Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(56)

The pothole in his chest deepened. “Riv, I—”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.” She squeezed his forearm. “I really hope you’ll come visit. But you need to get back out there and make us proud, okay? Show Marcy what can happen if she dreams big.”

Maybe Sarge should’ve taken his sister’s rejection in the spirit it was intended. River didn’t have a mean bone in her body, and on some level, he understood why she needed to prove herself. Of course he did. But in the wake of Jasmine pushing him away, all he heard was another person he loved saying…leave. They didn’t need or want him. His staying in Hook wasn’t a positive, but a negative. A burden. God, weren’t they kind of right? He’d waltzed into town like a hero trying to solve River’s problems, deceiving Jasmine by proposing a purely physical relationship, when in actuality, he’d been in love with her from the start. Jesus. Maybe they were right.

Maybe he should do everyone a favor and get gone.

Jasmine chose that moment to fill his vision, so goddamn pretty in her red dress and stockings, it choked him up. And that was before he saw her expression. Once he took in her sympathy and distress, swallowing became impossible. She really didn’t even need to say a word for him to catch the drift. Over. They were over. She didn’t want him hanging around, same as his family.

“Sarge, can we talk now?”

His laughter was jagged. “Listen, Jas. I’m just going to save you the trouble, all right? I’ll leave. I’m out.” Her confused frown baffled him. Shouldn’t she look relieved? Dammit, he didn’t have the right to feel angry. This fantasy scenario of being part of his family again, settling down with the girl of his dreams? That’s all it was. A fantasy fabricated in his head, while everyone built lives without him. He had no right being mad they wanted to keep what they’d built. But he was mad. His gut felt torn down the middle with it. “Is there something else you’re waiting for me to say? Is there something I haven’t said over and f*cking over since I got here? There’s nothing left but good-bye, right?”

Ah shit, just saying good-bye while looking at Jasmine was eating him alive. He had to get out of there now. Before he did something insane, like press his face against her legs and ask what else he could have done. Yeah…yeah, he had to walk toward the door, get in his van, and find a place to hole up. Couldn’t let everything rush in on him right now, or Jasmine would only feel guiltier than she already looked. He hated that guilt. Wanted to kiss it off her face, but would never get that chance again.

Something hard and leather pressed against Sarge’s palm, and he looked down to find his guitar case, Lita in his periphery. For the second time that night, he was grateful to the drummer. Holding his guitar proved to be the push he needed to give Jasmine one final memorizing look before exiting into the dark chill of night.





Chapter Fifteen


As far as Christmas mornings went, this one was somber as hell.

Following tradition, Jasmine had shown up at River’s house to watch Marcy open presents before spending the rest of the holiday with her parents. She hadn’t had a chance to speak with her best friend since Sarge’s departure last night, but it was obvious they were both making a Herculean effort to stay positive for Marcy’s sake. Currently, the three-year-old was tearing through wrapping paper with glee as River followed with a black trash bag.

Jasmine felt like she’d been covered in cement. Her movements felt sluggish, and no number of commands sent to her brain could hasten them. She’d managed to wait five full minutes after Sarge blew out of the church hall before leaving herself—and it had been a rapid downhill shot from there. Her eyes felt like they’d been rubbed raw with sand she’d cried so much. Huge, racking sobs that reminded her of a devastated child, which wasn’t so far off. Years seemed to have been stripped away, leaving her bare, with no experience to pull from.

How did she go about getting over this? How did anyone? If she ever found the wherewithal to speak to anyone about the loss that was caving in her stomach, what would they say? Probably that it would get easier in degrees. Well, the next degree over from her current state was still bereft. So was the degree after that. And the one beside that. So Jasmine was pretty sure she’d be living inside this swamp of pummeling pain a good, long while.

River handed her a cup of eggnog with nutmeg sprinkled on top, but she only stared down into it without drinking. “Thanks.”

“Are you all right?” River asked.

“Are you?”

They stared at each other until Marcy bounced over, flushed from excitement. “Who are these ones from, Mom?” She handed two silver-wrapped presents to River and brushed her loose curls back. “Can I open it?”

River checked the tag. “They’re from Uncle Sarge…they were delivered yesterday. One for you and one for me.” She turned the packages over in her hands. “And these are extra presents, Marcy. Uncle Sarge already bought you the guitar.”

Marcy whooped. “Thank you, Uncle Sarge.”

A line formed between River’s brows, reminding Jasmine so much of Sarge she felt pricks behind her eyelids. With more eagerness than she had the right to feel, Jasmine watched mother and daughter open the packages from Sarge, watched them smile at what they found. Matching bomber jackets with the Old News logo on the back, their names stitched over the pocket. River stared down at hers while Marcy worked her arms into the sleeves. “We’ll have to send him a thank-you card when he gets back to L.A. If he’s not already there.”