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

Focus is a struggle.

And it’s not because I’m past the point of exhaustion where coffee usually works.

It’s the elevator that I can’t get out of my head. Vince’s hand on my face. The way his words made me feel.

And the confusion both created.

How can I hate a man and be tempted by him? How can I have spent years telling myself that Vince Jennings doesn’t mean a thing to me, and then the first time I see him, feel my heart tripping over itself to ignore the scars he previously left there?

Vince’s words come back to me: The Bristol Matthews I knew didn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Where was she earlier?

The problem is, I thought I knew who the new Bristol Matthews was. The After After Vince one. Now I’m beginning to worry that I don’t even have a clue. That I’m nowhere near as strong as I thought I was.

Deep-seated disappointment in myself hits hard. But not as hard as the punch of Vince’s deep tenor reminding me just how good we used to be.

Neither thrill me.

And yet there I was acting like a giddy schoolgirl pining for her ex like she forgot all the bad that’s happened.

But I’m not in high school.

And there is so much more at stake than my reputation this time around.

But the question that remains is why? Why did I want him to kiss me? Why am I still thinking about it?

For nostalgia? For old times’ sake? For unadulterated pleasure? To prove I could kiss him and walk away and be in control of it rather than devastated by it?

But those are all games. Games I’m too old to play and don’t really want to play anyway.

“I know. It’s crazy it’s still here after all this time.”

Attraction. That’s all he was talking about. Our chemistry. The way our bodies react to one another’s without thought.

Isn’t that who Vince is though? He was always good with words. With making me feel wanted.

But that’s where he stopped at everything else. He loved me till he didn’t. He needed me until he didn’t. He wanted me until he didn’t.

“Right?”

I smile reflexively as I look up to find four pairs of eyes looking at me. Vince’s, the director of the documentary, Will, his assistant who is taking notes, and the person who will be interviewing him on camera, Jasmine.

“I’m sorry. I got caught up thinking about something else. What did I miss?” I ask.

“I was just saying how perfect it was that you work here since you knew Vincent way back when,” Jasmine says. “You might be able to add some additional insight when we head back to your hometown next week.”

“Next week? What?”

“It’s on the schedule in front of you,” Vince says with a motion to the paper on the table. His smile is unapologetic. “Just for a few days.”

I nod, my smile strained.

I don’t like the unexpected. I like plans and schedules and having time to digest what’s expected of me. While someone like Vince thrives on spontaneity, it gives me metaphorical hives.

To say I feel like I’m being thrown into the fire is an understatement. Now I’m being forced to travel with the man I’m currently tying myself up in knots over. In addition, now I need to ask my mom for more help with Jagger when she already does a ton.

He’s my child. He’s my responsibility. I’m the one who should be and wants to be watching him, not my mom.

“Give her a sec,” Vince says. “She’s a planner so this is going to throw her for a loop.”

Everyone at the table chuckles while Vince winces when my shoe connects with his shin.

“Next week. Noted,” I say and offer a sugary-sweet smile his way. No doubt that’s going to leave a mark. “And no worries. I’ll have plenty of anecdotes I can throw your way to enhance Vince’s documentary.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he says, mischief in his eyes.

“Try me.”

The whole table erupts in more laughter, but Vince’s gaze remains on mine as his lopsided grin grows.

My threat rings hollow to my own ears though, because I know that revealing too much about Vince’s past will only put me in the spotlight. And the last thing I want anyone to do is to look closer at me.

“So we’ll get started then,” Will says. “The point of this pre-interview is so we can weed out the normal, everyday things and maybe find a nugget or two to focus on. Something that will hook the public into wanting to know more about.”

“There’s not much out there that people don’t already know,” Vince says.

“There always is.” Will’s smile says he’s determined to find something. “Whatever we decide to talk about during the actual filming will be given to you ahead of time so you’re not taken by surprise.”

Vince shifts uncomfortably, his eyes focused on the paper in his hands for a beat before he slips the public mask on and grins. “Hit me.”

But it was there. That small slip. Just like he had last night when talking about Bent. Clearly whatever is going on, he’s determined to keep it close to the vest.

“Perfect,” Jasmine says. “Let’s cover some basics. Mom. Dad. Brothers. Sisters. Normal childhood. Troubled childhood. That kind of thing.”

“Normal childhood.” Vince’s tone is flat and the glance my way, the one with piercing eyes, reaffirms his lie.

“Okay.” She makes a note. “What about your mom and dad?”

“Dad.” It’s all he says, and it causes the room to pause briefly.

“Okay.” She gives a slow nod before painting an encouraging smile on her lips. “Tell me about what happened to your mom. Give me more info on what it was like growing up in the two-man Jennings household.”

I squeeze my clasped hands harder knowing what seemed to be a simple conversation just became quite prickly.

“My mom left before I turned two. That’s all I know and there are not many details a person can remember from that age.”

Another slow nod from Jasmine. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Vince’s voice is gruff despite the nonchalant shrug.

“And your dad?”

Vince’s lips pull tight. “He was a dad and not a great one at that. Next?”

“There’s nothing else you’d like to say on that? This could be your time to talk, to control the narrative and explain your childhood. Why you are who you are,” Jasmine says.

“I am who I am because of me. My drive. My desire. My need to be anything other than him. The sacrifices I made to be the man I wanted to be. That’s the only explanation you’re going to get from me on this.”

“Vince. I understand your position, but showing the public what and where you came from will make you more sympathetic to—”

“I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. Understood? This isn’t let’s talk about how bad poor little Vinnie had it. It’s not a way to excuse away some of the shit I’ve done. My dad was and still is a prick. There’s not much more to say.”

Jasmine glances at Will and then back to Vince. She’s just about to open her mouth when Vince shoves out of his chair. “What else do you want to know? Do I have a girlfriend? No. Have I ever been in love? Just once.” He stops at the windows. His thumbs hooked in his pockets, his back to us as he watches the cars march like ants on the always jammed 110 freeway. “Do I want to get married someday? I don’t fucking know. Do I want kids? That’s a hard fucking no.” He shrugs dismissively. “Does that give you the basics that you need? Is that juicy enough for you? Because there’s a whole treasure trove more of where that came from after I made it big that you can dig through. I guarantee that shit’s a lot more fucking interesting.”

Will swivels in his chair so that he’s staring at Vince’s back. “Look. It’s not fun for us to ask you about things that you clearly don’t want to talk about. We get it. We’ve done these documentaries enough times to know that everyone has a hot spot. But we need to brush over these things quickly for those who may be familiar with Bent on the whole, but not you in particular.”

Vince rolls his shoulders before turning around and facing us. “Got it.”

“Before we move on, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that while poking around in your hometown, your father did reach out to us. Said he’d love to be interviewed.”

“He will not be a part of this.”

“Okay, but he—”

“If you want me to be a part of my own documentary, then you’ll make sure he isn’t. Clear? Are we done here?”

And before they can answer, Vince storms out of the office without another word. I fight the urge to go after him. To comfort him. To give him what I would need if I were in his shoes, but I know better.

It seems the man now isn’t much different than the teenager I once knew. Keeping everything in. Bearing the brunt of a shit hand dealt to him all on his own. A burden only he’s ever really known.

He never talked about his mom.

His dad and whatever happened in his house has always been off limits. In high school, from the outside looking in, it appeared he lived alone. Like he made his own rules and had the life every other teenager envied.

But I was close enough to Vince to see the fading bruises. I knew they appeared after he was conveniently sick from school or ditched for a few days. I was well aware of his moods and his determination.

Of course, I know because I was a casualty in it all.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, attempting to ease the tension he mostly took with him when he left. “I knew Vince back then, and he never talked about family stuff. He kept it close to the vest.”

“No need to be sorry. We’re used to this. Not everyone wants their life peeled open like an onion,” Will says.

“Speaking of that,” Jasmine says, her expression softening. “After cross-checking names with our research, is it true that you and Vince dated in high school?”

I attempt to keep my face impassive. If Vince wanted them to know this, then he would have mentioned it already. Besides, the less said about me the better. The last thing I need is a spotlight on me so that people look closer.

My chuckle is dismissive. “You know how it goes, giving someone a ride home after class can be considered dating in high school.”

“So you didn’t date, then?”

I blink rapidly as I try to figure out the answer Vince would want me to give. There are pictures of the two of us in a yearbook somewhere. Classmates could talk. But at the same time, no one cared much or probably took much notice about the nerdy wallflower and the loner, wannabe musician at Fairfield High. I give the biggest non-answer-answer I can think of. “We went on a few dates. But Vince dated a lot of people back then. He wasn’t big on commitment.”

“Seems like he isn’t now either.” Jasmine chuckles as she finishes making a few notes on her pad of paper.

I glance toward the door that Vince just stormed out of and wonder why he demanded that I be here. There were no opinions needed. No advice to be had. He’s never been one who needed his hand held, so why ask me to be here?

But my mind keeps going back to the one off-the-cuff line of his. The one that stuck out to me above all the others.

The one that makes me feel like a selfish asshole since there were so many other important ones.

Have I ever been in love? Just once.

You’re stupid to think he was talking about you, Bristol. He lived a lot of life after you.

Just like you have.

But why do I hope it was me?