Page 53 of Crimson Desires

“Fuck, I don’t even care about the money. I care about Dad. He’s the only person I have in this world, Jack. If I lost him...” I shook my head, feeling a bit of shame bubble up in my chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying all this. I mean, your mom passed away when you were a kid. At least my dad is still alive, right?”

“It’s not comparable,” Jack said. He grabbed my hand. Clutched it tight. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Aster. I want to be here for you.”

I nodded, swallowing that truth like a fat pill. “Can you distract me?” I asked. “If I think about Dad for a second longer, I’m going to give myself a fucking panic attack.”

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

I bit my lip. “Can you tell me about your mom?”

Jack stiffened almost imperceptibly. He took a steady breath. I thought he’d be upset by the intimate request. But when I looked up at him, he didn’t seem troubled. He was smiling faintly.

“My Mom was the best person in the world. And I know that everyone says that about their moms-,” he paused, shooting a wary glance in my direction, “-well, maybe not everyone. But anyway. My mom was an amazing woman. She did everything in her power to make my life as normal as possible—even as my music began to blow up. She liked plants, but she couldn’t keep a succulent alive to save her life—so we spent a lot of time touring botanical gardens. That’s how I knew you were named after a plant. Mom always loved asters. She said once that their petals were her favorite shade of purple.”

“You’re kidding,” I scoffed.

“Why would I lie about that?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

As a kid, I had always been jealous of Violet. We were both named after purple flowers—but I thought that the deep jewel color of violets was far more beautiful than the pinkish pastel hue that asters boasted.

“What else?” I nudged him. The sound of his voice as he spoke about his mother was comforting in a way that I hadn’t anticipated. Suddenly, I was desperate to know everything about Mrs. Maverick—how she wore her hair, what kinds of books she liked, and if she was the one to give Jack his crooked smile.

“She hated red meat. But she made an exception for White Castle. Which I never understood because White Castle isn’t even that great.” Jack laughed. His laugh died after a moment, and his smile ironed out into a flat line. “When she passed, her death was everywhere in the media. But none of the stories that covered her passing were about her. They were all about me. News outlets throughout the United States speculated whether my mother’s death would put my upcoming international tour on hold. They criticized me for going out to dinner with friends three weeks after she’d passed—claiming that I wasn’t mourning properly. Not one of them talked about the amazing woman that my mother was. Not one of them knew that she liked flowers.”

Jack’s voice broke.

And I think I did too, a little.

I looked up at Jack. For a microsecond, he seemed to flicker like a mirage. Sitting in the place of an arrogant rock star was a lonely fifteen-year-old boy who was still struggling to live with the loss of his mother. I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted to cup his face in my hands. To kiss away all the pain that I was sure he felt.

But I couldn’t do that. Jack’s pain was his own. I could hold him through it, but I couldn’t make it go away.

“So, what kind of flowers did she like the most?” I asked, my voice small.

Jack looked down at me, the image of his younger self fading. “She really liked sweet peas.”

Later that night, as we settled down to sleep—my body tucked into Jack’s snuggly, and his arms around my waist—I looked up the meaning of sweet pea flowers on my phone. I felt my heart tighten as I read the results on my screen.

Bliss. Delicate pleasure. Goodbyes.

“Thank you for a lovely time.”

Chapter Twelve

Aster

As far as I was concerned, the smell of breakfast worked better than any alarm clock.

I yawned and blinked away my sleep. Jack was at the foot of the bed, wearing a tank top and his sweatpants from last night.

“You know you don’t have to wear those, right?” I asked, pointing to his sweats.

Jack winked at me, a devilish smile on his face. “Aster Jennings, are you asking me to take off my pants?”

I flipped him off. “Shut up.”

Jack laughed good-naturedly. “Anyways, I actually really like these pants. They’re comfortable.” He set a box of food in front of me.

“Breakfast?” I asked.

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