Tears formed in the corner of my eyes. "I don't know. Our lives are too different. Like I said, I'm better off."
Jen reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "Love isn't something you can talk yourself out of. If you feel that way, and he does too, maybe there's a way you can make it work after all."
I shook my head as a tear coursed down my cheek. I had wanted to make it work, but nothing would ever have been enough to stop Jax's pain from tearing us apart. "I tried. I can't try anymore."
Glancing at her watch, Jen stood up. "Come on, I think you need a drink."
"It's really not that bad," I said, wishing we'd never started this conversation. I'd been doing so well—or so I'd thought. "Thanks for the offer, but I should stay here." I wiped my eyes and gestured towards my computer. "I should finish this. Rain check?"
Jen's brow furrowed, but then she gave me a reluctant smile. "I'm holding you to that. Next week?"
"Sure," I said, turning back to my computer screen and pretending to be lost in a column of numbers. "Have a good weekend."
"You too." Jen's footsteps padded away as she left my cubicle.
The minute she was gone, I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. My head throbbed.
Maybe Jen was right, and I should eat. Getting up, I headed into the break room to go forage for food in the breakroom. Maybe someone left a ramen packet in there for poor fools like me who had to work late.
I opened a cupboard, and my tired eyes scanned the contents. A stack of packaged ramen noodles stood in the corner, looking forlorn. Oh joy.
As I waited for the microwave to cook my unappetizing dinner, I sat down at the table. In the center stood two shakers, one salt, and one pepper.
Pepper. His stupid nickname for me.
My breath caught in my throat. I reached for the shaker and closed my eyes tight. It's like he's everywhere.
The ache in my heart suddenly hurt as fresh as the moment Jax wounded it. I tried to block the fleeting images, but they appeared in front of my eyes like they'd been burned into me permanently: Jax's rough hands caressing my body. His intense look of lust as he saw me naked for the first time. His hair, twisted around my fingers on the pillow in the morning sun.
A deep longing settled like a weight on my chest. Jax had been mine. I'd loved him, and having him for such a short time only made the hurt feel worse.
I curled my hand into a tight fist around the pepper shaker, digging my nails into the soft skin of my palms. But feeling this way wasn't something I could keep on doing. The truth was, Jax's problems had turned out to be more than our love for each other could handle.
I had to face the reality: I wasn't like Kristen. There was no perfect love waiting to sweep me off my feet, and believing there was had come close to costing me my job—or my life.
So I'd put my nose to the grindstone, get my work done. I'd find someone new. Somebody compatible and reasonable and perfectly suitable, not just someone who made my heart beat faster every time I saw him.
I took one last look at the pepper shaker before flinging it at the wall with enough force to make it bounce off the tile floor as I turned to leave the kitchen.
I'd never love anyone as much as I'd loved Jax.
But maybe it was better that way.
Chapter Twenty
FUCK
Jax
I slowly opened my eyes, then stared at the unfamiliar ceiling and closed them again with a sigh. This wasn't my bedroom.
After opening them again, I groaned and rolled myself to a seated position. Leather creaked beneath me as I moved. Couch. The couch on the bus. Not too bad. I must have passed out after a night out drinking.
As I took stock of my surroundings, I saw a nearly empty whiskey bottle sitting on the coffee table, practically taunting me.
So that was why I was feeling like such shit. My head spun. That was about right.
It had been two weeks in hell after Riley had left. The nightmares were gone, along with all the other shit that had been plaguing me from the PTSD. The doc had been right about Riley. She'd been the trigger.
But having her gone wasn't helping my music. The band was in the middle of a recording session, and every song I wrote sucked. I knew it. But there was nothing I could do.
Riley's face haunted me wherever I went, no matter what I was doing. So after our recording session inevitably broke up with everyone pissed off, I drank. Tried to forget. And failed, every damn time.
I rubbed my hands over my face, then grabbed the whiskey bottle off the table. If this doesn't kill me, her memory will anyway. Grimacing, I opened the bottle, craned my neck back, and took a slug. As I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Sky emerged from her bedroom and came into the common area where I sat. Her eyes locked on mine. I set the whiskey bottle down, and she frowned.
"You look like you got hit by a truck," she said, dropping down on the couch next to me. Her eyes seemed serious as she studied my face.
I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Well, it's nothing you haven't seen before."
She exhaled. "No, this is different," she said. Leaning forward, she peered at me with an intense expression on her face. "You're different."
I drew my brows together. I didn't like where this was going. "Just need a little more hair of the dog," I replied, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. "Then I'll be fine."
"No, Jax, you're not fine," she said, then hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. "I've been wanting to talk to you about it."
I groaned. "Can we have your episode of Intervention sometime when I'm not hungover?"
Her eyes were big and sad. "When do you think that'll be? When you're dead?"
Closing my eyes, I pressed a hand to my throbbing head. "I'll stop drinking when I don't need it any more. Promise."
"Do you need it because of Riley?" she asked, her voice soft, but persistent.
Fuck. My heart throbbed. I lay back down on the couch.
Sky continued, her voice gaining strength as she went on. "I'm not blind, Jax."
I exhaled. Sky sat on the couch with her arms folded, waiting for my answer. There was no avoiding her, and in my hungover state, it was too hard to even try.
"I haven't been myself lately," I said slowly. "I didn't want to hurt her any more than I already have."
"Did she tell you she's been hurt?" Sky asked.
"No, but I've hurt her already, and we can't be together or I'm going to hurt her more."
She exhaled with frustration. "Jax, what's this really about?"
I gave her an icy look. "It's none of your business."
She waited for more, and when nothing was forthcoming she sighed again. "Listen, I know things have been messed up with you for a while, but I thought Riley changed that for you. Am I wrong? Weren't things better with her?"
Her words shot a bolt of pain in my gut. "I don't have a choice, Sky!" I snapped, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Just leave it alone. Leave me alone."
"And what?" she spat back at me. "Watch until you drink yourself into a coma because you won't let anyone care about you?"
I flinched and searched for a comeback. I didn't want to tell her about everything that had happened with my dad, so there wasn't anything to say.
She sighed, and her face looked more frustrated than I'd ever seen it. "Jax, you don't have to tell me what's going on. But the way you're acting, I think you need to talk to her. You need to do something."
I shook my head. "I'll handle a breakup however I want."
"Oh, look at the tough guy!" Sky cried, her eyes narrowing skeptically.
"What do you want, me to cry on your shoulder?" I said with a sneer.
She gave me a scornful look. "Fine, if you want to be tough, whatever. But think about how she feels. She knows that you love her, and she loves you, but you won't be in a relationship with her. That has to be breaking her heart."
Her words sent a shiver through my b
ody, taking the fight out of me. "Even if that were true," I said, my voice low, "It doesn't make any difference now. I fucked everything up, big time."
"It's not too late. If you love her, you need to tell her."
I jutted out my chin. "But what if I hurt her even more by trying to come back now? Maybe she'd be better off if I stayed lost."
She shrugged. "I don't know. She might think that. I tried calling her a few times just to see how she was, and she never answered. But maybe she'll answer for you." She patted my shoulder. "All you can do is try."
"Maybe," I said, my eyes downcast.
Sky stood up. "Jax, I know you have baggage," she said with a compassionate look on her face. "Don't let it ruin your life. Or Riley's."
She left the living room. I heard her moving around in the kitchen, but the noises seemed far away to me. I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.
What if she was right? Could Riley and I have a future together? All I wanted to do was protect her from getting hurt—but I already might have hurt her more by pushing her away.
Sighing, I got up and grabbed my jacket from off the floor where I must have tossed it last night. As my hand closed around it, a crunching sound came from one of the inside pockets.
I reached my hand in curiously. My fingers touched paper, and I pulled it out. I stared down at what I held with surprise.
It was an envelope. With words written on it: For when the shows are over.
Riley. This was her gift to me. Not to be opened until we were apart. Somehow I'd forgotten all about it.
My fingers trembled as they smoothed the slightly crumpled envelope. With one smooth tug, I ripped it open. Out came an SD card like the kind I recorded music on, and a piece of paper. I scanned the letter with eager eyes.
But it wasn't a letter. It was lyrics.
How can I write you something new
when everything's been said?
How do I tell you all the sweet things
I'm feeling in my head?
Three little chords is all it takes
to write a song that sounds new
And three little words is all I need
To tell you that I love you.
So if you're feeling lonely
And if you're feeling blue
play these three chords and I'll remember
that you love me, too.
My heart tightened, and I closed my eyes. Riley.
Chapter Twenty-One
IT'S A BOY
Riley
Squinting at Kristen's bulging belly, I gathered a long piece of string.
Immediately, she burst into howls of laughter. "Riley," she gasped between laughs. "I know I'm huge but there's no way I'm that big!"
The other women at the baby shower giggled, and I sheepishly cut the string. Kristen looped the big ball of string around herself, snipped it off when it was all the way around her belly, and then spooled it away from herself and compared it to the strings held out by all the other women at the party. "The closest guess, and the prize, goes to . . . Lauren!"
Lauren got up to get her gift basket, already starting to waddle from her own pregnancy. I glanced, for what must have been the fiftieth time, at the clock in my living room. How much longer was this going to go on?
When her venue cancelled, having Kristen's baby shower in my apartment had seemed like a good idea—at first. After all, a party planner was taking care of the details, which meant I mostly had to stand around as the caterers and decorators came by. Supervising the setup was at least something to do that wasn't binge-watching entire seasons of America's Next Top Model or scarfing down a tub of Cherry Garcia.
My feelings changed, though, when the first guests started to arrive.
Most of them, I didn't know at all—they were the wives of Vincent's friends, incredibly wealthy women whose clothes probably cost more than I made in a month. As they started to make small talk about their fabulous lives, their fabulous marriages, and their even more fabulous pregnancies, I started to feel myself go numb.
This was foreign territory to me. I'd never even lived with a boyfriend, and with Jax's breakup still fresh on my mind, I couldn't help but feel intimidated and a little—scratch that, a lot—left out by the whole thing.
So I'd spent my time talking to caterers, hanging back in the corners, and finding ways to mentally block the baby vibes. It wasn't a perfect solution, but Kristen seemed to think I was just especially dedicated to making sure the logistics of the party were sorted.
Every time I looked at her, radiant with baby glow, I felt a twinge of envy through my congratulatory smiles. I knew we weren't in a competition, but I couldn't help feeling like she'd won a lottery that I hadn't even been able to keep a ticket for.
"Listen up, everyone!" Kristen said, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Next we're decorating onesies! Everyone has a blank white one and some markers underneath their chair. When the baby's born, we'll be using these, so let's see some creativity!"
She shot me a grin, and I smiled weakly back. "Hey, Riles, get over here," she said, opening her arms as if to hug me. "Bring your onesie, too. We'll do this one together."
I walked over to her couch and gave her a big hug. A look of concern passed over her face. "You okay? I worried this might not be a good idea so soon after Ja—"
"What did we agree about that name?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
She made a zipping motion over her lips. "Right. He Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken. Anyway, if you need to get out of here, I understand. The estrogen level in this room is way beyond the sanity point."
I shook my head, sitting on the couch next to her. "This is a huge day for you. I'm not going to let some stupid washed-up rock star ruin it for either of us."
"Good," she said, reaching for a yellow marker in a coffee table basket. "The shower's almost over anyway. Just a few marked-up onesies and party favors to go."
I smiled at her, grabbing a green marker. "Thanks, Kristen."
"For what?"
"Telling me we should have the baby shower here," I said. "I know I've complained about it, but at least it gave me something to do."
"Why do you think I asked you to do it here?" she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she drew a yellow sun.
"You told me the venue cancelled."
"Because you'd have never done it otherwise. But look, it helped, didn't it?"
I nodded, smiling. It was just like her to tell the white lie for my benefit, and she was right: keeping busy had helped. Helping get the shower ready, at least, had been good for me. So why was it that as soon as I was in the party itself, my enthusiasm was gone?
"I don't know what's wrong with me, Kris," I admitted, drawing what I hoped looked like a turtle on the onesie. "I know Jax and me would never work, it's just—I look at all this, and I feel like everyone here is with their special person. And for a little while, I really thought I'd found mine."
She looked into my eyes with concern. "It's okay to have a broken heart, you know," she said. "And it's okay you didn't take anyone's advice. I like that you don't do what everyone says. It gives you the best stories."
That brought a small smile to my face. "Thanks, Kris. I needed that." I added a face to the turtle with a red marker.
A breeze wafted through the curtains, and I heard an acoustic guitar strum on the street below. A C chord, I realized, the bittersweet memory of playing among the broken guitars flashing into my head. Jax taught me that. I tried to shut the memory out.
Then a D chord played. And a G. Just three chords, and you can play a song . . .
I shook my head. This was no time to get all nostalgic. "That window cannot stay open," I said, rising from the couch.
The three chords played in succession as I walked toward the billowing curtains. C, D, G. C, D, G.
Psssssh. Anyone can do that. Even I can do that.
And then I heard a deep voice:
How can I write you something new
>
when everything's been said?
How do I tell you all the sweet things
I'm feeling in my head?
My song. My silly lyrics I'd written after Jax taught me how to play guitar. What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of sick joke? I flung the curtains to the side and looked out the window.
There, on the sidewalk, I saw Jax strumming an acoustic guitar, singing the song I'd written him. Jax, in the flesh, his body skimmed by the same black t-shirt and blue jeans he wore during the tour, his hair falling untamed around his eyes. He was still the most gorgeous man I had ever seen.
I watched him, and suddenly it felt like someone had punched me in the gut.
Because it didn't change anything. He'd ended things childishly, pushed me away as hard as he could. He'd told me I was the trigger to his trauma.
So why was he underneath my window, singing the lyrics of the song I'd written him?
As I stuck my head out the window, he looked up at me, and our eyes met, his scarred brow rising. Is this really happening?
And then, the last stanza of my song ended, but he was still singing—words I hadn't written, lyrics I'd never heard before, with a new chord added seamlessly to the structure, one I didn't know how to play:
You meant more than I could know
When I forced you to leave
Since the day I watched you go
I can barely breathe
You may wonder whether
what we had was true
But I break when we're not together
I'm myself when I'm with you
Behind me, the entire baby shower was watching me at the window. The women started talking excitedly behind their hands as the verse ended.
"Jax," I breathed as my jaw slackened, unable to fully comprehend what was happening. He'd caused me so much pain, but now he was right here, asking for . . . what? Forgiveness? A second chance? He was incredibly gorgeous, but his face was almost painful for me to look at after everything that he'd said the last time we'd been together.