderness isn’t helping that.”

Neither does you firing Bristol. But circling back to that hasn’t happened yet, you dick. It will. It will or I might just be heading back to CMG.

“I’m busy writing the rest of the songs for the album. I’m sure Greta won’t complain about that.”

“Not in the least,” she says.

“I’m planning to write a solid fifteen that we can pick from. I also have some others from Steven,” I say, mentioning a well-known songwriter, “if we need something more that I don’t have.”

She whistles. “You’ve been a busy man.”

“I’ve gotten my muse back,” I say and look out the studio window to the empty yard below. I rise and stick my head out to see if I can see Bristol and Jagg, but they’re nowhere to be found.

Is it normal to feel that punch to the gut of worry? To wonder if they’re okay even when you know they are because your property is a freaking fortress of security?

“Right, Vince?”

“I’m sorry. What was that?” I ask, forcing myself back to the conversation and out of my own irrational head.

“I said, music to my ears,” Greta says through a laugh. “Quite literally. But Xavier is right. We do need some face time with you. I’ll be out in Los Angeles next week. Can you arrange to meet up? Even if for a bit?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say.

“I need more than that,” Xavier says. “I need to know you’re going to be here so I can plan some additional meetings for you. Press junket. Whatnot.”

“Yeah. Sure. Fine.” I force myself to pause and remember that Greta had nothing to do with Xavier firing Bristol.

“I know there has been some . . . upheaval in your life as of late,” Greta says, “but the time is appreciated since we want to hit this hard while your visibility is trending.”

“Work comes first,” I say, but for the first time in my life, when I hang up the phone, it doesn’t feel that way.

Normally after a call like that, I’d be buckling down to clean up lyrics and perfect some of the melodies. I’d forget the hours, hell, even forget what day it is, and not surface until what needs to be done is done.

So why am I tossing my cell on the desk in front of me and walking out of my studio to see what Bristol and Jagger are up to?

Why does something feel more important than the music for the first time in my life?

Talk about something different to wrap my head around.

They’re not in the game room. Not in Jagger’s room. Not in the front yard. I’m just about to call their names when I walk into the great room and replace them.

Bristol is lying on the couch with Jagger spooned in front of her. A book that I assume they were reading is on the floor in front of them.

My whole world.

The thought comes into my mind and settles there like there’s always been a place for it. Like it’s completely meant to be.

But how can I think that? How can I make that one-eighty? I knew the high school version of Bristol inside and out. Her favorite foods. Her pet peeves. Her annoying habits. I loved her till it hurt. I loved her so much I walked away from her.

But I don’t really know the version of her that’s asleep with our son in her arms. Does she still have the pet peeves and annoying habits she did back when she was seventeen? Is she still afraid of heights but doesn’t mind going on amusement park rides that go upside down? Does she love tomato sauce but hate tomatoes?

It’s the little things I don’t know, that I haven’t thought much about. The bigger picture has overshadowed everything.

But do those little things really fucking matter, Vin?

We’ve loved each other for close to fifteen years. She’s still fighting for me. She still loves me despite every fucking shortcoming—and there are a lot.

It’s natural to question the whys and the hows, but how about I just accept that it is? That we can be. That we are. And move the fuck forward.

Funny thing is, I think I already have. These days and nights here have been some of the best of my life outside of my professional highlights. I’m not just getting to know Jagger, but I’m getting to know Bristol too. That doesn’t say shit about the things I’m learning about myself.

I’m not just growing to love my son, but I’m also falling head over heels in love with Bristol when I already thought I was.

I’m replaceing out, I was nowhere close before.

The love I have for them is so intense that I wake up some nights from the tightness in my chest and move from room to room, simply to watch them sleep.

Just to make sure they’re not a dream.

Just to make sure they’re still there.

Just to make sure I haven’t fucked up this time.