Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(58)

I don’t have it in me. I have nothing left in me.

It was unclear when or how he would leave this hotel room. Eventually he would either be thrown out or walk through the exit of his own accord. But it wouldn’t be happening today. Or tomorrow. Not until he wrote a f*cking song to adequately describe the woman he was in love with. At least then he would have something to show for the misery.

Sarge shoved back his unbrushed hair, scrubbing at his bleary eyes until the notebook once again came into focus. His pen had just touched paper when light appeared to his left. Someone else bringing him french fries or wanting to clean the room. They were probably speaking to him, but answering would require him to remove the noise over his ears, and then thoughts would rush in. No thank you. He was just about capable of fielding the sneaky memories trickling in through the deafening lyrics.

When warm skin brushed against Sarge’s face, he recoiled, as though a bullet had struck him in the chest. It forced him to suck in air. And with that air came gold. Jasmine’s gold. She was there. Standing in the hotel room, framed by the still-open door. Sarge glanced behind Jasmine long enough to determine she’d been let in by James before consuming the sight of her again. So goddamn beautiful. But the door closed, and she went too dark. No. No, no, no. Sarge lunged to his feet, feeling along the wall for a decent source of light. There. He found a standing floor lamp and turned it on, illuminating Jasmine where she stood at the foot of his bed.

Morrissey was still singing in his ears about heaven knowing he was miserable, and it seemed like a huge risk, removing the headphones. What if she was there to apologize for hurting him, but wanted to explain her standpoint? Or some other possibility that didn’t end in them together? And why—why—couldn’t they just be together when his heart was clearly being operated from the palm of her hand? If she rejected him again, right in the center of this agony, he wouldn’t have the strength to come back.

When he didn’t immediately remove his headphones, Jasmine nodded, as if she completely understood the nonsensical f*ckery happening in his sleep-deprived brain. Instead of trying to talk to him through the noise, though, she knelt down on the ground and picked up one of his discarded pieces of paper. She read it, her gorgeous lips moving, before lifting wet eyes to him. The sight of her kneeling, her expression pleading, knocked the remaining breath from his lungs.

“Love you, love you…” Sarge murmured, unaware if the words came out the way they sounded in his head. Jasmine ducked her head in response, then set about picking up every balled-up sheet on the floor, reading them, and stacking them in a pile. Sarge watched her, afraid to move, knowing the words were unworthy of her but unable to resist seeing her acknowledgment of them. Look at them. Look. See how I feel? See what you did?

Finally, she was finished clearing the room of trashed lyrics. Nothing left. The Morrissey album had finished, leaving Sarge with only the echo of his deep, shaking inhales. The far-off sounds of Jasmine moving across the floor on her knees to pick up the notebook he’d left lying open. She picked up the pen and started to write, hair falling on the floor as she leaned forward. Somehow he knew the vision of Jasmine biting her lip and moving the pen inside his notebook would be the last thing he thought about before he died. Just knew it, right then and there.

Something like five minutes or five hours had passed when she stood up, hesitating a few beats before handing him the book. Sarge could barely rip his gaze from her to read what she’d written, but managed it through sheer force of will.

Got turned around when you crashed through

Couldn’t stay away from you.

Swept me up and shook me down.

Blindsided. Sunk. Lost you, too.

Forgot how to leap when I looked at you.

But I see clear now. You made me new.

Take me. Keep me. Love me back.

Can I still be your girl in blue?

The notebook slipped free of Sarge’s fingers, falling in a flutter of white to the ground. When it didn’t make a sound, he realized the headphones were still covering his ears and tore them off, flinging them to the side. Unable to regulate the pounding of his heart or rasping of his breath, Sarge framed Jasmine’s face in his hands.

“Love you back, Jasmine?” He searched her face. “Love you back?”

Tears decorated her cheeks as she nodded, but Sarge only had a moment to savor the confirmation that she actually…loved him back, before Jasmine buried her face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” came her muffled voice. “I could feel it when you left Hook. Could feel that you were gone. And nothing felt right anymore.”

Sarge’s feet weren’t even on solid ground yet after hearing that Jasmine loved him. He definitely wasn’t in any shape to hear things like that, much less process them. “Jesus. Just…give me a minute or you’re going to kill me.”

“What?” She pulled back to swipe at her eyes. “I-I just need you to know. Being without you, even for a day…it hurt so bad—”

His mouth stamped over hers with a growl, sealing off her words. He stayed that way, keeping their mouths meshed together—not allowing himself to use his tongue— until he could think somewhat straight. Cautiously, he eased back an inch. “You love me and you hurt without me? Okay. Thank God.” Sarge heaved in a breath. “But that’s all I can handle for one day. My heart went from empty to full too fast.”