Fucking hell.
He sucked in air, followed by a deep exhale to get his shit together.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d showered and was looking out over the lake. The dream had him confused. Cerys at his nan’s. Not the place he shared with Alex, not in a luxury hotel room or a private rental cottage in the middle of nowhere. His nan’s.
Because it’s home.
He ran his hand over his face, his scruff was starting to get long. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he did the time zone calculation.
It would be two in the afternoon for his nan. He found her number, grinning when she answered the video call and her face appeared.
“Thought you were all dead in a ditch somewhere,” she said, without saying hello. “It’s four days since you last called me, Jason Palmer.”
Jase grinned. “Sorry, Nan. Shit got busy. How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been spoiled, that’s what I’ve been. Look what Gerry got me.” She turned her camera so that he could see the kitchen table. A vase of stringy-looking red carnations, a bottle of cheap prosecco, and a Valentine’s Day card.
He looked down at his phone. Shit, it was Valentine’s Day. He should do something for Cerys. She wasn’t technically his Valentine yet, but maybe there was some—
“Aren’t I lucky?” His nan’s voice pierced through his thoughts.
“Yeah, if you think you’re only worth a tenner.”
“Jase. You know better than that. It’s not the cost, it’s the thought, and Gerry is on a state pension. I don’t expect him to go overboard.”
Shame hit him smack in the face. “Sorry, Nan. You’re right. That was a totally dick thing to say.”
His nan’s jaw dropped, a look of confusion on her face. “Did you just apologise? Without being prompted?”
“Yeah. I did.”
He had.
And wasn’t it the strangest fucking sensation to admit you’d been a twat?
“Well. We should have sent you off to America twenty years ago if it could teach you that.”
“For fuck’s sake, Nan. I’m not that bad.”
His nan grinned. “No, you aren’t, lad. But it’s nice to see you looking relaxed. Tell me what’s been happening.”
Jase told her about needing some time away from the band. “So, Cerys agreed to let me go with her to Jimmy’s place north of Detroit. I’ve also been writing songs.”
Her face softened. “That’s amazing, Jase.”
“Yeah. Cerys and I were talking about stuff, and the next thing she’s telling me to express my own story in music, and I think it’s helping.”
“So, what was your first song about?”
Jase paused.
Fucking waves.
“Dad. What happened. How I feel about it. Cerys was right. Writing about it helped me come to terms with it a bit.”
“In what way?” Nan asked softly.
“That it was a secret I was meant to keep. That it happened and I needed to bury it to move on. It wasn’t healthy for me.”
Nan sighed. “I messed that up, then, didn’t I?”
Jase shook his head. “You did what you thought was best, Nan. I know that. And I wasn’t particularly forthcoming about feelings and all that.”
“Even if I didn’t mean to, it still hurt you, how I handled it, didn’t it?”
Wave.
Memories of Cerys telling him that he only wanted to storm out of a conversation when someone prodded at something that hurt. He stayed with it. And was honest. “Yeah, Nan. It did. But I don’t blame you for it.”
His nan nodded sadly.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to call you to make you feel like crap, Nan. I’m sorry.”
“No, Jase. Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry. I look forward to hearing it. You’ve mentioned Cerys a lot in this call. And don’t tell me she’s just a friend because I know you better than that. You never talk about the women in your life.”
Jase paused and looked over the lake.
Wave.
“She’s good for me, Nan. And she’s too good for me. But somehow, I’m growing on her. Any tips on winning her over?”
“You want to know the thing that made your granddad so special to me? He was a tough as nails miner with his mates. All bravado and cussing and footie scores. But with me, he was tender. He listened. He made me feel beautiful, even on my shittiest of days.”
Tenderness, listening, caring about someone more than me. Holy fuck. He was going to need a frontal lobotomy or something to conquer that shit. But for once, he was willing to try. “Thanks, Nan. Listen. I need to go make breakfast, but I’ll call you again when I’m back in Detroit. Love you.”
“Love you too, lad.”
An hour later, he walked up the stairs with their breakfast on a tray. He took a big breath outside of Cerys’s bedroom door before knocking and pushing it open.
Cerys lay on her back in bed in the ridiculous onesie. One hand was up near her face, the other tucked beneath the soft white bedding. Her hair was splayed across the pillow, her pink lips slightly open as she slept.
Jase placed the tray down next to the bed, and then sat on the edge closest to Cerys. He stroked a finger along her forehead, moving some of the hair out of the way. “Cerys,” he whispered softly, aware that the last time he’d woken her, she’d come to with such a start she’d rolled off the sofa. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sunshine.”
Cerys began to move, eyes closed. A long stretch, followed by rolling onto her side to face him before she finally opened them. “Morning,” she mumbled.
Jase leaned forward and kissed her gently, smiling against her lips when her hand snuck around the back of his neck and held him to her.
“I brought you breakfast.”
Cerys released him and scootched herself up the bed. “You did?”
“Yeah, thought it might be nice, given it’s Valentine’s Day.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “That’s really lovely of you. Thank you.”
“Don’t be too excited. We’re running low on food, seeing we were meant to leave yesterday.” He lifted the tray between the two of them. “Coffee, toast from the last of the bread, some cereal.”
Cerys looked over everything on the tray. “It’s perfect.”
He reached across the blanket to squeeze her knee. “What made you come to Detroit, Cerys? Was it to get to know your dad?”
Cerys shook her head. “Surprisingly, no. He’s repeatedly shown he has no intention of filling that role. I enjoyed playing piano but didn’t love being a professional pianist. I wasn’t quite in the top percent of those who get full-time orchestra gigs. So I was part-time, which didn’t add up to enough work. I tried doing musical theatre gigs, but I didn’t love being tucked under the stage. A friend from uni had opened a small recording studio and I did some freelancing for him, playing on other people’s stuff—which I enjoyed, but not as much as I enjoyed the production side of things. Sorry, I’m boring you.”
“No.” He placed a hand on her calf as she bit into the toast. He grabbed the spoon to the cereal. “Tell me. I want to know.”