Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(50)

When Jasmine straightened, Sarge was right behind her. “You don’t think I see what you’re doing?” He dragged her back against his chest, mouth pressed to her ear. “The man who loves you isn’t afraid of a fight. Just tell me what I’m up against so I can knock it the f*ck down.”

It took a strength of will she’d never experienced to remain upright. To resist turning in Sarge’s arms and confessing her doubts. Laying them on his doorstep and seeing what he could do with them. As if she didn’t know. He would obliterate them somehow. For the moment. But they would grow back stronger and more insistent once time had a chance to pass. Once the outside world began to intrude. “Let me go.”

“Never.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, then pulled away with one remaining ounce of resolve. “I didn’t mean for it to end like this. I would never intentionally hurt you…or River.”

He stabbed the air with a finger. “We’re the only two people involved here.”

“That’s not always how things work.” When Jasmine finished pulling on her jeans and boots, it took her a minute to face Sarge. His face was grim, hands pushed into his pants pockets. Still as stone. Maybe she’d finally gotten through? Why did that possibility make her want to die? “I’ll go out through the bar…there are probably a couple of cabs waiting by now. Do you mind going out the back?”

His laughter was sharp. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

Jasmine’s face grew hot. “People shouldn’t see us walking out of this room together. People’s opinion of me is all I have. I have to live here, Sarge.”

Two booted strides and Sarge was pushing into her personal space. “Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. I want to face them with you. I want to live here with you.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me.” She was fading, fading. It hurt to stand and talk and think. “That’s n-not what I signed up for.”

“Right.” But she must have shown a dent in her armor, because a spark appeared in his eyes. A glimmer of the man she’d spent the day with, laughing and ignoring anything resembling the future. Sarge reached out and cupped her cheek and everything inside her went still. “I know it’s a lot. I just told you I love you. That it’s always been this way. Maybe you’re even right to be scared, Jas, because this love is rough. It’s sharp and sweet and dirty and jealous. It wakes me up in the middle of the night thinking I’m in the wrong place because you’re not there. It believed you were mine before you saw me as a man, and the waiting…the waiting made this love bigger. It’s so big and I understand why that’s scary. I’ve had time to stop being scared of it, and you haven’t.” His hand slipped into Jasmine’s hair, drawing her close so he could brush their mouths together. “I’ll keep waiting. I’ll wait out the fear.”

She couldn’t speak around the crushing sensation behind her ribs, so she simply shook her head, loosening tears that tracked down her cheeks.

The pull between them stole her breath, so intense there didn’t seem any choice but to meet each other halfway. But Sarge tightened his grip on her hair and stepped back, pain evident in his handsome features. “Christmas Eve at the church. Will you be there?”

Two nights away. “Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” Attention locked on her, Sarge headed for the party room’s back exit, pulling it open and pausing in the doorway. “At the very least, Jasmine, I just need to see you.”

When the door clicked shut, Jasmine fell into the closest folding chair. With the failure of her musical aspirations, getting stuck in a town she’d always imagined in her rear view, Jasmine had always thought of her life as a tragic series of disappointments. But as she sat in the still room listening to the rasp of her own breath, it became obvious she’d never understood tragedy until now. To have a man like Sarge and feel him waiting, feel him wanting, but not answer that call? It might very well stop her heart from beating.

At once, her bones ached. A tapping pain had started behind both eyes, forcing them shut. Home. If she didn’t get home soon, she’d never find the willpower to move again. With a fortifying breath, Jasmine pushed to her feet, leaning down to fix her mussed hair in the reflective metal buffet. Wondering how in God’s name she would talk to anyone and form complete sentences on the other side of the door, Jasmine nonetheless removed the metal chair poised beneath the knob and stepped out into the dim hallway.

Carmine leaned against the wall, tapping an empty beer bottle against his leg. It only took Jasmine half a second to deduce Carmine had been standing there a while. His lecherous grin said it all. Jasmine’s stomach pitched, sending her stumbling forward a step. A yearning for Sarge hit her so fast and hard, a sob bubbled up from her throat. One wish. If she had one wish, Sarge would come thundering down the hallway to fold her up in his arms. But he wouldn’t do that. He’d left. She’d sent him out through the back door like a dirty little secret.

“Saw you head in there with Purcell…he still in there?”

She didn’t bother denying what Carmine had seen. “No.”

His laugh was vulgar, making her feel even more exposed. “Seriously, Jasmine? I had no idea you liked your men so young. Guess my chances would have been shitty even if you didn’t keep yourself locked up like a nun.” He rubbed his whiskered chin. “Well. From me, anyway.”