Reckless

  A shadow shifted from a recess and for a split second, I thought I saw a ghost. I looked again but didn’t see anything.

  But then, from the dark corner, a voice growled, "Everybody ready to rock The Roman?"

  Jax suddenly stepped into the light and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the sight of him. Dressed in leather pants and a tight black t-shirt with his dark eyes glittering in the backstage lighting, he looked ready to jump on stage.

  "Jax!" I cried.

  He acknowledged me with a brief smile. I wanted to smile back, but his sudden calm and collected appearance, combined with his day-long lack of communication and last minute arrival, left me too pissed off to manage a smile.

  "There you are!" Sky shouted, with her hand over her heart. The relief on her face quickly faded into anger and she punched Jax in the shoulder. "You pompous asshole. I was just about to cancel the show!"

  "Dude, finally," Chewie said, slapping Jax’s back. "Thought I’d have to be a one-man band up there tonight."

  "Now I'd pay to see that," Jax said. Turning to Kev, he held out a small package wrapped in brown paper. "Hey, Kev, I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. There was . . . there was a problem, but it's gone now. I cleared my head and it’s over. We cool?"

  Kev eyed the package skeptically. "There was an even bigger problem today."

  "I'm here now and everything's good to go," Jax said, shaking the package for Kev.

  A smirk crossed Kev’s lip and he accepted the package. As he slowly unwrapped it, he revealed some sort of electronic device. I had no idea what it was, but Kev’s face lit up. "Holy shit, an original Craftmaster Treble Booster? It’s impossible to get one of these nowadays. My guitar’s gonna sound so sweet now. Thanks, man."

  "It was no problem," Jax replied, shrugging it off.

  Kev stuck out his hand and said, "Okay, now we’re cool."

  Both smiling, the two of them shook hands.

  The band started heading toward the stage and despite my relief that Jax was back and had made up with Kev, I couldn't help but stew in anger. His disappearance was the sort of untrustworthiness I came to expect from guys like Connor. I’d thought Jax was above and beyond that sort of behavior, but I guess I was wrong. And if running away and not discussing our problems was the only way Jax knew how to deal with things, I didn’t know how long we’d be able to keep this up. I needed to talk to him before the show.

  I grabbed his arm and held him back. "Jax, where’ve you been?"

  He ran his fingers through his black hair and shrugged."I had to make amends with Kev."

  I waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t, all my pent up frustration came bursting out. "I know sometimes you need your space but why didn’t you call or text me? I’ve been worried about you all day. You could’ve at least let me know where you were."

  Jax grabbed my shoulders and kissed me on the forehead like nothing was wrong. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

  "That's not the point! We need to talk about this, maybe not right at this moment, but you can't just pretend like nothing is wrong when you disappear for an entire day and almost blow off your own concert."

  "Don't worry about it, Pepper," he said, giving me a small smile and a wink. Then he turned and strutted out onto stage as the crowd erupted into cheers, leaving me standing there by myself.

  I stood there in disbelief trying to process what just happened. I couldn’t believe he had the balls to disappear all day, leave me worried sick, almost screw up the show for his band, and then act as if it was no big deal. Confused and hurt, I wrapped my arms around myself, wondering where things were headed with us.

  On stage, the band exploded into the first song. It was even more energetic, bombastic, and sexual than usual. Within the first few minutes, a woman rushed out on stage. A security guard quickly caught her before she was able to reach Jax, who continued singing and playing without missing a beat. I could tell it was going to make for a great DVD.

  I wanted to enjoy the show, but Jax hurt me. I felt like he tossed me to the side like a dirty tissue while he swaggered around on stage, being his typical seductive rock star self, as if nothing had happened.

  I promised myself to have a serious talk with him after this show, even if it meant risking everything we've built together thus far. The status quo was simply not going to work, and I was far too stubborn to drop it. But the thought left me deeply distressed, since if we were unable to talk about our problems, I couldn't picture a scenario where we'd be able to work as a couple. But I clung to the hope that Jax cared for me enough that he’d be willing to talk to me, to open up to me, and let me into his world.

  I paced nervously backstage during the show, barely hearing the music above the buzzing in my ears. Whatever was going on with Jax, it was clearly not just going away on its own. As the band took their post-encore bows, I waited for my chance.

  Jax, guitar over his shoulder, walked offstage to his dressing room. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for this conversation. Even though I knew it wouldn’t be easy, I didn’t think I could take another day like this.

  I didn’t want to give Jax another chance to blow me off until later. I burst through the dressing room door without knocking. His back was turned to me, his ass looking unbelievably taut in the leather pants from the second act.

  When the door clicked shut behind me, he whirled around, wearing a grin, until he saw me waiting there, scowling. With a casual raise of his eyebrow, he took off the leather pants and slid on a pair of distressed dark-wash jeans. He was completely, maddeningly silent.

  I tapped my foot anxiously while he put his street clothes back on, but he made no sign of being willing to talk to me—or even acknowledge that I was in the room.

  "Do you just want to pretend like none of that ever happened?" I finally asked, exasperated.

  Still looking away from me as he ran a comb through his hair, Jax said, "None of what?"

  I felt my eyelid twitch. "Do you have any idea how freaked out the band was?" I asked as my voice rose. "They were less than a minute from calling off the whole show."

  "That’s on them," he said with a shrug, not meeting my eyes. "If they can’t trust me by now, that’s their problem. I was here on time for curtain, ready to go."

  I shook my head in disbelief. "What’s gotten into you? Your band needed you. Where did you go?"

  He gritted his teeth, and I saw sweat beading above his brow. "I just needed to be alone, Riley," he growled. "Can’t you understand? Alone? The bus is small enough as it is, and I’m sharing my space. I needed to clear my head."

  What was that supposed to mean? Was he trying to blame his disappearance on our sleeping arrangements?

  "It’s not good enough, Jax," I said, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. "You didn’t see how worried everyone was. Do you know what all those ticket refunds would do to your profits, not to mention your publicity? The venue would have been furious. The label would have been furious."

  His eyes closed. "Stop it. I don’t want to hear about this."

  "Then start telling me what’s going on! Where were you? Why did you disappear today?"

  He wouldn’t open his eyes. He wouldn’t say a word. He just sat there, still as a stone. I wanted to cry.

  "Is this—is this about us?"

  "What?"

  "I figured it was coming," I said, feeling the words tumbling out of me as the tears flowed. "The tour leg will be over soon, and then I’m going back to New York, and you’ll want to break things off before then."

  He walked toward me and put his hands on my shoulders. "I don’t know what we’ll do when the tour stops." I felt my stomach sink. "But I don’t want to break up. I promise, everything between us is fine."

  "It is not fine," I said sharply, then sighed. "I—I know you don’t think I can handle whatever’s going on, but you’re wrong."

  He looked away, a thousand-yard stare that made my heart hurt. What did this to you, Jax?

  "Is it
drugs? We can get you into treatment. We can do whatever you need to do. Whatever it is, let’s face it together."

  His face contorted into a sad smile. "You’re too good to me," he said softly. "But I promise you. The only drugs I’ve done on this tour, you’ve seen me do."

  I didn’t understand. Why all the secrecy? Why had he changed so much in a few days? "I can’t help you, Jax," I said as a heaving sob escaped my chest. "I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on."

  He stepped back, and when he looked at me again his eyes were cold. "You’re blowing this way out of proportion. So I’ve been in a bad mood for a couple of days. Why does that mean you have to fix me all of a sudden?"

  I swallowed, willing myself to stop crying so I could talk. "I know what a bad mood looks like. This is something else. I know it is."

  Anger glinted in his eyes. He started to say something, then stopped. I saw his hands curl into tight fists as his eyes closed and his breath became slow and steady. When his eyes opened again, they were different, somehow—softer, back to the Jax I’d fallen for.

  "I’m sorry," he said, looking ashamed. "I’m not going to tell you that you’re seeing things. You deserve better than that, after what that asshole did to you."

  I reached out to his shoulder, my heart beating fast.

  He took a slow, deep breath, then another. I leaned against his chest. Jax, please, if you were ever going to be open with me . . .

  His breathing was almost meditative. It took everything I had not to ask more, not to push—I knew by now that if Jax was about to tell me, the worst thing I could do would be to push more.

  Just as the silence was becoming unbearable, he spoke quietly. "Okay. I think I can handle it now. I’ve got it under control."

  I felt almost shaky with relief. He was finally going to tell me about his demons. I squeezed his hand. Whatever he said, I was going to be ready.

  "Let’s go back to the bus," he said, his tone louder and less intimate, as if we were in public. I was suddenly confused. Had someone come in? But as I looked around, it was just the two of us.

  Then again, Jax knew better than most that dressing room privacy could be interrupted at any time. "You’re right. This is a bad place to talk about personal stuff."

  He looked taken aback, and his brow arched skeptically. "Talk? I thought we were done talking about it," he scoffed. "I told you, I’ve got myself under control. I’m not going to blow up again. You can take my word for it."

  "What?" I asked, feeling like I’d just gotten whiplash. "Jax, I thought you meant you could handle talking to me about what happened."

  His body tensed, veins popping from his taut muscles. "No. And that’s not going to happen. Let’s just go back, Riley."

  I stood my ground. "I’m not going back until you promise me we can talk about this. I don't know if we can be together if you refuse to even talk when you're so clearly upset!"

  He looked into my eyes. "Then I guess the bus leaves without you. Listen, Riley." He reached toward my face, tender even as his words pricked my heart like needles. "I don’t do threats, and I don’t do ultimatums. You’ve got a spot waiting for you on the bus whenever you want it. But you don’t get to tell me what I have to talk about."

  I felt trapped—not wanting to push too far, but unwilling to let his secrets stay between us. Wasn’t there a compromise? Wasn’t there a way we could both get what we wanted? "I—you’re right, Jax," I said as he laced up his boots. "I’m sorry I tried to push you. I don’t need you to open up at once, but for god’s sake, I need something . . ."

  His dark eyes pierced through my soul as he stood there, looking at me. For a moment, a strange expression flickered over his face. Maybe I got through to him after all. Then, before I knew it, the strange look went away.

  When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you needed, Riley." Slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder, he left the dressing room.

  I thought my heart would break into a thousand pieces.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  OVER

  Breathe. Riley, just breathe.

  I walked toward the bus, determined. My eyes were still dry and red from crying, but I’d cleaned myself up as much as I could in the dressing room mirror.

  Jax didn’t want to open up, no matter what. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that for me, losing him was not an option. I wasn’t about to give up the best thing that had ever happened to me because of a few bad mood swings.

  That meant I’d have to tell him I was sorry for pushing too far. The words of the apology turned over in my head, forming as the bus door opened.

  I set my purse down as soon as I got inside and walked toward the bathroom for one last red-eye check. As I opened the bathroom door, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. My stomach churned with anxiety as I saw Jax’s boots at the top of the stairs. Shit. I wanted to talk to him alone, not out in the public areas of the bus.

  "Oh," I said, trying to keep my cool as he stepped onto the first floor. "I was just coming up to—"

  With a shake of his head, Jax let out a sad sigh. His eyes were stormy, unreadable, but he extended a hand toward mine. "Riley, we . . . we need to talk. Take a ride with me."

  My fingers turned to ice as his clasped around them. I didn’t know what he wanted, but I knew we need to talk never meant anything good. "Okay," I breathed, trying to keep myself from shaking. Had I pushed him over the edge? Was it already too late for us?

  Wordlessly, Jax led me off the bus and got his motorcycle off the trailer. I followed behind him, in agony.

  "I’m really sorry," I said as I watched him untie the bike. "I didn’t mean what I said before—what I said about not being able to be with you."

  His eyes scanned over the bike once before he threw his leg over the seat. "I know." His voice was quiet, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  I got on the bike behind him, feeling almost limp, exhausted. Jax tried to start the engine but it sputtered, stalling. After he gave it another kick it roared to life and we started on our way.

  By the time we’d ridden a few miles in the warm summer air, I was clinging tight, hoping to remember every detail of the ride. This could be the last time. The shopping centers and bright lights of the city were flying by us, and I held onto Jax tighter as we wove through luxury cars—a Ferrari, a Lambo, two identical Bugattis driving side by side.

  The warmth of his body in my arms felt bittersweet. In a lot of ways, I’d never fit with someone the way I fit with Jax. I’d certainly never fallen for someone so fast. But it looked more and more like this clear southern California night was the night it would all fall apart.

  I knew I should try to hold on to the moment. But all I could do was think about when it would end.

  As I watched the landscape around us for a clue as to where we were headed, I saw the expensive, designer brands give way to middle-class neighborhoods and malls. Then, after a few miles on the freeway, my hair whipping in the wind, we got off at an exit that looked nothing like the places we’d come from.

  Broken beer bottles littered the off-ramp, and as we came to a stop, I noticed that the stop sign was riddled with bullet holes. My heart skipped a beat as I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone—no cars, no pedestrians, not even a stray cat or dog.

  This neighborhood looked nothing like the places we’d been to during the tour so far. Ramshackle trailers and tiny, run-down single-story houses crowded against one another. In the distance, dogs barked, and the grass grew long and unkempt in yards where concrete blocks held up the rusting remains of old trucks.

  Jax rounded a corner and narrowly avoided a burned-out wreck of a car. It didn’t look like it had burned recently. Why had no one cleaned it up or removed it?

  Why was he taking me somewhere so desolate? We were totally alone, and no one knew where we were going. My pulse pounded in my ears as he slowed the bike down.

  "What the hell?" I sai
d, feeling the panic start to rise at the back of my throat. "Jax, does anyone even live around here?"

  "People live here. It’s just too dangerous to go out on the street unless you have business to do." He kept his eyes on the road, never looking back toward me.

  My mouth was dry. "Wait, you know this place? Where are we going?"

  As if to answer my question, he slowed the bike to a crawl, then stopped. He slid off the bike without saying a word, and I looked around, confused.

  "Jax, what are you doing? Why are we stopping here?"

  The bike’s headlamp illuminated one of the strangest and ugliest houses I had ever seen. It looked like a collection of trailers from different eras—at least half a dozen in total—but instead of sitting next to one another, they had been connected together in a lurching, zig-zagging pattern.

  "Get off the bike, Riley. I need to show you something." He walked onto the mostly dirt lawn, away from the road.

  Something about the house seemed wrong. It wasn’t just the shoddy construction or the way the trailers clashed. My instinctual alarms were going off: Desolate area. Bullet-ridden signs. Nobody knew where we were. I’d hurriedly left without my purse and cell phone. It was all adding up to a terrible, Hitchcockian vision in my head. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away. I wanted to do anything but get off the bike and walk around with Jax.

  Jax extended his hand for me to get off the motorcycle, but I just looked at him with wide, terrified eyes.

  I saw a sad smile come to his face. "Don’t be scared," he said, his voice gentler than I expected. "This is where I grew up."

  I gasped. Was he joking? "Really?"

  "Yeah."

  The look of shame on Jax’s face made me feel guilty that I’d ever doubted him. I got off the bike and tried to act normal as I walked across the lawn. "It looks, um . . . cozy."

  He raised an eyebrow. "You don’t have to sugarcoat it," he said. "It looks like a pile of fucking trash. And it always has."

  There was nothing I could say to that. I studied his face, waiting for him to say more. I watched as his face shifted, almost imperceptibly, and realized that he’d started to shake. Fury, pain, grief, shame—I didn’t know which one he was feeling, or if all of them had mixed together, but he was quaking with it, his breaths hard and steady.