Jaxson's Song

by Angie West

  Her first sip of the coffee—light cream, no sugar—was tentative, but after a few more cautious sips, her nausea remained at a steady low ebb, no better, but no worse. It wouldn’t have mattered much even if she hadn’t been able to drink the coffee. It smelled so good, that the aroma was almost enough. The familiar scent filled the kitchen and wrapped around her, soothing nerves that had been laid bare and raw for far too long. If she didn’t think too much about her last memories of this house, she was almost…comfortable, she realized with a start. “Comfortable” was the last thing she’d ever expected to feel in this house…in Florida, even.

  “Stranger things,” she muttered, swallowing another mouthful of coffee before scooting the cup away in favor of the notepad. She picked up the pen and bit down lightly on the clear blue pen cap tucked onto the end of the Bic, then thoughtfully regarded the notes she’d already made. She had two appointments with local realtors tomorrow morning. The first, she’d scheduled for an office visit around eleven. The second meeting was with a listing gent name Rita Cash. She sounded like a younger woman, probably under thirty, Kate guessed, and she would be driving out to the house to have a look around.

  It probably wouldn’t hurt to have a few extra companies listed and lined up in case neither Realty Pro nor Cove Realty ended up working out, but her head still felt like someone had tried to do a two-step on it—so far, the aspirin hadn’t kicked in. Being one of those eternally optimistic, “glass half full” type of people, Kate held out hope that at some point today, she would stop being tempted to ask random strangers to knock her out. Until then, she planned to take it easy. Going the extra mile and carefully researching—and recording—a long list of real estate offices within fifty miles of Crystal Cove was not happening today. So she tore off the top sheet, folded it, and stuck it in her studded white wallet that sat opposite the coffee mug.

  Task accomplished—for the moment, anyhow—she idly tapped her pen on the yellow-lined paper and began to mentally compose her resignation letter. Ten minutes later, the blue porcelain mug was empty and there was a nice row of tiny, colored-in hearts gracing the margin of her page, but she was no closer to writing the dreaded two-week kiss-off. Kate frowned. She had to write that letter, and it might as well be turned in tonight. The sooner the hospital had her notice on file, the faster she could get the hell out of dodge…or, Crystal Cove, as it were.

  Plus, she needed the reference from the hospital. Without it, getting a job in Nevada would be harder, and a phone call to the Nevada state board of health had gleaned information that she’d already figured; she would have to retake her licensing exam if she wanted to work in the state. She needed that reference—scanty as it would probably be, because realistically, how much was her supervisor here in Crystal Cove supposed to say about an employee who’d watched over the morgue for a grand total of three weeks? But, at least they would say that she’d shown up to work on time, and had given notice when she had to leave…one week later. Kate winced, but squared her shoulders, determined to face reality head-on and deal with it, since her carefully laid plans were officially up in smoke.

  The pen rolled onto the paper, and she pulled out her cell phone as an idea struck. She opened up a new webpage in the browser, typed in “Resignation letters, family emergency,” and within minutes she’d saved a PDF file to her phone and emailed it to herself. She could print it out and sign it later, when she reported to work for her shift.

  That task accomplished, she refilled her mug with fresh coffee, bravely adding a teaspoonful of sugar this time, and sat down in front of her heart-riddled paper. After a moment’s hesitation, she scrawled Lindsey’s name across the top and wrote the date in the corner.

  Lindsey,

  Last night, I dreamed of her again. But this wasn’t like the other times at all. Last night, she looked—felt—so real. It wasn’t just some nightmare…I mean, it was, but it wasn’t like all of the other dreams, reliving that day and what ended up being her last moments. This was different, Linds. In this dream, one minute I was in the glass room, alone, and the next thing I knew, the lights begin to flicker in the hallway, and she walked into the room and stood behind me. It felt like she was really there, and she was so angry…

  A cold chill tracked across the back of her neck, and in the next instant, her cell phone started to ring. Kate set down the pen and shook her head when she saw who the caller was.

  “Hey, Lindsey.” She cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder and recapped the pen.

  “Well, it’s about time! I’ve been trying to call you since last night,” Lindsey huffed and puffed. “You almost had me worried.”

  “Are you running?”

  “Treadmill,” she exhaled, and Kate heard a series of beeps on the other end of the line. “Two miles. I’m done now. So, are you better today?”

  “You mean besides the hangover?”

  “Oh, well, yeah, I guess so. You really got wasted last night, huh?”

  “Hmm,” Kate scooted her chair back and stretched, shivering again as another cold chill hit; it was hard to tell whether it was her hangover playing havoc with her body or just the house’s natural “cold-blooded temperature,” as she was beginning to refer of it. Aunt Viola must have shelled out a small fortune on insulation. “It was just me, Gollum, and a cheap bottle of wine.”

  “Gollum?”

  “Oh yeah—I almost forgot, we have a cat now.” Her lips curved against the phone and she blew steam off of her mug before she took a sip.

  “Great. I always wanted a pet…I think,” Lindsey retorted dryly. “So…seriously? You’re okay? Besides the hangover?”

  Kate stared for long moments at the letter she’d been composing before she sighed, crumpled the sheet of paper in hands, and got up to throw it in the trash can at the other end of the kitchen. “Yeah. I’m fine, really. I think I’m one step closer to accepting this thing with Lilly.”

  “And Chad,” Lindsey reminded her, a scowl in her voice.

  “Yes…Chad.” Kate’s own eyes narrowed dangerously and for several beats, both women were silent.

  “Are you sure you’re holding your own?” Concern edged out the anger in Lindsey’s voice.

  “Really and truly. Don’t worry. This is all going to work out. I can feel it.” What she felt was a surge of nausea as she passed by the kitchen window. Through the glass, a radio began to blare a heavy rock tune. Lindsey started to speak, but static filled Kate’s ear, obscuring most of her friend’s reply.

  She stood on tip-toe, leaned over the sink, and craned her neck in order to get a better view of the driveway next door. Her mouth hung open as she watched Jaxson crank up a portable radio even louder and then prance down his porch steps toward his ancient car. A button-down crop top was open across his chest and tied in a knot several inches north of his navel. The fabric clung, wet and sheer, to his shoulders and arms. A pair of low-heeled silver pumps caught the sunlight and glistened as he turned to the side and bent down toward a red plastic bucket.

  He was wearing a thong.

  Somewhere down the street a car honked, a dog barked, and a man yelled what sounded suspiciously like “put some clothes on.”

  “Kate?” The line crackled again.

  “I’m fine, Lindsey, but I’m not getting any reception in here right now, for some reason. I’ll text you later.” She hung up and shoved the phone into the pocket of her jeans, all without taking her eyes off of the spectacle taking place in the driveway next door.

  “What in God’s name…” She raised a hand to her temple as her head began to pound in time to the beat of the music. Outside, in the vibrant—blinding—sunlight, Jaxson straightened away from the bucket, a large blue rectangular sponge clasped in his hands. Kate watched in fascinated horror as he raised the sponge over his chest and squeezed the soapy water over his already soaked torso. The ends of his long blond wig also received a good soaking.

  Kate opened the window and attempted to shout over the music. The r
ock tune ended, and a pulsing techno beat was carried through the window on a gust of warm, humid air. Two cups of coffee threatened to come back up, and Kate gripped the edges of the kitchen sink. A second later, she slammed the window shut, having given up on making herself heard over all the noise.

  Shoving her wallet back into the purse that was draped over the back of a kitchen chair, she wandered into the front parlor and attempted to lay down on the couch. The room reeked of the red wine she had spilled on the carpet last night and neglected to clean up—and she could still hear her neighbor’s music. She could also feel it, vibrating through her sofa. Kate clutched her head between her hands and groaned. Another car horn sounded outside, and she was on her feet and heading for the front door. Enough was enough already.

  Stopping only long enough to snag a pair of sunglasses from the side pocket of her purse, she stalked onto the front porch, wincing as the screen door banged shut behind her. Kate watched as a dark blue sedan cruised slowly to the end of the block, the vehicle’s darkly tinted windows making it impossible to discern anything about the driver.

  Her mouth settled into a grim line as she clomped down her own sagging porch steps and advanced on her neighbor. Was it any wonder that people were inching down the street? They were probably rubber-necking at the sight of a grown man in…whatever you called what Jaxson was wearing.

  Jaxson went momentarily still when he finally looked up and saw Kate striding across the lawn. The look in his eyes became shuttered, unreadable, as she halted a few feet away from him. Looking him in the eyes—and only in the eyes—was difficult, but somehow she managed it. The fact that moving her head made her want to vomit, helped, she was sure.

  “Can you please turn the music down?” she raised her voice to be heard over the noise.

  Jaxson lowered the sponge and frowned. “What?” he shouted.

  “Can you please turn the—”

  “I can’t hear you!” He shook his head and leaned in closer until droplets of cold, soapy water plopped onto Kate’s feet, dripping through the narrow slits in her Crocs and sliding between her toes to form a small, wet pool in her shoes.

  “Turn the music down!”

  “Oh.” Comprehension dawned in Jaxson’s cool, green eyes. “No.” He turned back toward the car and raised the sponge.

  “No…? No…?” Kate sputtered, glaring at her neighbor’s back. Of all the rude, un-neighborly crap!

  She spun on her heel, prepared to stomp back to her own house and hole up in a back bedroom with a pillow over her head. The techno song ended, and a radio announcer’s voice screeched through the speakers. The shrill sound speared through her head, and slowly she turned around. Jaxson was leaning over, drenching the hood of his car in sudsy water as the DJ rattled on at ear-splitting volume about free tickets and caller number five. She could go back home. Do her best to ignore Jaxson. It was the sensible thing to do, the reasonable thing to do—the Kate thing to do. Her gaze moved over her mercurial neighbor, then past him, to the porch, and she glared at the offending radio as she kicked off her wet, slippery shoes.

  Screw reasonable. She was tired of being nice.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Punish Thy Neighbor

  Jaxson bent over and retrieved the sponge from the brightly colored plastic bucket at his feet as a dark blue sedan turned the corner at the end of their street. Kate rolled her eyes heavenward—was that the same car she had seen a moment ago, when she’d stepped outside?

  Granted, Jaxson stuck out on their quiet, ordinary middle class street like a sore thumb, but didn’t people have anything better to do? The dark, four-door sedan slowed to a crawl as the driver passed by them. Jaxson thrust his wet chest out even further, and Kate folder her arms over her chest and snorted as she watched him bend over to dunk the sponge in the bucket again. Unbelievable.

  The silver-toned handle of the bucket warred with the sparkles on his heels; both were blinding in the vivid morning sunlight that beat down upon their heads, and Kate was suddenly grateful that she’d thought to put on the dark glasses before storming out her front door. She was pretty sure the shine on her neighbors shoes would have speared straight through her skull, like a vampire whose Kryptonite just happened to be cheap, tacky rhinestones.

  Jaxson shot her a look over his shoulder as the blue car disappeared around the corner at the opposite end of the block. Kate watched as the sponge cleared the lid of the bucket and slapped wetly at the hood of the car, water and bubbles flying in all directions. She sucked in an outraged breath as the cold, soapy water splashed a wet trail across the front of her t-shirt. Her eyes zeroed in on him, narrowed. Oh yeah, she was done with being nice.

  One minute, she was glaring at Jaxson’s profile, and the next she was marching behind him, past him, across the yard. The grass slid wet and slick between her toes, and the heat soaked into her skin; the vibrant mix of sensation all but obliterated the headache, was stronger—for the moment, at least—than the sick churning in her stomach. She forgot about her hangover, and her sister, wasn’t thinking about old houses, and realtors, sacrifices, jobs, Reno…Chad. She scowled; right then, all she saw was the radio.

  The DJ rattled off the next fifteen-minute set of music, and Kate glared at the small black boombox, pretending the annoying, grating voice pouring from the speakers belonged to Chad. Her bare feet thumped the lacquered paint of Jaxson’s front porch steps, leaving faint wet patches on the smooth white surface, burning a trail across the porch to the table. She skirted the matching wicker furniture, so unlike the faded, peeling wood and rusted chains of her own single porch swing. Everything here was so perfect, so shiny…she threw a quick, backward glance over her shoulder at Jaxson, who stood unmoving in the yard, his sponge dripping in mid-air as he watched her warily…so strange.

  She spun around and located the radio’s thick, black cord and followed it to the end of the porch—and into the Jaxson’s house. The screen door banged shut behind her as she stomped across his dining room and yanked the cord free of its outlet. Kate jumped as the door hit her in the rear end on her way out, adding fuel to her already smoldering temper.

  Jaxson met her at the base of the porch steps. As far as irate expressions went, she’d seen thunderclouds that were less ominous than the clear, dark anger burning in Jaxson’s eyes. Her scowl rivaled his as she made to move past him. Behind her, the radio crashed to the floor; Kate glanced back, and then down. She still had a hold of the cord. In front of her, Jaxson cleared his throat. The cord clattered to the porch at his feet when she released it and stared defiantly up at him.

  “Thanks for turning the radio off,” she snapped, shoving forward to go around him. His arms, the muscles contracting, shot out to grip the slanted handrails at either side of Kate, trapping them where they were—him planted firmly at bottom step, glowering down at her, while she lingered a step above him, staring up into his equally tense face.

  “Not so fast.”

  “Move it,” she bit out, raising both hands to the wet fabric at his chest. Her fingers flexed against the sheer cloth, and she shoved at him. He didn’t move. One dark brow raised, and his lip curved at one corner.

  “Or what?” he challenged.

  “Or…” Kate paused, her anger momentarily frozen. Or what? A frown marred her face as she opened her mouth, only to promptly snapped it shut again. She was a pitiful novice at insults—and threats—and was horrified when she drew a complete and total blank at Jaxson’s taunting. But then he gave her another one of those blood-pressure raising, sardonic smirks, and a thousand retorts flooded her mind and jockeyed for top position. “Or…shut up,” she stammered, suddenly overwhelmed. She went to duck beneath his arms, and he swiftly shifted his stance to block her.

  One of his hands came up to stop her from moving, and she sucked in her breath as his fingers, solid and hot, circled most of her upper arm.

  “Where were you last night?” he demanded, green eyes flashing.

  She’d never been more
tempted in her life to tell somebody “none of your business,” and she would have, except…it wasn’t cocky arrogance snapping like lightning in Jaxon’s gaze. It was fear; a cross between pissed off and desperate. She knew that look. It was the same one she’d seen in the mirror the one and only time Lilly had come home four hours late without a phone call. Seeing it reflected in Jaxson’s eyes was like a cold, wet shock to her senses.

  The muscles in her biceps and forearms relaxed; his remained rigid. “I stayed home… Why are you asking?” she asked, eying him suspiciously.

  “Were you alone?”

  Her eyes widened, and she inhaled his clean, soapy pine scent. A drop of water slid down one side of Jaxson’s face, and her gaze tracked its path down the strong, tan column of his throat. “Was I alone? You have got to be kidding me. That is none of your business. Do you disagree?” she challenged.

  “Yeah, I do.” He frowned, leaning forward even farther, the heat from his body in direct contrast to the cold fabric that brushed Kate’s arms and torso.

  Move. Back up… Breathe. “Well, you’re wrong.” She swallowed, her headache a dull, all-but-forgotten ache at the base of her skull. Jaxson’s chest rose and fell, and once again she caught the hint of pine.

  “Kate.” She stiffened the instant his forehead touched hers. “I knocked on your door last night. Hell, I pounded on the damn thing. Where were you?”

  “You…why?” she breathed. “What happened?” This time she did lean back, suddenly desperate to put some space between their bodies. He was too close, and she was still mad at him, about…something.

  “You tell me,” he insisted.