“Listen, you worry about what you do, and I’ll worry about me. Sound like a plan?”
He takes a few steps toward me, and I’m reminded once again that he gained weight in the time I was away. I, on the other hand, did nothing but work out in prison and so came out more jacked than I’ve ever been in my life.
Kevin pokes my shoulder. “Just because you’re this prison badass doesn’t give you permission to forget who your friends are. I got you this job. I helped you when you got out. And don’t you forget it.”
“Look, Kevin,” I say, vitriol leaking into my voice. “I appreciate that you want me to come to the party, but like I said, I’ve got stuff to do tonight and I’m not about getting fucked up with you and the guys tonight. Now grab a rag and start helping before I lose my shit.”
My voice comes out as a growl. I can see that Kevin is pissed, but I don’t care.
It’s Thursday, and the only thing I need is to head back to LaRisa’s and hear that sweet, sultry voice on the microphone again. And I’m glad I’ve got an excuse not to go to Malek’s. An OC party has bad news and shady people written all over it.
Kevin finally grabs a rag and starts helping me wipe everything down.
“Thought you were a good guy,” Kevin says. “But I’m starting to think you’re an ungrateful dick.”
I finish wiping down my half of the stove top and then toss my rag in the bucket.
“My half’s done. Have fun finishing this.”
I walk away, knowing it’s a dick move.
But Kevin apparently doesn’t understand the nature of boundaries. Not to mention how he’s freaking me out being all weird and clingy. Who gives a monkey wrench if I go or don’t go to Malek’s?
I check out with the manager and then quickly change my clothes in the back room so I look nice. It’s quarter to eleven. She played until midnight last week. I get on my bike and speed so fast to LaRisa’s that I’m glad the country cops around here don’t usually give a hoot.
LaRisa’s is a little more crowded tonight.
And by “crowded” I mean there are ten people instead of the seven last week. The same regulars are here, and there’s also a group of two youngish guys and their ladies—or I assume they’re their ladies by the way the women are leaning into them.
I grab a seat at the bar, order a Johnnie Walker Black neat, and turn to enjoy the show.
The stage is barely elevated—it’s not a good environment, really—but it only adds to Harmony’s mystique. She’s a tiny, mousey girl, but the way she can take over the room is in stark contrast to her small physical presence.
She finishes one song and waits for the applause before she introduces the next.
She looks especially nervous, maybe even shakes. “I haven’t sung this song for quite some time,” she says. “It’s a cover—” She stops, and as I watch I notice she makes a little move like she’s throwing up in her throat. Holy crap. Is she just super sick?
“Excuse me,” she says, collecting herself. “That was weird. Anyway, this is a song a lot of you might know. Called ‘Tomorrow Never Comes.’”
She starts out the opening riff on guitar, and I immediately recognize the melody.
It’s a top-forty song from a couple years ago.
She sings it better than the original. Much better.
So much so that the hair on the back of my neck stands up, a ball forms in the back of my throat, and I reconsider what I’m doing with my entire life.
I run a hand through my hair.
What AM I doing? Waiting? Getting experience in a tiny Pizza House? For what? I know what I want to do with my life.
I know the West Coast is calling me.
As she sings, I don’t know if it’s her beautiful, wispy voice or the lyrics, but I have a vision.
And I’m not a religious man, necessarily. Not these days, at least.
She sings:
“Waiting for the moonlight
Waiting for the sun
You’ll do that thing tomorrow
But tomorrow never comes
Yeah, tomorrow never comes
You fell behind in the race
The cards never fell into place
Blame it all on the dealer
Blame it all on the draw
You’ll get better cards tomorrow
But tomorrow never comes
Yeah, tomorrow never comes.”
I rub my face and turn to the bartender, tapping my glass.
Harmony finishes to raucous applause.
Well, as raucous as ten people in a bar in the middle of nowhere can be.
But suddenly I have a vision I can’t stop.
Harmony on a stage in front of thousands of people. Singing that song.
Part of me—the logical brain—thinks that’s a silly vision. That I’m seeing things and I should have my head checked out.
A few minutes before midnight, she finishes singing and heads over to a group of people who look like friends.
I head over to the group as well. As I approach, I notice two of the guys are mean-mugging me.
I ignore them.
“Great playing tonight,” I say, looking directly at Harmony. God, she looks gorgeous. She’s got on a slim blue dress that falls just past her knees. “Especially that song—‘Tomorrow Never Comes.’ You played it better than the original.”
She fidgets, seeming uncomfortable. “Thanks. Guys, this is—”
“Jaxson Reid,” one of the fellas cuts in.
She looks over at the one who interjected. “You two know each other?”
He nods. “You used to work for me. Before you got sentenced. Sebastian’s my name. This is my girlfriend, Brett.”
My skin crawls at the mention of my sentencing, but might as well bring it up now.
“I go by Jax,” I say, as I shake hands with both of them.
“And these are my friends Rose and Cole,” Harmony finishes, and then tilts her head. “You were sentenced? What for?”
I shrug. “Murder.”
She drops her jaw. “Uh . . .”
“Just kidding.” I smirk. “It’s a long story . . . sort of. We don’t have to get into that right now. Seriously, your performance? Dear God was that amazing. I’d love to buy you a drink, but this place closes at midnight and they already did last call.”
Cole cuts in. “We’re good, man. Thanks. And although she appreciates you giving her a ride home last week, we got it.”
I furrow my brow at the guy. The two girls chat quietly with each other. I wonder if they’re privy to how big of a dick their boyfriends are being. “What’s with the attitude, man? I’m just trying to have a civil conversation here.”
Harmony puts a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Seriously,” she adds, then faces me. “We’re heading to a house party. Someone has OC tonight.”
“Malek’s? Is that where you’re going?”
She seems surprised. “How’d you know?”
“Just a lucky guess.”
“We’ll see you over there, buddy,” Sebastian says, patting me on the shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”
I swallow a lump in my throat and clench my fists. I know when I’m not wanted. And this is exhibit A.
If I were back in the joint, I’d throw down right now.
I’d have to. Because if I didn’t, I’d have to put up with being picked on for the rest of the time.
I clench my fists and grind my teeth, sizing up the two of them. They’re in good shape, but I’m not sure how hardened they are. Not like me, at least.
Six months of working out every day in the prison yard will do that to you. I did a thousand pushups and situps a day. For starters.
I steal one more glance at Harmony, and she averts her eyes.
“See you tomorrow then, maybe,” I say.
“See you, Jax,” she calls in a sweet singsong tone.
Part of me wants to key the guy’s car. But luckily, my cooler head prevails.
I’m
a black sheep. I should have been up-front with Harmony and told her the first night about my stint.
The hot night air greets me, and I slam my fists together.
Harmony’s a good girl. She’s pretty. Talented. And damn, that voice. I reckon she’s the sort of woman wars are started over.
I’ve got the black sheep label now, though, so I might as well get her out of my mind. That first night we had was an aberration. A mistake. She was probably scared shitless that whole ride.
Sitting on my motorcycle, I feel myself and my heart hardening, and I have a realization.
Since when do I get caught up on one girl?
I’m not a one-girl kind of guy, anyhow.
Pulling out my phone, I dial up Kevin.
“Hey, loser,” he answers. “Still too cool to hang out?”
“Where are you?” I ask, ignoring his comment.
“Malek’s. I told you.”
A slow smile crosses my face. “Perfect. I’ll see you in a few. Let’s get shitfaced.”
I hang up and turn the key to rev my engine.
I haven’t gone balls to the walls partying since I got out. I’ve been a good little ex-con. I’ve been saving up my money, thinking about tomorrow.
But tonight I’m going to pretend tomorrow never comes.
5
Harmony
“Why’d you guys have to be such dicks?” I say as I ride in the middle back seat of Sebastian’s Range Rover, Brett and Rose on either side of me.
“That guy is bad news,” Cole says.
Sebastian interjects, “He used to work for me. He wasn’t so bad, but anyone who gets convicted like he did?”
“What did he do exactly?” I ask.
Cole and Sebastian glance at each other. “We should let him tell his story.”
“Didn’t he beat some guy up?” Brett cuts in.
“I heard it was just like . . . fraud or something. Blue-collar crime.”
“How does everyone know about this guy besides me?!” I exclaim.
“I’m pretty sure a lot of this happened when you were still in Nashville,” Rose says.
I nod, but I’m still a little weirded out, since gossip travels fast in Blackwell.
“He’s just—you shouldn’t be messing with guys like that,” Cole adds. “You’re a great girl. You can do so much better.”
“Oh, so what are you, my dating advisor now?”
Rose ribs me. “Cole’s just mad because his sister hooked up with his best friend, Mason.”
Cole raises a finger and turns back to me. “Look. Jax is shady. He hangs around with the wrong crowd.”
I scoff. “We’re going to a party at Malek’s tonight, and you’re telling me he’s the one hanging with the wrong crowd?”
Sebastian takes over. “You’re right. Kind of. But it’s sort of a high school reunion here tonight.”
I cross my arms and twist my expression, flitting my eyes around the car at everyone. “I know you all want the best for me, but you are all starting to act like my mother, who also chided me for getting a ride home from Jax last week. He’s a good guy.”
“You spend one night with him and you know he’s a good guy?” Cole fires back. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, listen!” Brett says. “It’s that cover song you played tonight.”
Cole turns up the radio, and sure enough, it’s “Tomorrow Never Comes,” sung by my ex-boyfriend and freaking Francine.
My heart drops down to my feet as my friends bob their heads innocently along to the song, all except for Rose, who is the only one I told the full truth about the song and my breakup.
Even in the dim light, I can see how the color has been flushed out of Rose’s cheeks. She pushes up her glasses and clears her throat. “You know, I actually don’t like this version of the song,” she says. “Can you change it?”
Cole squints as he glances back at her.
“Really? I thought this was your favorite song.”
“Only when Harmony sings it.”
Cole shrugs and changes the station. I feel the remnants of anger still bubbling up inside me.
Happens every time I hear those two singing that damn song.
A few minutes later, we pull up in front of Malek’s house.
Jerry Malek is from the rich part of town—which isn’t very large in Blackwell. It’s basically two blocks long and mostly includes the houses of professors, a few city professionals, and businesspeople—and then Jerry Malek.
His house has been in the family for generations—way back when, they were one of the big names around town. Now, though, Jerry is known for the extravagant parties he throws when his parents—both truck drivers—are out of town. He’s been throwing them since high school, and it’s a come one, come all situation. He even invites the cops, which is a big help when he wants them to look the other way for noise complaints.
Everyone goes to Malek’s parties. Good kids, bad kids, and all in between.
I leave my guitar in Sebastian’s car and we walk inside, where country pop is blasting.
Some guys are playing beer pong in the kitchen, and a number of kids are in the pool out back.
Rose offers me a beer, which I take. Then I head outside by myself to get some air.
The raucousness of the party reflects the heat of high summer. Someone yells “Cannonball!” and then jumps off the diving board. I swear, there are kids from barely graduated college up until, well, older than our group. People who are still trying to relive those glory days.
And then I see Jax.
He sits on a brick ledge twelve feet up, overlooking the party. In his hand is a rocks glass filled with a brown liquid.
He’s wearing sunglasses, as dark as it is, and I wonder why. I still feel bad about how he got dismissed from our group back at LaRisa’s. I understand Cole’s and Sebastian’s protective instincts, though, especially as I stare at Jax from across the pool.
He looks exactly like the guy you’d tell your sister or girlfriend to stay away from.
He sits shirtless, his tattoos in full view, covering his muscled body. They’re tribal, covering most of an arm and his chest. His jaw is clenched, and he looks to be in some serious thought.
I hear the water splash at my feet, and I see Rose’s former college roommate Liz get out of the water.
She grins as she wraps a towel around her body and stands next to me.
She follows my line of vision to Jax and looks back at me.
“Don’t,” she says, squeezing the water out from her hair.
“Don’t what?” I retort.
She rolls her eyes. “Just, whatever you’re thinking about Jax, don’t do it.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Excuse me?”
She shakes her head and sighs. “You seem like a nice girl. He’s not . . . nice.” She puts a hand on my arm. “Is he one of the hottest guys here? Yes. But he’ll break your heart. That’s what he does.”
“How do you know? Did you—”
“Date? No. We didn’t.”
I squint. “Why are you being so weird?”
“You’re a nice girl, Harmony.” She touches my arm. “You are a sweetie pie. I just wouldn’t want you hurt. That’s all. Anyway, I’m going inside. You need a drink?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
She leaves, and my heart flutters. I try to calm it down, but it’s no use.
Somewhere deep inside me, I want a piece of him. Or something. I just want to get to know him.
But it’d be too awkward if I just walked up and told him the truth.
How I’d been thinking about that ride home on his bike all week. Hoping he’d come to my show. Semi-wishing Sebastian wouldn’t be able to give me a ride on the off-chance Jax came to my show again.
I run through words he’d said to me. You played that song better than the original.
How did he pick that song out of all the ones I played in my hour-long set?
He gets me. That�
�s all there is to it.
So why do I have to go and put up an invisible wall between us?
I linger for another moment, just watching him.
Summoning a boost of courage, I work my way around the pool to where he’s seated on the wall.
“How’d you get up there?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Magic.”
I frown. “Want to come down here so we can talk?”
“What’s there to talk about?”
I bend my neck to look up at him. “My friends were idiots back there. They’re just trying to protect me.”
He turns away, glancing into the distance. Running his hand over his face, he brings his gaze back to me.
“I’m not the kind of guy you want your friend, daughter, or wife around. I get it. What’s there to tell?”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “I should have spoken up but didn’t. I just get tongue-tied sometimes.”
Jax makes a move like he might hop down, but he hesitates. “I mean, why would you defend me, anyway? You don’t even know me. They’re right, anyhow. I’m bad news.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true . . . at least that’s not the vibe I got.”
He takes another pull of his whisky, glances around, and jumps down from the high wall, amazingly not spilling a drop.
“That’s talent,” I say, nodding toward his whisky glass.
He smiles a little.
“One of my three special talents.”
“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow. “What are the other two?”
“Never spilling a drop of whisky, cooking anything from scratch, and the third, well, I don’t know you well enough yet for the third.”
My heart flutters and I tilt my head. “Now I’m curious.”
He flashes a smile. “Maybe someday you’ll learn. But look. Don’t worry about your friends. They’re just looking out for you. And you know what else? It’s true. I am a screwup. I’ve always been a screwup, and I always will be.”
I swallow. “I don’t think you’re a screwup.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t even know me. And it’s better that things stay that way.”
Biker with Benefits Page 3