Chapter 2

2

JAXON

Drowning my sorrows at the bar last night was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. Now I have a headache from hell. I don’t think there are enough painkillers on the face of the earth to make it feel better. So I just down one of those fizzy, over-the-counter hangover “cures”. Let’s hope it works.

Now I’m going to stay home this weekend and wallow in self-pity. I’m not ready to face anyone, especially Zander, after making an ass out of myself last night. Drinking to excess is not my style, but after Stephanie broke my heart and kicked me to the curb, I needed to forget. And the bottom of the bottle was my first choice. In hindsight, I should have taken out all my frustrations on my kit and called it a day. Music has always been my coping mechanism, but since she was there from the beginning, I didn’t want her ruining that part of my life too.

The only problem with staying home for a few days is I have too much time to myself. To think about how different things should be right now. I should be engaged and getting ready to plan our wedding. Instead, I’m home alone, moping. Did I mention I have a hangover from hell? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I already did. Maybe I should go to Zander’s, grab his baseball bat, and use the engagement ring to hit a homerun into the lake. Just like one of the guys did in one of Stephanie’s favorite medical dramas. Sorry. When I got up this morning, I promised myself to move on but it’s so much harder than I thought. Okay, moving on.

With my feet propped up on the coffee table, I take a big swig of my coffee. The black bitterness lingers on my tongue. I normally take it creamy and sweet, but being hungover, the stronger the better. I need this headache to be gone like yesterday. Tipping it back one more time, I finish off the dark liquid and set the mug by my feet. Debating if I should make another one. My head makes the decision for me when it rests against the back of the sofa instead. Just for a minute or two. Fuck, I hope I don’t feel like shit for too long. I’m not used to sitting still, but every movement kills me.

When the doorbell rings, I groan. I’m not expecting anyone, but my family and friends never wait for an invite so I best open the door. If not, I have a feeling they will keep ringing until I let them in.

Holding my throbbing head, I slowly get up and put one foot in front of the other. I open the door in the middle of a knock, right before a distracted fist connects with my head.

“Fucking hell, Melody.” She stifles a giggle but gets on her tiptoes to kiss the boo boo.

“I’m sorry, Jax. That was the worst timing ever.” No shit.

I stalk back to the sofa and collapse. Closing my eyes helps, but I rub my forehead anyway.

A few minutes later she places something cold on my forehead. Feels incredible. When I reach up, I’m appalled when I realize it’s a bag of peas from the freezer.

“Seriously, Mel. Vegetables?” She snickers like I’m not grateful, but I am.

“I looked for an ice pack, but you don’t have one. Does it feel better?”

Peeking under the bag, I say, “It does. Thanks.” I don’t add it’s kind of her fault since she knocked on my forehead.

“What are you doing here?” Oh fuck. Did Zander have diarrhea of the mouth and tell her I got dumped?

“Zander told me what happened and that you tipped back too many last night. So I thought I’d come check on you. In all fairness, I sent you a text first, but you didn’t answer.” Why do people think I sit by the phone waiting for them to message is beyond me.

“It’s my story. He should have shut his mouth so I could tell you whenever I was ready. Not spill his guts like a little bitch.”

“Hey, he’s your best friend and he’s worried about you. We both are. I know you don’t like to talk personal stuff but?—”

“No ‘but’, Mel. Let it go. I don’t want you to tell me I’m better off without her. Or it’s her loss. Maybe you were going to say, ‘Better to find out now before you got married.’ My heart hasn’t caught up yet, just give it time. It’s too fresh. It would have been way worse if I had gotten down on one knee and proposed first. So I’m holding on to that. At least she dumped me before I had a chance to make a fool out of myself.”

“She’s the fool. Not you. Speech over. Now I’m going to make you something to eat.” Just the thought has my stomach doing somersaults.

“I drank a fizzy hangover drink and a coffee. No food.” I hold up my cup like a child and she laughs. Mel always had a beautiful one. I can’t help smiling through my pain.

“I’ll make you a cup, but I’m making you toast with a little fruit. You need to hydrate, and caffeine isn’t the way to go.” So bossy, but I know she cares about me.

My baby sister is smart. She knows I’d do anything for her. Including eating something she made me even if I don’t want anything. It won’t kill me to take a few bites, but it might come up.

When she hands me the plate, my stomach growls. Traitorous bastard. I take a bite of toast with a hint of butter. Not bad. I stab a piece of pineapple with my fork and that tastes amazing. The sweetness of the fruit might be just what I needed. Much to my dismay, she was right, and I was wrong, but she’ll never hear it from these lips.

ARIA

I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Instead I was tossing and turning, wondering what the hell I felt when Jax held me close. Which he’s done a million times before. Well, maybe not quite so tight, but still, he’s like a brother to me. A big brother who’s been with my sister since high school. Is the twelve-year-old me still crushing on her big sister’s boyfriend? Nah, it’s not possible. Since I’m not that same little girl who hung on to his every word.

Don’t get me wrong, Jax is an amazing guy but he’s hard to pin down. Rebel Riot is always cutting albums, going on tour, or volunteering for all kinds of charity events. They rarely have any down time anymore since signing with Morris Music. After their last tour, Caleb, the owner of their record label, gave them six months off. It was long overdue after three years of non-stop recording and tours back-to-back. Soon it will all begin again, or that’s what I heard through the grapevine.

I’ve always pictured settling down with someone like an electrician or a plumber. Love a guy in a toolbelt with their butt crack showing. Okay, maybe that’s over the top, but damn some of those construction workers are hot. Suffice it to say, it all started when some friends and I went to a strip club. Men all dressed up like blue collar workers, toolbelts and all. Since then, it’s been a fantasy of mine. Wouldn’t complain about a reverse harem. Just saying.

Is it hot in here or is it just me? Just me? I thought so.

Can you tell I have too much time on my hands? I hate the weekends because I love keeping busy. Work makes me focus. I suppose I could finish my article instead of waiting until Monday, but I might work on that later. Baking. Yes, I love making all kinds of goodies and sharing them at work and with my family. Dad loves anything sweet. That will keep me busy for the afternoon and then I can write.

Pulling out all of my baking supplies, I grab my recipes next and, wouldn’t you know, the recipe for whoopie pies flutters to the floor. They’re Jax’s favorite. How can I possibly forget about that embrace if everything I come into contact with reminds me of him? Impossible. But, in my defense, he’s been a part of my life for so long that everything reminds me of him. In one way or another. I care about him, and I can’t help wondering how he’s holding up. Especially after last night. Maybe I’ll make a double batch and run them over later today.

Since I didn’t set any butter out to soften, I opt to make an apple pie first. It’s my dad’s favorite so I’ll stop by there to drop it off before going to Jax’s. I swear I would have gone to culinary school if journalism hadn’t worked out so well for me. Baking is more of a hobby now. Grabbing my apples, I get lost in thought as I core and peel. Baking is so relaxing, it gives me a sense of peace I can’t find anywhere else.

Before I know it, the pie is in the oven and I’m working on the whoopie pies. Mom calls them black moons, no idea why, but I’m not going to argue with her. I’d never win.

Once the cakes are on the cookie sheet, I pop them in the oven and begin making the frosting. They need to cool completely before stuffing, but it will be one less thing I need to do. I’ve always been taught to clean as I go, so by the time everything is out of the oven, all the dishes are done and I’m sipping on a skinny latte. It’s my reward for a job well done.

After I frost the pies and place them in a container with parchment paper, I pack it all up. Then I head upstairs to get cleaned up so I can deliver them.

I find myself singing a Rebel Riot tune in the shower until I catch myself. See? One-track mind. Yikes. Turning off the water, I step out, towel-dry, and throw on my favorite weekend outfit—a pair of skinny jeans, a chunky sweater, and my boots. Love being cozy on the weekend in winter.

Grabbing the bag, I head out the door and, in my mind, I can hear mom yelling at me for going outside with my hair wet. It’s one of her pet peeves, but we all know we catch cold from germs, not from being cold.

I’m disappointed when I pull into their driveway and their car is gone. Damn. I should have called first. Since I have a key, I decide to leave the pie anyway. After walking inside, I set the pie on the counter. I grab a Post-it note off the fridge and scribble, ‘Surprise, guess who’ and place it on top of the pie. Dad will be so happy he has dessert after dinner tonight.

After locking up, I pull out of the drive and head to my next stop. Why do I suddenly get butterflies in the pit of my stomach as I drive to Jax’s house? This was a bad idea. Maybe I should turn around and just go home. Too late. I’m pulling into his driveway as his words from last night hit me like a ton of bricks. Those soulful words after I told him our door is always open.

I appreciate the sentiment, but nothing will ever be the same again. It might be best if I cut my losses and hold onto the good memories we all shared.

What if he’s right about holding our memories close and just letting go?

I startle when there’s a soft tap on my window. Glancing up I see Jax staring back at me. Worry is etched across his gorgeous face. There’s no turning back now. I slide my window down.

“Are you okay? I was backing out of the garage and nearly hit you.” With his head tilted to the side, he scrutinizes me, searching for something. It snaps me out of whatever funk I’m in.

“Sorry. I should have called first, but I baked this morning and thought you’d like these.” I hand him the container and when his fingers brush across my knuckles, I shudder. What is wrong with me?