by Piper Lawson
My fingers continue their hypnotic path. The hem of my shirt tickles my back as I rise up on my toes so I can reach his shoulders.
“There’s just one problem, Hales,” he murmurs. His voice is every bit as dark as mine, as if maybe he’s as lost in this spell as I am.
We're close enough his breath reaches my face when my gaze lifts to meet his. “What’s that?”
His hands slide up my arms, his fingers threading in my hair and holding my head in a way that’s strangely sweet and possessive at once, tipping my face up to his.
“You’re not a stranger.”
He smells like sandalwood and shampoo, and when my nose bumps his chin, I can't help the strangled little sound that escapes my throat.
Through my lashes, I see his mouth, firm and parted.
Full of possibility for a heartbeat. Two.
Then his lips crush down on mine.
Every cell in my body comes alive at once at the feel of his mouth rubbing, teasing, parting.
My hands band around his wrists to push him away. To get some space.
He’s having none of it.
Jax isn’t gentle. He’s a hurricane, designed to wreak maximum devastation as he wakes up every nerve ending in my body.
He grabs my sweatshirt, raising his mouth long enough for me to gasp a breath as he yanks the fabric between us and over my head and back, trapping my arms in the sleeves behind me.
I’m struggling, but every move just brings me into closer contact with him. His mouth, his chest, his hands.
It’s tearing me apart. I want to scream with it.
Instead of struggling, I go still. Force myself to focus on the gentle friction of his lips. His tongue.
In that moment, I find what I’m looking for.
Not the discordance, but the tension before the resolution.
We’re a hook ready to split into a chorus.
A crowd moments from erupting…
I realize he’s right.
We’re not strangers.
I feel the moment my resistance dissolves, the second I kiss him back, my lips sliding under his. My tongue exploring his mouth.
Jax groans low in his throat, and it’s the hottest sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
I struggle to get out of the sweatshirt, feeling like an Olympic champ when it falls away.
My hands find his jaw, his hair, needing to touch him. To remind myself this is real.
A bump in the road jars me, but it only makes him tighten his hold. Jax backs me against the side of the bus and slants his mouth at a new angle. His tongue finds mine, and damn if he isn’t even more eloquent like this than he is with words.
He uses his hips to wedge mine against the side of the bus.
And holy damn, I’m lost.
Kierkegaard didn’t know shit, because the feeling of looking over a cliff? It’s got nothing on the feel of being kissed by Jax Jamieson. Being the center of his universe.
How long we kiss is anyone's guess.
In my head, it's a moment.
In my heart, it's forever.
When he pulls back, I can still taste him. My pulse hammers through my chest as my fingers brush across my lips.
Yup, still there.
Still tingling.
I bend down, retrieving the sweatshirt at my feet. There’s definitely no need for it. I think I’m sweating.
But I hug it to my chest as I sneak a look up at Jax.
He stares at me, breathing hard, like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened.
“I’m totally getting fired for that, aren’t I?” I whisper.
His half smile pulls into a grin that melts me. “Come on. It was worth it.”
A sound like rain at my back makes me jump.
“Are you kids going to fuck?” Kyle drawls. “Because if not, I need someone to battle on Guitar Hero.”
Jax and I exchange a look. Then Jax rubs his hands over his face. “Put some damned pants on, and we’ll talk.”
17
Haley
“Whoa. Twenty-one and you don’t look a day over eighteen.”
The familiar voice has me looking up from my spot in the booth during final sound check an hour from curtain in New Orleans. “Serena?!”
My friend drops her bag and runs at me, squealing.
I squeeze the air from her lungs. “What are you doing here?”
“Someone showed up at my door with a backstage pass and a plane ticket.” She pouts. “I figured I could clear my schedule.”
“Who would…” My gaze lands on the stage where Jax and his band are getting set up, and my heart expands.
Serena follows my gaze. “Damn. You have this tour thing down. Not only do you have Carter wrapped around your finger, but Jax Jamieson too?”
I shake it off. “First, there’s no fingering of any kind. Second, you were right about Carter. He hired someone else.”
Her jaw drops. “No fucking way.”
“Yeah. He also didn’t submit my program for Spark.”
“Guess I’d better start dancing again to pay for rent,” she jokes.
I groan.
“Fine. What about that?” Her hair flips as she jerks her head toward the stage.
I glance around before lowering my voice. “He might have kissed me on his bus yesterday.”
“YES!” she squeals. “Need more condoms?”
“No. But I do have the option to stay on tour for another two months.”
“In that case, you should definitely keep the condoms.” Serena winks and I roll my eyes. “I knew you’d crack this whole touring thing. In fact, I figured you were on to something and thought I might apply for a part-time job in PR at Wicked during the school year.”
“Really?”
“I bought internet and spent the whole flight here doing research. Looking through press files. Shannon Cross is a total hottie, by the way.”
“He’s too old for you.”
“Watch it, pot.” I shake my head. “Plus, there is no such thing. I need to show you something.” She holds up her phone with a picture of a dozen or so people wearing cocktail clothes. It looks like a gala of some sort. “Anyone look familiar?”
My spine stiffens. “That’s my mom.”
“It says the picture is from an event a decade ago.”
“Why would she be in a picture taken at a party for Wicked?”
“That’s a crazy coincidence.”
“Yeah. Crazy.”
Something tickles the back of my mind, and I reach for my phone.
I flip through the photos. The last few weeks include ones of Kyle doing a cameo at an anti-fur rally, Mace holding up his finished Death Star, and Lita posing with a cutout of one of her fantasy baseball pitchers whom she’s sworn she’ll marry once she retires.
I scroll back to the picture I took of the photo in Jerry’s album. The woman who bore a vague resemblance to a woman I knew more than anyone.
I’d been meaning to look into it, but it had fallen down my list of priorities.
“Shit. Did she ever mention him?”
“No.” My heart stops. “Can you just… stay a minute. I’ll be right back.”
I grab her phone and make my way up the aisle toward the stage and find Jax in the wings, bent over his guitar. “Hey.”
“Hi.” He looks around, then back at me. His eyes darken, and I wonder if he’s remembering yesterday’s kiss too.
But we’re not alone here, and now’s not the time.
“Thank you,” I say at last. “For the birthday present.”
Jax’s mouth twitches. “You’re welcome. I tried to have her wrapped, but apparently it’s a liability issue.” I can’t quite find it in me to laugh, and he picks up on that immediately. “What’s wrong.”
“Listen, I need to ask you something. I know you hate Cross, but you also know him better than anyone.” I take a deep breath. “Do you know the woman in this picture?”
I show him the one from ten year
s ago, study his face as he scans the image.
“It would’ve been around the time you started at Wicked.”
He shakes his head, slow.
“It’s my mom, Jax. Apparently Cross knew her, or she knew Wicked. As far as I know, she never worked there, and I would’ve been ten when this was taken. But I can’t help wondering if he might know who my father is.”
Jax is watching me. I’ve never seen him so still.
As if in slow motion, he takes off his guitar, folding the neck strap as he lays it on the table next to him.
“Jax.” My voice sounds tinny in my ears. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He rubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Try.”
“Haley… he knows who your father is. He knows because he is your father.”
The noise around me fades to nothing.
My brows pull together because nothing’s making sense right now. “What? For a second I thought you said Cross is my father.” I laugh, but he doesn’t follow my lead.
“Oh God. You actually think he is. Why…” I shove a hand through my hair. “Why would you think that?”
“Because he told me.”
I picture the cool, calculating man in the suit who’d watched me the day I went into his office. There’s no way we have a connection. Especially not one like that.
But the expression on Jax’s face tells me it’s true.
Jax reaches out, but I back away.
“You knew,” I whisper. “How could you not tell me?”
Someone hollers his name from across the stage, and he curses. “We’ll talk about this later.”
I turn on my heel and start back to the sound booth.
The seats blur into smudges as I stalk down the row. Over and over, it runs through my head.
Jax knew.
Why didn’t he tell me?
And then,
Is that why I’m here?
Oh God. It is.
That’s why I was chosen over two hundred applicants.
Cross picked me.
When did Jax know?
Did he know when he sat across from me in that car and threw his Snickers bar out the window?
When he took me bowling and we talked in the back of the car?
He sure as hell knew when he kissed me.
The knot in my stomach grows into a darkness that seeps into every muscle. Every pore.
This is so much worse than what happened with Carter.
“Your friend Jerry said the ticket holders are getting let in soon.” Through my blurry vision, Serena’s face comes into focus. “Haley, what’s wrong?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m wrong. I was wrong about everything.”
18
The first time I set foot on the stage of an arena, I was terrified.
But the same thing that scared the shit out of me then became the thing that made me invincible.
The audience. Every pair of eyes trained on you, every person invested in what you’re about to do for them, create with them, makes you stronger.
Being onstage in front of twenty thousand people is like being immortal.
I don’t care what you’re guilty of. All of it melts away for a few hours here, under the lights.
Each night I’m Icarus, flying into the sun.
Too high to see that every move I make brings me closer to my own destruction.
At least that’s how it’s always been.
Tonight, I feel her eyes on me from the booth.
Though I can’t see her, as the curtain rises and we break into our opening number, I pretend I can.
She’s judging me.
She deserves to.
We blaze through the set list. Each song gets all of me because holding something back would be a bigger crime.
At the end, I turn to Mace and mutter in his ear.
His eyes widen. “Seriously?”
He goes to Kyle, who locks eyes with me, but I’m already turning back to my mic stand.
You’re standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss, and you’re twice afraid.
Once for the knowledge that you could fall.
And once for the knowledge that the choice of whether to stay or whether to jump is yours.
The arena’s silent as I wrap my hands around the mic, and for the first time in a long time, I’m exposed.
“There are moments that define us, for better and for worse. This song reminds me of the darkest time in my life. A time I wanted to leave behind. But the reason I’m playing it is a bright one.” I swallow. “A hopeful one.”
Cries start up, but I ignore them as I do something I haven’t done in ten years.
I play “Inside.”
And it’s not for my band, or the fans.
It’s for her.
I told Cross I would do the extra two months of shows because I’ve been dealing with the fallout from Grace and Annie for years. I may not be able to make up for that, but for the first time, I have hope that I can.
Especially if she’s here.
The crowd deafens me as we finish the number and leave the stage.
Mace calls after me, but I ignore him, winding through the backstage corridors to my dressing room.
There’s a girl in there, and for a split second, I imagine she’s Haley.
She can’t be. She’s taller with blond hair. Plus she’s dressed up.
“Jax.”
“Who are—”
“Serena. Haley’s friend.”
I notice the backstage pass swinging around her neck. “Right. Where’s Haley?”
“She left.”
My eyes fall closed. “Left for where?”
When she doesn’t answer, I glare at her.
“You can’t scare me with that look. I’m going to tell you because I think you guys should talk but not because you look like you’ll kill me if I don’t.” She takes a breath. “She’s going to Nashville. Tonight.”
I spin on my heel and stalk down the hall.
19
Haley
Two months later
* * *
“There you go, darlin’.”
My fingers grab the fifty the second it hits the sticky counter. The money is soft, frayed, as if it’s done this a million times before. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
“No change.” The guy flashes me a grin, and I make change in the register before putting the rest in the tip jar. “Since it’s windin’ down in here, why don’t we have a drink?”
I round the bar to put the stools on tables and collect the salt and pepper shakers, flashing the automatic smile I’ve learned in the last two months. “I’m a little out of my league drinking that bourbon.”
He follows, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His gaze crawls up my legs under the short denim skirt that’s practically a uniform here in Nashville.
I pray he’s not going to do something stupid.
My manager’s in the back office, talking to our bouncer.
Or possibly doing something else, which I definitely don’t begrudge them doing because they got married last year and have had zero time together.
I should’ve closed up twenty minutes ago but got lost doing dishes.
“Sweetheart, I been in here three times this week. Ain’t never seen you with a man.”
I sense it before I feel him graze my back. Before I smell the booze on him. “Then your vision’s 20/20.”
“Maybe you like to play hard to get.” He leers and reaches for me.
But before his hand grabs my ass through my jean skirt, the industrial salt shaker in my hand catches him in the junk hard enough his eyes bulge.
The beauty of the salt shaker. Small enough to be used as a defensive weapon. Sturdy enough not to break when you can a guy with it.
He writhes on the floor, adopting the fetal position like it’s his job.
“Hey!” Andre’s baritone hollers from the
back doorway.
The guy pulls himself up and slinks out the door. I lock it behind him.
“You okay Haley?” Andre’s thick brows draw together on his forehead. He’s lost his cowboy hat somewhere in the thirty minutes since I saw him last, and his hair’s a mess.
“Peachy.” I say it with more confidence than I feel.
He studies me, hard, but decides not to press it. “I’ll clean up in the back if you finish up here. And don’t forget this.” He fishes in the cash register where an envelope’s wedged in the side and hands it to me. “Your bonus.”
“Thanks.”
He retreats with a salute and Lita sidles up. “Last night in Nashville.”
“You guys were great,” I say as I grab the last of the salt shakers and bring them behind the bar to refill. “Sorry the Dodgers lost.”
“S’okay. Kershaw’s killing it on the season. Which means I still have the best pitching rotation in the league.”
Lita looks pointedly at my bare legs, wiggling her eyebrows. “I see you working it over there.”
“Two months in this place has given me a whole new outlook on life.” I lift the hem of my shirt, sniffing. “Plus clothes that’ll never stop smelling like rye.”
I pop open my laptop behind the bar. “I chose my classes for the fall semester. Midnight tonight”—it’s after two now—“we’re supposed to get our final schedule.”
“You have enough for tuition?”
“Yup. Thanks to my miniskirt.” She laughs.
I scroll down the page, scanning for the confirmation.
“What the…” I start. Lita peers over my shoulder. “It says I’m not enrolled.”
There must be a mistake. I submitted the report on my co-op term on schedule. Early, actually.
I click through the webpage to the co-op section. There’re a bunch of green checks, and at the bottom…and a red X where it says “employer verification.”
“What’s happening?” Lita asks.
“I have no idea.”
I pull out my phone and dig up a number I’ve never had to use. It rings twice.
“Hi, Nina.”
“Haley?”
