Good Girl: Wicked #1

by Piper Lawson

  “You always have a choice, Jax. Kierkegaard said when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss, you’re twice afraid.” Her voice is low, barely audible over the running noise of the car. “Once for the knowledge that you could fall and perish. And once for the knowledge that the choice of whether to stay or whether to jump is ultimately yours.

  “He called it the dizziness of freedom. Because no matter what we’re given or what’s taken from us… we’re all free to choose how to live.”

  “Don’t tell me this is another one of your professors.”

  She laughs. “Philosopher. Long dead.”

  “Good.”

  I want to shift over her, to take her mouth with mine and vanish into the blackness. To see if we can create the same bubble with our lips and tongues and hands we seem to be able to when we talk or smile or tease.

  I’ve moved closer somehow, my arm brushing hers. Haley’s shoulders tense, because we’re closer than two people have a right to be. A little noise escapes from her throat, and that alone has desire pounding through my veins.

  No one would know if I kissed her right now. Not Cross, not Nina, not anyone. Just her and me and the back of this Town Car.

  I wait for her to push me away.

  Instead, her fingers brush my cheek. It’s light and innocent, but everything that isn’t her fades away.

  My mouth grazes her temple. The sharp intake of her breath sends the need inside me twisting tighter.

  The other.

  She smells like hairspray and sweat, but underneath I catch a hint of her tropical shampoo.

  I already care too much, and the kicker is she’s not mine to care for. Cross has more of a claim on her than I do.

  Even if I wish it were otherwise…

  I have nothing to give her.

  Finding restraint I didn’t know I had, I pull back to rest my forehead rests on hers. “Hales.”

  “Yeah.” Her whisper is as quiet as mine in the dark.

  We’re sharing breath, and the twisted part is this is the closest I’ve felt to someone in years.

  “I can’t be what you want.”

  I expect her to protest or pull away.

  Instead she smiles, the tiniest gesture in the blackness of the car, but I feel it in every part of me. “You already are.”

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of a man who’s well and truly fucked.

  15

  Tour exists in some surreal state, where the time either flies or drags.

  The past four days have brought two shows. For once, it's not the shows I'm counting.

  It’s two sound checks, which I dodge.

  It’s four lunches I skip, throwing myself into writing that won’t come.

  It’s eight interviews, each more frustrating than the last. Even though I know they serve a purpose, they feel like wasted time.

  I want to shout that I’m retiring. That I’m grateful to my fans and I’d be even more grateful if they would accept my humble goodbye and promptly forget about me forever.

  I owe Cross an answer tonight. There’s no way he’s forgotten.

  If I tell him I'm out, he might take his secret to the grave. I can see him doing it just to spite me.

  And even if Haley finds out—from me or someone else—he might simply deny her what she's owed. He has no obligation to provide for her, even if the thought leaves a metallic taste in my mouth.

  Nothing’s happened between me and Haley since Dallas. If I’m avoiding her, it’s because that’s the best possible way for this to play out.

  When she leaves, I won’t have the torture of resisting her.

  I won’t have any part of her.

  “Jax, you have a visitor,” Nina calls into my dressing room. “Technically two.”

  I turn to see the kid running at me. Red braids bounce at her shoulders, and her eyes are bright with eagerness. “Uncle Jax!”

  My heart lifts even before I wrestle her into my arms, lifting and spinning her around. “Hey, squirt. Damn, you’re getting heavy.”

  “You can’t say that to girls,” Grace chastises, right on Annie’s heels.

  “Which part, damn or heavy?” I shoot her a wink, setting Annie down and wrapping my sister in a hug.

  “I’m glad you made it,” I murmur against her hair, a few shades darker than mine.

  “We did. Finally.”

  I want to escape. To take off and take Grace and Annie with me.

  Until last week, that was the plan.

  For the first time, something’s holding me back.

  I don’t want to leave Haley.

  Not like this.

  “I’m glad you came tonight.”

  “Me too.” Grace’s smile is faint in the back seat of the Town Car after the show.

  Annie’s curled up and half-asleep against my shoulder.

  The three of us had gone to the Olive Garden and gotten a private room there. Sometimes the most comforting things aren’t limos or hotel rooms—they’re breadsticks.

  “You’re pretty good,” she says.

  “I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years.” The answer comes easily, but even I know it's not enough anymore.

  I check on my niece. Annie’s fast asleep between us.

  “It always feels strange, seeing people cheer for you. Sometimes I want to scream at them that they don’t know you at all. Like how you make the best chocolate chip cookies. How you used a nightlight until you were twelve. The way you played puppets with me when I was home alone instead of going out with your friends. That you tried to grow the world’s most awful beard at sixteen and hunted down any remaining photos of it at seventeen.”

  I grin. “I’m glad those are the memories you have.”

  “I remember other things too. Us swiping food. And the games you’d play so I didn’t realize we were dodging child services.”

  “Annie will never deal with that.” It’s a promise and a threat.

  “Things are good. I told you.”

  I reach for Grace’s arm and pull up the sleeve that’s too long for the summer heat.

  She sucks in a breath when I brush my thumb over her skin.

  “Again?” I whisper hoarsely.

  “Don’t. Don’t look at me like I’m weak. Like I’m in need of protection.”

  “It’s getting worse.”

  She pulls down her sleeve. “I protected you too.”

  Anger burns in the back of my throat, along with regret and unfairness.

  I turn her words over as the car pulls up in front of the airport, then I reach into my pocket and pull out a stack of bills. I tuck them into her hand, squeezing.

  “Grace, I want you to leave. Pack a bag. Come on the tour with us. Hell, you don’t need a bag, I’ll buy you whatever you need. Rent you your own bus. Just don’t go back there.”

  She blinks at me. “He’s my husband. Just because things get hard doesn’t mean you bail. He’s been there for me.”

  When you haven’t. Her meaning is clear.

  “I’m not letting her be raised like this. I’m not letting you go through it.”

  “It’s not your choice. Whether you come home in two weeks or two years, it still won’t be.”

  She tries to give the money back, but I fold her hand around it. Her shoulders cave in as she pockets it. “You might get to call the shots out here, but this is my life, big brother. Our lives.”

  She brushes a hand over Annie’s hair, and the kid stirs. I sweep Annie into a fierce hug. She laughs sleepily.

  “You call me every day, yeah?” I tell Annie.

  She nods.

  “You happy, squirt?”

  Another nod, her smile in the dark. Guilt and helplessness tear through me.

  “I’ll see you soon.” I don't know if the words are true.

  Grace shifts out of the car, tugging Annie with her. I don’t want to let go. But I do.

  16

  Haley

  Haley,

/>   * * *

  I received your email about submitting the program to Spark. Upon review, I’ve decided it’s not ready yet. Let’s continue to work on it next semester and aim for next year’s Spark competition.

  * * *

  I trust you’ll understand.

  * * *

  Chris

  It’s the worst sleep I’ve had since being on tour.

  Let’s be honest—I haven’t been sleeping for the better part of a week.

  Since on or about the night Jax Jamieson groped me in a bowling alley.

  Almost kissed me in his Town Car.

  Then went back to ignoring me.

  Okay, ignoring isn’t quite the right word.

  But the morning after he’d walked me to my room and I lay in bed all night debating whether I should walk my ass down the hall and beg him to put his mouth on me?

  I didn’t see him until he took the stage.

  The next day was almost as bad.

  Yesterday, at the lunch Jax did not partake in, I overheard from Mace that Jax’s sister and niece were coming. For real this time.

  And I didn’t get to meet them.

  Maybe he decided our friendship, if you can call it that, isn’t worth tolerating the monster crush I have on him, I think.

  But then, he didn’t seem to hate it when he was going all braille on your boobs.

  It’s stupid to feel hurt. I get it intellectually. Jax is a musician, the musician, and I’d have to be a moron to expect anything from him.

  Still, there’s a tension in me I don’t know how to resolve. I’ve tried, by throwing myself into work. Then by seeking relief late at night alone.

  Any kind of relief.

  This morning after getting up to Carter’s delightful email, I shove my things into my bag and stab the button in the elevator.

  I worked my ass off trying to finish this program, and he tossed it aside as though it didn't even matter.

  Sure, I could’ve spent more time on it if I hadn’t built the program for Jerry. Still, if Carter’d told me what more needed to be done instead of sending a dismissive email? I could’ve done it.

  Now I’m already trying to come up with other solutions for tuition, but my mind jumps from one thing to another like cerebral Whac-A-Mole.

  Part of me wants to talk to Jax. But as we pack up the bus, I realize Jax isn't the one I need to talk to.

  A woman answers on the second ring. “Professor Carter’s office.”

  I pause, tripped up by the unfamiliar voice. “Who is this?”

  “Stacey. I’m Chris’s research assistant. He’s, ah, out this morning—” She giggles. “But he should be back this afternoon. Can I give him a message?”

  “Yes. Can you tell him Haley Telfer called?”

  “Haley Telfer? Sure.”

  “Hey, can I ask you something? How did you get this research assistant job?”

  I can almost hear her shrug. “Chris just sent me an email. Around the end of the semester. You know how these things are.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  Betrayal tastes bitter in my throat.

  Carter didn’t want me as his research assistant because he had another option.

  Clearly he spent enough time with Stacey that he didn’t have time to spend on my program.

  As I walk zombie-like to the bus, Nina calls the crew together.

  Still no Jax.

  “I have an important announcement. As you know, we’re coming up on our final shows. But I’ve just gotten word that because we’re selling out, the tour’s being extended. Two months,” Nina says.

  Lita’s gaze meets mine, but she doesn’t look surprised.

  “You all have the option of staying on after the final show or leaving,” Nina continues. “But if you’re leaving, I need to know now.”

  I don’t move because every word from her mouth sounds impossible.

  “Nina emailed me and my band this morning,” Lita says. “It was Jax’s call. And Cross’s. I already told Nina we’re going to Nashville tonight. She’s lining up another band to open for the final two months, as well as the next two shows. You should come with us.”

  But I can’t think about her offer because my attention’s on the other bus, shining in my peripheral vision.

  I go into my bag, dig out an item of clothing, and yank it over my head.

  “Haley?” Lita asks. “Where are you going? We’re getting ready to roll out.”

  “I’ll be back faster than your center fielder can catch a pop fly,” I mutter.

  Then I stalk across the parking lot.

  When I knock on the door of the other bus, Kyle’s shaggy head appears. “What’s up, Haley?”

  Three pairs of Riot Act eyes watch me stalk toward the beaded curtain. It sings as I brush through it.

  Jax looks up from his guitar. Today he’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans plus socks.

  Without the stage makeup, with his hair falling over his face, he looks younger.

  “Hales.” His voice is wary. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Yeah, well, a lot of things shouldn’t happen,” I inform him. “Good people shouldn’t die young. Studios shouldn’t reissue vinyl albums as cut from the master when they’re not.” I glance over my shoulder. “Kyle shouldn’t answer the door wearing nothing but underwear.”

  He takes in my own clothing choice but doesn’t comment. “The bus is leaving soon.”

  I ignore that. “Nina said you're extending your tour.” A muscle in his jaw tics as he sets the guitar off to the side and shifts back. “So fill me in. You saw Grace and Annie last night, the people you live for, decided that was more than enough time with them and you might as well hang out on the road a little longer? That when you go back to Dallas, you’ll be bored out of your skull?”

  The tension in his body is a living thing as he rises from the couch and stares me down.

  “I’m not explaining my choices to you. You wouldn’t understand. Besides, I’ll have plenty to do. I’ll buy a house. The kind where the living room doesn’t have wheels. And it’ll have columns in the front like I’m Julius Caesar.” Jax drags a finger along the door frame around the curtain, lazily following the path with his gaze. “Ten bedrooms.”

  His masculine scent should be a warning, but I step closer. “Why not twelve?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. Fourteen.”

  I turn away, inspecting the photos mounted to the sides of the bus. Dozens of them. Some with the band, but more with his family.

  I spin on my heel. “A pool?” I ask.

  His gaze narrows. “The size of a football field.”

  “Do you even swim?”

  “Like a fish.”

  The bus lurches forward, yanking me off balance. Jax grabs me by the arms to stop me from falling.

  Now we’re committed, because we’re rolling down the road. I’m on Jax’s bus and I know it’s a bad idea. His expression says he does too.

  “You can’t be on here.”

  “Are you going to throw me out the window? At least let me grab a pillow off the couch. I can take the same one as last time.”

  His fingers dig into my skin through the fabric of the sweatshirt.

  “Why are you wearing that.”

  “It was a gift,” I remind him, my teeth grinding together as I tug on the ends of the laces through the hood. “I thought that’s how gifts worked. Once they’re yours, you get to use them however you want. Unless I’m wrong about that too.”

  When Jax’s eyes darken in confusion, I know he sees the tears stinging behind my eyes. Great.

  “What are you talking about, Hales.”

  This isn’t why I came here. But now that Jax is holding me—okay, not quite in his arms, but between his hands—I can’t lie to him.

  “Carter didn’t want to work with me. He wanted some girl to fawn over him.” I swallow the thick feeling in my throat. “He’s older and experienced and patronizing, and apparently that’s my type. Which sucks be
cause there’s no way in hell a man like that would want me. For anything.”

  Jax stares at me like I’m speaking another language. “That’s bullshit, Hales.”

  It’s not the warning in his eyes that does me in or the way his muscles flex under the faded T-shirt. It’s not the working of his jaw or the lines around his mouth or the way he stands up for me even to myself.

  It’s all of them.

  “Jax?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did I do something wrong? The other night, I mean.” I hate that I’m asking the question, but I need to know.

  Now that we’re so close, I need to know what the hell happened.

  “No.” He curses, his gaze working over mine. “No, you didn’t do a damn thing wrong. You couldn’t if you tried.”

  I risk a glance at his face, and his expression has me sucking in a breath.

  He doesn’t look angry. He looks contrite, and something I can’t quite read.

  “How long has it been since you touched someone?” Jax’s voice is barely audible over the running noise of the bus.

  “A while.”

  “How about since you wanted to?” God, his voice is low. If it were a color, it would be black.

  I reach up to where his hair’s fallen over his forehead. I tuck it back, careful not to brush his skin when I do. “Forever.”

  My fingers itch, and before I can stop them, my hands stretch out to graze his abs through the thin T-shirt.

  The muscles there twitch under my touch, and when he drags in a rough breath, his eyes lowering to half-mast, I know what it’s like to be powerful.

  That’s when I realize what’s in his expression.

  It’s longing. The kind of singular wanting that comes from looking at something you can’t ever have.

  My touch drags up Jax’s chest, exploring it the same way.

  It’s broad and hard, and I’m suddenly remembering how he looked when I caught a glimpse of him shirtless in his dressing room. I picture the lines and indentations as I touch him, and every brush of my hands on his body thrills me in a way I never expected.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask at his rough intake of breath. “You get touched by strangers every day.”