I feigned a smile, confused and slightly embarrassed that Jax's made-up story was beginning to border on parody. But judging from the band's bored expressions, they'd heard crazier.
"Too bad you guys didn't come with us," Sky said, a huge grin suddenly streaking across her face as she changed the subject. "We partied at Lizzie Boham's house! It was so wild."
If they'd gone to Lizzie Boham's house, then they must have been hanging with the A-list Hollywood crowd. And I'd read stories about the excessive, booze- and drug-fueled parties at Boham's Beverly Hills mansion. "Really?" I asked, glad to be changing the topic. "Did you crash it?"
Kev shook his head emphatically. "She was at the gig and dropped us invites. I think she was disappointed Jax didn't show." He made a wry face. "Figures."
Chewie laughed. "No, man, she got over it. Once I rolled her a tasty blunt, she forgot about him real good."
Jax reached over, wincing a little, and poked Chewie's shoulder playfully. "Watch out—if you keep hanging with her you might make the tabloids."
The more Jax acted like nothing had happened, the more concerned I felt about him. Burning down your childhood home wasn't the kind of thing you could walk away from without some permanent scarring.
"Nah," Chewie said before taking a giant rip of the bong. He exhaled a skunky cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. "I can do that by myself. But if she wants to tag along, I won't stop her."
Everyone laughed, and I snuck another look at Jax. Just a glance at his handsome,bruised face made my heart beat a little faster. He was smiling along with the rest of the band, laughing like it was any other day.
His lightheartedness, bordering almost on cheerful, struck me as unusual. Then again, I remembered how I'd laughed right after we'd gotten back. Maybe Jax was just now having the same rush of excited relief I'd had before.
Jax's hand darted out with lightning-quick reflexes as he grabbed the remote from Kev and turned up the volume on the TV. "This stuff came out really good." The camera panned around the stage, stopping momentarily to highlight each of the band members, then zoomed in close to Jax's face. The Jax on TV held the microphone close to his lips, his eyes squeezed shut, with his voice rising in passionate abandon.
Sky laughed and pointed at the screen. "You look like you're about to give that microphone a blowjob."
I whipped my head around to look at Jax, expecting to see him scowling with irritation. Instead, Jax just grinned. "Nah, that's not my style."
I managed a small smile. A real one, this time. But I was also burning to talk to Jax alone, to see how he was doing. Unfortunately, the band looked comfortably camped out, watching the footage.
"We're just lucky they filmed this before you went and got your head bashed in," Kev observed. "That wouldn't have looked so good."
Jax just shrugged and we all kept watching the TV. After about ten minutes though, he pressed pause. "You guys don't have to keep watching if you don't want to." He turned to Sky. "Didn't you say you wanted to hit the beach?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I could finish watching it later. I want to soak up as much sun as I can while I'm here. Anyone with me?"
"Me," Kev said, a grin lighting up his boyish face. "I could use some waves."
Chewie stood up too and stuck his drumstick in his back pocket. "Yeah, and I could check out the babes. I like me some California girls." He began humming the Beach Boys song under his breath.
Sky turned to me and Jax. "What about you two?"
Jax shook his head. "No, I want to finish watching this."
"And I'm still tired from last night," I chimed in, relieved that Jax had found a way for us to be alone.
The band horsed around as they got their swim stuff together, with Chewie taking the time to rip another couple massive hits on the bong. Then they left the bus, earnestly and loudly debating whether to hit Venice Beach or Santa Monica.
It was just the two of us now.
I curled my legs up on the couch and shifted around to look carefully at Jax. He'd set the ice pack down, and the lightheartedness in his face had switched to concern.
He touched my cheek, his eyes resting on the scrape I'd gotten last night. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with urgency. "I was so messed up last night, I didn't even check you out."
"I'm fine," I protested as Jax picked up my hand and looked at it closely. "I want to ask about you."
"This is a burn," he said, ignoring my words and pointing to the small red spot where the molotov cocktail had singed my skin. He got up and grabbed the first aid kit from the table.
"It's nothing," I said, knowing that my minor scrapes and bruises were nothing to fuss about. But Jax just opened the kit anyway and took out a small bandage. His brow furrowed as he secured it over my tiny burn.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked when he finished, his eyes filled with concern.
My heart swelled with a sudden rush of affection. How could he be so hurt himself, and still worry over me?
"I'm fine," I insisted gently. "But what about you? Should we call the doctor?"
A flash of emotion clouded his face, but then it was gone. "I'm fine too. Actually, I feel a lot better."
I peered at him, wanting to take his word for it, but the memory of his gigantic bruise left me still doubtful. "Are you sure about that? Last night—" I cut myself off, not wanting to force Jax to relive the memories.
"I'm sure," he replied, his voice firm. I knew that tone. When he sounded like that, there was no arguing with him. I would have to respect that he knew his own body—if he said he was fine, then it must really not be as bad as it looked.
He picked up the remote and turned the TV back on. We sat in silence. After a minute, I glanced at his face. Now that he'd stopped worrying about me, his expression was almost cheerful again as he watched the concert footage. I wanted to ask him more, to find out how he was really feeling about what had happened to him last night, but something in his face made me hesitate. It seemed like he was determined to not let the trauma of last night upset him. But how could he not be upset, when his own dad . . . I shuddered.
An image of Chewie bashing on the drums zoomed up on the TV. Jax stared at the screen intently, then jotted some words down in the notebook that he had balanced on the armrest of the couch.
"What are you writing?" I asked, wanting to say something, get him talking to me. Maybe I could find out something that way.
He finished scribbling his sentence, picked up the remote, and paused the TV. Excitement made his eyes glitter. "The filmmaker wants us to review the raw footage from last night, tell her what we love and hate. If I get this done quick she can start editing, blast out a film, and we capitalize on the goodwill from this tour."
He sounded so happy. "Oh," I said, "That's good for you guys then. Is it a lot of work?"
He grabbed my legs and swung them in his lap. "No, or I'd ask the rest of the band to help. But I got this."
He smiled at me, and began rubbing my bare feet. His strong hands squeezed my arches, and my toes curled with pleasure. He was being so sweet, so positive—I guess of all the ways I might have thought he'd be acting this morning, happy was the last that came to mind. But here he was, right before my eyes, smiling at me.
"It's nice to see you in a great mood today," I said carefully.
He nodded as he massaged each of my toes, one by one. "It's all coming together. With the band, with you—" he broke off to give me another kiss. "You know you're a kickass, beautiful girlfriend."
I hesitated for a moment before squeezing him back affectionately. Still no mention of Darrel, of any of it—maybe it was just too hard to talk about.
I ran a finger through his hair and tugged at the ends. "You sound like you've got it made." My voice was gently inquiring.
"Uh huh. Especially after I play the show tonight. It's gonna be wild."
"Oh." I blinked rapidly. That was right. They had one more show at the Roman.
Somehow, it didn't seem
right that he would go on stage, not after all he'd been through. What if he made himself worse, by spending the massive amount of energy he needed to perform? And no matter what he said, he had to be in pain.
"For some reason I thought that might get rescheduled," I said, keeping my voice light.
Jax stopped rubbing my left foot and raised his eyebrows. "What? It's been sold out for I don't know how long."
"But theoretically it could be done though, right?" I asked. "No one loses out. The tickets just get automatically transferred to the new date."
"Yeah, and everyone's disappointed."
"But it happens all the time. I can't tell you how many shows I've had rescheduled on me."
He snorted and resumed his caresses, this time focusing on my calves. His inky hair partially hid his face, but I could see his lips curved wryly. "C'mon, I bet you weren't too thrilled when they did that."
"Yeah," I admitted, "But I'm just saying it could be done. With probably just a few phone calls."
He tucked his hair behind an ear and gave me a stubborn look. "You make it sound easy, but I don't think that's how it works."
I bit my lip. Even if he was well enough not to go the hospital, he still might not be ready for any taxing physical stuff. An image of Jax's violent beating flashed through my mind, and I repressed a shiver at the memory.
I traced a feather soft finger across his shoulder blade. "No one would blame you if you took some time off to heal."
He shook his head. "I'd blame me. I'm not gonna let down my fans, or my band, or you."
"Jax, you wouldn't let me down—"
"This is going to be the best show of the whole freakin' tour," he continued. "I'm not going to cancel." He gave me a piercing, haunted look. "I need this."
His warm, calloused hand gripped mine. I could sense wound up energy coiled deep inside his body, and somehow I knew this was about more than just being a dedicated musician. I placed my hand over his heart and gazed into his intense, dark eyes. He needed to play tonight—and let out all the emotion he'd been holding back.
I took a long slow breath. I was still worried about him, but Jax knew better than I what was good for him. If this was what he needed to heal, then I wasn't going to stand in the way.
"Alright, go get your rock on." I kissed him softly on the lips. "I know you'll be amazing."
He stroked my hair and smiled contentedly. "Pepper, you're one in a million."
We stayed cuddled up as he picked up the remote and restarted the footage. I kept my hand in his, enjoying the closeness of his touch.
It seemed odd, that after all that had happened to us the other night, we could just go back to our lives like we'd never been through hell. So far, it was all working out better than I could've expected—the Reapers were off our tail, no cops had hassled us, and the band hadn't even been upset by what happened, thanks to Jax's cover story.
Jax furrowed his brows in concentration as a new camera angle popped up on the TV, and a reddish scrape along his jaw shone in contrast with his olive skin. He'd been hurt so much in the past, but now everything seemed to be working in his favor, thank god. He deserved it more than anyone.
After the nightmare of last night, it seemed like everything was going to be all right after all.
Chapter Four
THE SHOW MUST GO ON
Before I knew it, I was standing in the same sidestage spot I had watched from just the day before, waiting with trepidation as the venue finished filling up with fans hoping for the show of their lives. The energy in the building seemed to have its own pulse. Everyone wanted The Hitchcocks to come on stage and begin the show. Everyone wanted Jax. The Roman was rocking, and the show hadn't even started yet.
While the crowd was humming with anticipation, I was simply nervous. My mind buzzed with exhaustion as I tried to fight back my worries. Jax said he would be fine—and there was nothing left for me to do but just trust that he was right. Still, I repeated a mantra that contained every hope I'd had since I had gone to sleep the previous night.
It's going to be okay. Jax is going to be okay.
Finally, the lights went dim. The crowd erupted as The Hitchcocks filtered onto the stage, Jax last of all. As soon as the crowd caught sight of him, they somehow screamed even louder. Jax was right. These people would have been very disappointed if he had cancelled. I just had to hope he would make it through the performance in one piece.
He stalked forward to the edge of the stage, took the microphone off its stand, and froze, standing there in leather pants and a black t-shirt that stretched around his shoulders and chest like a statue of rock god perfection. The stage lights came on. Chewie hit his sticks together with four rhythmic clacks, Jax sprang into motion, and the band began to play.
Like a taut bow finally released, the show was on, and the crowd was in a frenzy as they sang along with their hero. Several women toward the front, dressed in matching Hitchcocks t-shirts, screamed in unison before flashing the stage. Kev gave a sly grin to Chewie, who nodded back. Sky rolled her eyes, but Jax seemed not to notice.
Even through my exhaustion, I could see that for this set, he was in it. There was nothing else. It was obvious why he needed this. Between the music and the energy of the crowd, there was no time to think or worry. About his dad. About his demons. About anything.
As the band settled into the show, I watched as Jax moved around the stage as energetically as ever, seeming totally unaffected by his injuries. He was in full Jax Effect mode, and every woman in the building—myself included—was falling under his spell. With every song, my worries about the safety of Jax performing drained away more and more.
This was his element—and as I watched, I gave myself over to the energy of the band, unable to tear my eyes away from Jax. Somehow, the past twenty-four hours had changed something between us. Before, I had been trying to see past his stage persona to find the real him. But after sharing with me his true, traumatic past, I knew what fueled his passion for music, and what I was seeing on stage wasn't just an act for the crowd. It was about as close as Jax ever got to showing his true self to the world.
At least, as close as he got with anyone but me. We had something different.
The energy in The Roman continued to build as the band cruised through the first half of their set before coming to the set's first ballad. Sweating profusely from the performance, Jax took a drink of water and pulled out a stool to sit on as he typically did for this part of the show. While I couldn't see his face from my vantage, I could see the suddenly serious expressions on the faces of his fans, and it felt like everyone's mood had shifted. Now that they had rocked, it was time to get raw.
Jax looked around at the audience as he took a seat on the stool, microphone in hand. He seemed to be even more emotionally invested in this song than normal. The way he slouched down after he sat, collecting himself, sent a stab of worry through me. Were his injuries beginning to affect him?
But then the band began to play and he sprang back into life, crooning through the first verse of the song. He came to the chorus.
And when you pick at scabs before
they've healed you open up the door
to feel like bleeding might be best today.
You bare your secrets . . .
alone.
I had heard him sing this song many times, but this was the first time I had heard it and knew the secrets he was hiding, the scabs he was hoping would heal. Before last night, he had only ever opened up the door to those secrets to write them into his songs, but he wasn't alone anymore. He had me, and I was going to help him heal once and for all no matter what it took.
The intensity of my feelings as I watched him, glistening under the stage lights in front of adoring fans, scared the hell out of me. We had only known each other a few weeks, and yet the connection I felt with him was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
Was I losing my mind? Last night I had thrown a molotov cocktail and burned up a bunch of bike
s belonging to a motorcycle gang. People were supposed to settle down as they aged, but with him I was feeling more out of control than I had ever been.
Still, I was crazy about him, and I couldn't shake that feeling. Even if life felt like it was spinning out of control, Jax made me feel more alive than I ever had before.
I shifted back and forth on my feet to the beat of the song as it built towards its climax. Even if the way I felt about Jax scared me, being with him was something I wanted. I knew he had demons he hadn't faced, and I knew it would be hard, but that didn't matter to me.
What mattered was the man who had trusted me enough to bring me to the heart of his trauma. After that, I knew he believed in me. And I believed in him.
Jax hopped up off the stool and wobbled as he went down to his knees for the end of the third verse. I hadn't seen him do this before, and even caught Sky send a questioning look over his way. She quickly wiped it from her face and returned her focus to the show. Jax kept singing, seemingly without problem, the volume of his voice rising as the music got louder for the last chorus.
He put his soul into it, clenching his free hand into a fist as he bent over, sat on his heels, and spat out the words inches from the fans in the front row. They ate it up and sang along with him, tears in their eyes and rolling down their cheeks. I blinked and realized I was crying along with them, the performance tugging at my frayed emotions. His music was so beautiful.
He reached the last line of the song. The lights went dark and the pyro kicked in, silhouetting Jax in an orange glow. Still on his knees, head back, he screamed the last note, his voice going through several levels of hell as he twisted and squeezed every ounce of pain he could from the song. Finally, his voice gave out, the music stopped, the final pyro flared, and he fell from his knees onto his back.
My heart stopped. Time stopped. Something was wrong.
The crowd cheered in the background like static from a radio station out of range. I waited for Jax to get up. A spotlight shone down on him as the last chord from Kev's guitar finally gave way to silence.
Fearless Page 3
