Jag (Pandemic Sorrow #1)

by Stevie J. Cole

  I went directly through the lobby to the pool deck and collapsed in a lounge chair. I stared at the brightly lit pool. I couldn’t believe that fucker had brought her here, then tried to punk me out on fucking stage!

  I laid there for about thirty minutes staring up at the sky, just thinking about shit, and decided to call Roxy.

  I slumped down in the chair, and Roxy answered, “Well, hello.”

  “Hey, princess. What are you doing?” I felt a smile cross my face.

  “Oh, nothing. Getting ready to watch Sons of Anarchy.”

  I laughed. “Well, I want you to come visit me. You think you could get out here to Charleston in about four days?”

  Roxy sighed into the phone. “I would love to, but –”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve already got Jules working out the tickets – first class, of course – and talking to your boss. I want to see you. I need to see you. Money can buy me happiness since it can get you to me.”

  Roxy giggled into the phone. “Do you even know how to do anything like a normal person? What if I’d said no?”

  “You wouldn’t. And no, remember, I forgot what being normal was a long time ago.” She let out a slightly agitated yet pleased groan, and the sound of it got to me. I missed her. I pulled the phone closer to my face and felt a grin shape my lips. “What are you wearing?”

  “Um, clothes…”

  “I think you should just be naked.”

  “Jag. Really?”

  “Just humor me, princess.”

  Roxy huffed into the phone. “I’m not going to have phone sex with you, if that’s what you’re getting at. We’re not in fucking middle school.”

  “Middle school?” I laughed. “Is that what they do in middle school in Van Nuys? Fuck!”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Okay, okay. Just do me a favor and say ‘more.’”

  She was quiet for a minute, then begrudgingly, and more out of curiosity than anything, said, “More.”

  I knew what I was doing. “Say ‘harder.’”

  She groaned.

  “Come on, princess. Just do it.”

  “Harder.” This time her tone was angrier, and I liked that.

  “Whisper ‘Jag.’”

  “Jag.” She drug out the vowel in the middle and put a slight moan in at the end.

  “Now,” I knew this next request was pushing it, “say ‘my wet pussy.’”

  She was silent, and I was on edge waiting to see if she’d actually say it. Girls hate that word for some reason.

  A breath crossed the phone. “No. I prefer a slick pussy. A hot, slick fucking pussy.” She laughed and it was a wicked, naughty giggle. “Let’s see, you want me to say something like, I want you to imagine I’m naked, except for a pair of pink heels, and I’m slipping my round ass over your hard dick, just teasing you. Then I turn around and work my tongue down that godlike stomach of yours to the tip of your head, licking ever so gently over your bulging, perfectly shaped hard-on. Lapping up that little bead of sweet, precious pre-come that rolls out just before I slam my entire wet, warm mouth over you. My tongue traces down the front of you, over those veins and all, then I grab that fucking piercing between my teeth and pull – just a little, just enough to put a little bit of fear in you that if I lose control, I may rip it out of that thin skin.” she panted, pausing to release a long, drawn-out moan.

  I unzipped my jeans and grabbed my dick, pulling on the piercing like she’d said she would do. What she was saying was definitely hot, but the fact that she was saying it is what was getting to me even more. I sucked in a short breath through my gritted teeth. “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you. I want to grab you right between the legs and shove a finger up in that slick piece of pussy; slam you down on the floor and spread your legs apart until you think your muscles are going to pop. I will fucking eat that shit, bite on your lips, while my finger fucks you. Nibble that swollen little clit of yours and just let that sweet-ass feminine taste of yours fill my mouth.” Roxy let out another soft moan, and my hand slapped against my stomach, I was jerking one off so hard.

  “Then I’m going to grab you by the hair and push you out from between my thighs and I’m gonna straddle you, just slide myself back and forth over you, teasing you till you want to throw me down and fuck me, hard and rough…”

  That beautifully filthy speech of hers was interrupted by the awkward sound of one heel clomping across the pavers. I was so damn close, I chose to block it out.

  I whispered, “I’m going to bend you over and –” The clack, pat, clack, pat noise grew louder, and it stopped directly behind my chair.

  I felt a hand yank the phone from my ear, followed by River letting out a growl. “Oh. My. God! I’m so glad I’m not with you anymore. You are pathetic.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? I fucking can’t stand you! Get the hell outta here, you psychotic cunt!” I shouted, trying to hop up from the chair, but my leg got caught between the slats.

  “He’s busy,” River snarled into the phone, then tossed it out into the vacant pool.

  “Go to hell. Would you just get the fuck away from me? Leave me alone.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why’d you do that to Pax?”

  I finally freed my foot from the chair, and I stalked over toward her. “Why the hell not? He’s an ass. He betrayed my trust. He fucking deserved it.”

  A slight grin slipped over her lips. “You know you fucked up. That’s why. And who the hell were you talking to?”

  I wanted to shove her, push her, shake her; do something physical to her. But I refrained and instead just shook my head and jumped into the cold pool after my phone. When I surfaced, River was still standing there with her arms over her chest.

  I climbed out of the pool, sopping wet and angry as hell. My boots squished as I walked past her. “If you fucked this up,” I shook my soaked phone at her, “I swear to God…” I couldn’t even get my thoughts together enough to finish that sentence, so I just walked to the doors of the hotel.

  Chapter 30

  We always played Savannah. Always. Despite the bitching from James, we had come to an agreement that we would always play in our hometown. Turning down the main street, we passed the Oglethorpe Mall. Stephanie had worked in one of the stores when we were dating, and I couldn’t help but think about Layne, which made my stomach kink up. I made my way to the back of the bus and climbed into my bunk. I shut the curtain and pulled out my phone. Dialing her number, I patted my pocket for a bump, but then stopped.

  I sat in the back, convincing Stephanie that I wanted to see Layne, threatening that if she didn’t let me see him, I’d rip the papers to shreds and never even debate on giving her what she wanted. I had four hours before I had to be at the arena, and she said she’d meet me at the park for an hour. A fucking hour.

  I sat on the worn, wooden bench, feeling along the back for mine and Stone’s names that we’d carved there when I was twelve. My finger traced along a faded “J,” and then I heard my name.

  “Jag.”

  I glanced over my glasses and saw Stephanie and Layne standing in front of me. He was clinging to her arm, looking up at me from behind his hand.

  I smiled at him and he nuzzled closer to her leg.

  “Layne, honey.” Stephanie pushed him away from her a little. “This is – mommy’s friend, Mr. Jag.”

  He looked up at her with his round eyes. “I ‘member him. He was sad about his daddy.”

  Stephanie nodded. “Why don’t you go talk to him? Maybe he’ll go play with you on the swings.”

  Wiping my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans, I stood up. “Want to go swing? I can push really high.”

  A deep smile shot across his face, and he reached his hand out and grabbed mine. That touch choked me up. I was touching my own son for the first time, taking his tiny little hand in mine. We walked toward the swings and he kept looking up at me.

  “You’re on TV. Di
d you know that, Mr. Jag? I see you on a lot of those picture things in the stores. You know, all those papers by the bubblegum?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I like to sing.”

  Layne smiled again. “Me too.”

  “Really? Well, I bet you’re pretty good.”

  He shrugged a little and kicked the pea gravel up with the toe of his tennis shoe. “Mommy says I am.”

  We came to the swings, and I held the chains to help him get on. Layne tilted his head to the side and studied my face. “What happened to your daddy?”

  “Oh,” I released a breath, trying to figure out if it was appropriate to try and explain death to a little kid. Then I thought of the simple way my mom had explained my grandma’s death to me when I was close to his age. “He had to go to heaven.”

  “Oh.” He sat down in the swings and wrapped his hand around the chain as he glanced back at me. “That’s sad. I think that’s where my daddy went too, ‘cause I’ve never seen him. I didn’t have a daddy for a long time, and it made me sad. That’s why I got a new one. Mommy said I’m too little to not have a daddy.”

  My throat tightened, and I had to take several deep breaths to control the tears blurring my eyes. I pulled him back and let him go, watching as he kicked his legs out.

  I swung him silently for about ten minutes, and then he said, “Mr. Jag, you want to go play in the sandbox with me?”

  “Sure. I used to play in that same sandbox when I was little too.”

  “Really? Wow. We sure do like a lot of the same things! We both like to sing and play in sand,” he giggled. “Do you live here?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, I live in California.”

  “Wow! That’s where that Mickey Mouse lives, I think.” He paused for a second, then said, “If you lived here, we could play together all the time. That would be fun.”

  That made my heart flop a few times. I had intentionally stayed sober. I needed to feel this pain. This wasn’t a part of my life I could let be numbed if I wanted to make the right decision.

  I followed Layne over to the sandbox and looked back over at Stephanie sitting anxiously on the edge of the bench, staring at me and biting her nails.

  For most of the time I just sat there, shoveling sand and dumping it where Layne instructed me to; just watching him. He pushed his shovel deep into the sand and when he lifted it, sand flew all over my face. He burst into laughter, and so did I. I stood up and shook the sand from my hair.

  He giggled some more and then said, “That was funny.”

  “Yeah,” I said, sitting back on the edge of the box. “It was pretty funny, huh?”

  He rocked back, still spilling out a belly laugh. “Yeah. I liked when you shaked your head like…” Layne bent over and shook his head.

  I grabbed him and tickled him. “It was?”

  “Layne?” Stephanie had risen from the bench and was making her way in our direction. “We’re gonna have to go soon, baby.”

  “Aw, Mommy. I’m having fun. Do we have to? Mr. Jag, he’s funny.”

  Stephanie’s eyes fell down to mine, and she looked helpless. “I know, baby. But Mommy’s got to get dinner ready.” She pointed back over to the slides. “Why don’t you go slide for a minute so mommy can talk to Mr. Jag about something?”

  Layne hesitated for a minute before scampering off toward the slides.

  She shook her head, and I could see tears flooding her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Jag, I am, but I just want what’s best for him.”

  I watched him go up and down the slide as I wiped my hand down my face. “I know, Steph. I know.”

  “I really am sorry I did this to you,” she whispered and hugged me.

  Having her hug me like that was awkward and I didn’t like it, but I hugged her back because I didn’t believe she’d really done this to hurt me. I didn’t want to believe that.

  The two of us watched Layne playing for a while. We said nothing, just watched our son playing, and for a minute I’d wished he could have been my life, that I’d never taken that call and that I’d never missed a day of his life.

  “Stephanie, you two ready?” a male voice came from behind me. I spun around and found a guy in a collared shirt and khakis walking up.

  “Yeah, I guess we are.” Stephanie turned back to me. “Jag, this is Cameron, my fiancé.”

  My eyes shot back over at him, looking over the man who wanted to fill a role I evidently couldn’t. Cameron stuck his hand out to shake mine. “Nice to meet you. I’m actually,” he chuckled to himself, “actually a really big fan. Revolution, that entire album’s killer.”

  Reluctantly, I took his hand and shook it. “Thanks, man. Appreciate that.”

  I stared, narrowing my gaze on him. He looked like a complete tool: completely responsible, most likely a desk jockey, and exactly like all those dads that coach Little League. As I released his hand, I caught a glimpse of my black nails, my accessories, and my long, unruly hair blowing in the wind. Who had I been kidding? I wasn’t dad material. I was a fucking grown-ass kid myself. I did good to take care of myself. Actually, I don’t know that what I’d been doing up to that point in my life could even be considered taking care of myself.

  “Daddy!” Layne squealed as he ran full force toward us. For a minute I panicked, wondering how in the hell he knew, wondering if Stephanie had lied to me, but then he slammed into Cameron and clamored up his legs and into his arms. That right there shattered any remaining pieces of me that had been intact.

  “Daddy, Daddy! Mr. Jag pushed me on the swings, and he played in the sand, and he got it all in his hair, and then he shaked it out like this.” Layne slung his head back and shook it violently, giggling the entire time. He pulled himself back up and grabbed Cameron by the face, smashing his cheeks together. “And he sings too. You know that?”

  Cameron laughed. “Yes, I know, buddy. Daddy loves Mr. Jag’s music. I was excited when Mommy told me she was meeting him before his show.” Cameron glanced over at me. “I’ve actually got tickets to go tonight. Couldn’t talk Steph into it, but I’m gonna be there. I had no idea she used to be friends with you.”

  “Really? No idea, huh?” I asked, glaring at Stephanie. “Yeah. We were really close there for a while. Shame we lost touch the way we did. I didn’t even know she had a kid.”

  Cameron put Layne down and brushed the wrinkles out of his shirt. “I never even put two and two together that you guys went to the same high school. Just kind of sprung that news on me today. I was just going to wait in the car, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet you.”

  “Ah, well, always glad to meet fans,” I said, running my tongue over my teeth. “Well, I guess I’d better be going. Got to get ready for the show.” I knelt down and looked at Layne. “Hey. Could I have a hug?” Layne came barreling over and wrapped his arms around my neck tightly. When he let me go, I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You know, you’re named after my favorite rock star.”

  “Mick Jagger?” Layne asked innocently. “Mommy said I was named after Mick Jagger.”

  I laughed. “Really? Funny. So was I, but no. Layne Staley was my favorite singer.”

  “Oh.” Layne nodded his head. I knew he had no idea who that was. That question was aimed more as a condescending comment to her.

  I shook Cameron’s hand and turned to Stephanie. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself. Cute kid, doting father…” I gave her a half-ass hug. “I’ll be sure to send you those papers in the mail. I know when I’m not needed, or welcomed, or told the damn truth.”

  As I walked off, I heard Cameron ask Stephanie, “What papers?”

  She hadn’t even fucking told him the truth.

  Chapter 31

  After the show I let Rush talk me into going out. We went down to River Street and made our way to Coyote’s. On the way there I’d snorted a line. I’d felt enough for the fucking day, for the month; hell, in the past month I’d felt enough for the rest of my motherfucking life. As soon as we walked off the cob
blestone street and into the bar, I ordered four shots of bourbon, two for me, two for Rush.

  Ignoring the girls eye-fucking us and the guys sizing us up, I turned to Rush. “I’m getting fucked up.”

  “When don’t you?” he snorted, and tipped his shot glass back.

  “Nah, man. I’m getting blitzed.” I poured mine in my mouth and swallowed, then immediately turned back around to the bar and shouted, “Four more bourbons.” The half-dressed waitress rolled her shoulder slyly, batted her eyelashes, and blew a kiss in my direction.

  Rush brushed his hands through his hair. “You really gonna let Pax get to you like that?”

  Shaking my head, I said, “Not Pax. Not River…”

  Rush grabbed the shots from the bartender and placed mine in my hand. “Oh. That new chick, what’s her name? Foxy Roxy?” he snickered.

  “Roxy. Her name’s Roxy. And no, not her either. Life. Life just pisses me off. I want to get so fucked up that maybe I can just forget this entire fucking day. Kill every last brain cell that has some part of it seeped in there and destroy it. This entire day needs to just vanish from my fucking mind.”

  Rush’s eyes widened and he blinked a few times. “Well, damn. Okay, then.” Glancing around the back of my head, he swatted at my hair. “And just what the fuck is that? Are you wearing a damn mun?”

  “A mun?” I arched a brow at him and poured the other shot into my mouth, swallowing it down and praying that as soon as the coke wore off, I’d be shitfaced drunk.

  Rush leaned against the bar and eyed a group of girls who I was certain had gotten in with some fake IDs. “A man bun. A fucking mun.” His eyes left the girls and fell back on me. “Stop looking like a douche and take that shit down. As a rocker you are required to have fuckin’ bad-ass hair that makes girls want to bang the shit out of you. Chicks like the wavy, messy, unruly shit, not some neatly tucked-up secretary bun. I think the drugs have fucked you up permanently.” He clicked his mouth as if he were calling a cat and motioned for those girls to come over. “Not gonna get pussy with a fucking mun, dude.”