I thumb through the black leather and into the secret pocket that wallets have to find a photo stuck inside. I slide my thumb in and pull it out, but what’s in my hands makes my heart stop.
Me.
A photo taken when I was sixteen-years-old, sitting on a dune by the beach we escaped to that summer. My hair is blonde—my natural color—and woven into a long braid. The yellow-striped romper and canvas sneakers I’m wearing in the picture take me back to another place in time. I’m laughing in the picture, but I can’t remember what was said that was so humorous.
It’s possible this is the same wallet he’s had since then and just never took the picture out. The wallet is very old. It wouldn’t be impossible.
I won’t pretend this means he’s harbored some sort of guilt for what he did or has deep-rooted feelings he hasn’t been able to get over. If the course tone to his voice is any indication of who he is today, the photo in his wallet was just an oversight.
I put the picture in the pocket of my hoodie and close his wallet. There’s also a stick of gum, some loose change, and a cell phone at the bottom of the bag. It’s dead, so I plug it into my charger. Taking a seat, I wait for it to power up and swipe the screen. The password is his birthday—no shocker there—and his home screen is a picture of him performing with his band. Can anyone say, narcissist?
His photo album is filled with selfies. Him sticking his tongue out, kissing a girl’s ass, drinking a beer, playing his guitar, and yes, he even has a bunch of shirtless, bathroom pictures. I won’t lie and say the images he took of himself at the gym aren’t incredibly hot—they’re just uncalled for.
His email icon has a little, red bubble that says seven thousand, seven hundred and fifty-six. I’ve never seen so many unopened emails. I click on the app, and his mailbox appears. Emails from a man named Dexter, who I can only assume in his manager, with show dates, scheduling info and contract materials fill the screen. False Accusations is a small, indie band. If I hadn’t done some Facebook stalking, I never would have heard of them. From these emails, they’re a little more well-known than I gave them credit for with shows all over the country plus a European leg playing small venues.
I read a bunch of emails from his sister, Ella. She sends him weekly updates of his niece, Vivienne. He has a ton of advertisements from stores. Apparently, Jax likes to cybershop. A lot. He recently purchased over three grand worth of sneakers. Just sneakers. And dropped another couple grand at Helmut Lang on a fall wardrobe. Or perhaps just a new outfit for Saturday night, who knows. The man doesn’t seem to have any respect for the dollar.
All these emails have been read so I tap on a subfolder that reads Fan Mail. With an eye roll, I open the folder and am floored to see Jax has hundreds of pieces tucked away—unopened. He just moves them into this little slice of cyberspace.
Due to my lack of self-control, I open the emails and dive in… to naked pictures. Oh my, there are so many pictures of women without clothes on—I can’t fathom what the end game is here.
Why any self-respecting woman would take a picture of her breasts to lure a man is beyond me. My dad had to hire an attorney and a tech team to get my bare ass off the internet. I know it still lives somewhere, but at least there are cease and desist orders on the video. If it goes live anywhere, a note goes out to the domain holder stating the person in the video is a minor and they face legal ramifications for sharing it. Years later and we’re still ripping it down from the web. Here, these women are inviting their bodies to be exploited.
Not every email comes with a naked photo attachment, but I can see why he wouldn’t open them. Half of these girls look underage, and the rest are just desperate.
There are so many notes from people who are true fans of his music. Songs of his helped them get through hard times or inspired them to pursue their own dreams. Beautiful words from gracious people sit here, unread and unanswered.
Moving back to the home screen, I tap an app called Recordings. There are a ton of files with various dates. I select one, and a guitar riff plays through the speaker. The soft strums are soothing as the strings are caressed by the hands of a skilled musician. It’s a slow tune, one I find oddly comforting. Enough so that I prop open the leg rest on the recliner and lie down.
With the phone on my stomach, I settle for the first time since walking into the room. A man’s voice hums from the speaker, and it’s soulful like the sunrise on the Atlantic Ocean. Peaceful in the way it dips low and careens into a sweet ballad. There are no words—just a man and his guitar.
I close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else where the pleather chair I occupy is really a lounge chair, and the fluorescent lights above are the sun warming my skin. And those pelting drops against the glass are the crashing waves of the ocean.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” he asked.
I looked up into his warm eyes, and the stars above him, as we snuck away in the night for a chance to see eachother. “I believe that love involves a totality where you are united physically and spiritually, creating one heart and soul, so, yeah. I guess I do believe in soul mates. Why do you ask?”
“Because of this.” His hand gripped the side of my face and rested his forehead against mine. “Because I don’t know if what I feel for you is normal. I always believed we were connected through souls, past and present, but this is fiery and it’s real and it’s scary as hell.”
I laced my arms around his back and held him tight. “You’re awfully poetic. If you don’t become a lawyer you’ll make a great writer.”
He leaned up and looked down at me with a frown. “Are you mocking me?”
“No.” I brushed the hair off his face and caressed his cheek. “I just don’t find any of this scary. I’ve never felt safer in my entire life. And I know love. I’ve seen it first hand from my parents. This, what we have. Is bigger.”
A grin escaped his lips as he leaned down for a kiss. It’s sweet and brief, yet filled with meaning. When he lifts his face he has a grips me tighter. “My parents don’t even look at each other, let alone hold one another. I don’t want to be like that, Trish. Promise me, we’ll always be there for one another. We’ll always kiss and hold hands. We’ll always be connected.”
“I promise. We’re forever.”
chapter FOUR
My neck is creaky, and my back is as stiff as a board. That’s what I get for falling asleep in a chair. I push my spine away from the recliner in an awkward attempt to stretch.
Rolling my head, I hold out my arms to try to get the blood flowing in my veins again.I let out a big yawn and then curl my legs into me and sit sideways, burying my head into the crook of my elbow. Restless and uncomfortable, there’s no way I’ll be able to go back to sleep. I turn to the other side, and when I open my eyes, Jax is watching me.
“You’re back,” I say, abruptly sitting up in the chair.
He nods. “It appears I am.”
I roll my eyes and adjust the chair to an upright position.
“Surprised you stayed,” he says. He’s sitting straighter than he was before they rolled him off to his test. He’s also back to being shirtless. The large dragon on his chest blazing off his injured skin.
I try not to stare at his muscular torso. “Where’s your hospital gown?”
“I prefer to be naked.”
Ignoring his comment, I curl my arms around my knees. The clock on the wall shows it’s almost dawn. “I’m out of here as soon as the storm dies down.”
“A lot of damage outside?”
“Last I checked, the beaches on the Jersey shore eroded, and people who didn’t evacuate are being rescued. Houses were coming off foundations. I was monitoring the storm when you went for your test.”
“Looks like the storm isn’t the only thing you’ve been looking into.”
I tilt my head to the side, unsure of what he’s talking about. Jax raises his brows and motions his head toward my lap. Like an idiot, I fell asleep while snooping through his phone.
“I was checking to see if anyone was looking for you.”
“I doubt it.”
I toss it onto the white sheet.
He grabs it with his free hand. “Thanks for charging it.”
I offer a half smile, knowing I only charged it so I could snoop. Kindness was not the end game.
He flips through his phone for a few minutes. With each swipe of his thumb, his brow creases deeper, and his teeth skim his lower lip. His chest deflates with a large exhale, and he lowers the phone to the bed and looks up at me. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“You and me both.” I make a sarcastic, wide-eyed expression.
“Ella asked you,” he sighs in disbelief. “Of all people, she asked you to come see me.”
“Looks like there wasn’t anyone else in a city of nine million people who cared if you were alive or dead.”
His brow quirks in interest. “And you do?”
“I plead the fifth.”
Jax winces at my words. I’m usually not this mean, but there’s something about him that brings out my inner bitch.
“Don’t feel too honored. I bet you’re not the only one she asked.”
“Great. I’m just the only idiot that actually came.”
With his eyes down and lips pursed, he adds, “Yeah, well, senators are busy, you know.”
My mouth is open, prepared to retort when I realize what he’s saying. Senator Davis is on the Congressional Subcommittee for Energy—he’s in the city. Either Ella couldn’t get a hold of him, or Senator Davis just doesn’t care what happens to his son.
I wrap my arms around my stomach and give myself a hug. No matter how disappointed my parents would be of me, I have no doubt they’d be by my side if they thought I was in trouble.
“I’m sure he’s trapped. If he could get here I know—”
“This is my dad we’re talking about. Let’s not pretend he’s some wholesome guy who cares about his kid.”
I shake my head. “That makes no sense. You’re like the only thing your dad actually cares about. You were his carbon copy.” I motion a hand toward his head and make a circle in the air. “Well, before all this happened.”
Jax ticks his jaw. “Let’s just say the golden boy became the black sheep.” His fierce gaze is staring hard into the linoleum. With each pass of his eyes, the muscles in his face tighten, and his aggravation becomes apparent.
I throw my hands up in the air, more annoyed at myself for walking into this black hole of a conversation. “Do you want to elaborate?”
“Not particularly.”
I try to bite my tongue. “I’m not in a position to feel sorry for you.”
He blows out a deep breath of air. “Trust me, I’m not asking for your sympathy.”
The wind outside the window makes a high-pitch screech as the heavy rain smacks the glass, and I can hear movement outside the hospital room door. Fast footsteps and wheels of roller beds pass by the door as more patients are moved into this wing of the building. Good thing he came in when he did, or he may have been one of those poor souls sleeping in the hall.
“You look good.”
My head pops up at his comment.
“You look like an idiot,” I retort.
Jax laughs as he runs his fingers through the bleached-out locks. “It is a little bright, huh?” He smiles and showcases the gorgeous row of perfectly straight teeth his father paid a fortune for with years of orthodontic work. “Maybe I’ll make it red,” he says, eyeing my auburn tresses.
“You can’t handle red.”
With a smirk, he replies, “No, I can’t. It suits you. Brings out your eyes.”
My stomach flutters. When Jackson looks at me with the determined stare—like he’s doing right now—I can’t help the whoosh that takes place in my gut.
“When did you change it?”
I’ve been dying it for so long, I almost forget what it’s like to be blonde. “When I left Virginia.”
“Hiding who you really are?”
“Hiding who I’ve become.”
He pulls at the tab on his sheet, twirling it between his fingers. “Can’t imagine you turned out to be anything but flawless. You’re the gentlest person to ever walk the planet. You used to save animals and tutor kids for free.”
“You’re the one who climbed the tree to save that cat.” I’m mad at myself for bringing up the sweet memory as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“Because you were devastated. I was a sucker for the pretty blonde who lived next door. You remember that time you didn’t make the cheer team?”
I lower my chin at him. “You told me the squad was filled with wannabe prostitutes and a resting place for girls with inferiority complexes.
“I was right.” His tone is matter-of-fact.
I narrow my gaze. “Ella was on the team.”
“Exceptions can be made.” He gives a crooked smile and looks back at me. “You were too good for them. And then you joined the damn drama club.”
I nod. “Yeah, I loved it until I got that scathing review in the Whyndam Gazette. I never should have been cast as Annie Oakley.”
“I must have gone to fifty newsstands and bought every damned paper. Burned them in the field behind the football field.”
I jolt in surprise. “You bought all the papers?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
I fumble my words in disbelief, “What do you mean you burned papers? How many?”
His head sways from side to side. “Three hundred.”
“Why would you do that?”
He clears his throat and wipes a hand on the back of his neck. “You were upset.”
My mouth hangs open as I stare at the square floor tiles. One is raised slightly, standing out from the others. I was fifteen when I performed in that play. It was before we were an item. He should have told me then what he had done. A time when I would have actually appreciated it.
“It worked out,” he says. “You joined the school newspaper after that and found your true calling.”
Feeling uncomfortable with the direction our conversation, I take out my phone as a means to distract myself. No matter what I see on the screen, I can’t help but feel his presence. His bleached hair is looming in the background. That gaze penetrating my every thought.
I raise my shoulders and spread out my hands as if to ask, Why are you looking at me like that?
“I thought for sure you’d be on your way to being a reporter by now.” He folds his hands on his lap and tilts his head in appraisal of me. “You used to watch Diane Sawyer like she was a rock star. You were just as smart and beautiful as she was, too. If there was anyone in this world who was going to be what they set out to be, it was Triciana Hogan. You gave up.”
I clench my jaw and bit down. He sees the look of pure anger I give him.
“What?” he asks, incredulously. “You’re just gonna settle for being someone’s assistant?”
“Production assistant.” I breathe out harshly.
“A PA is nothing more than a glorified coffee fetcher,” he hisses.
“Better than a wannabe rock star,” I spit.
“Hey, at least I’m living my dream.”
“You took away my dreams!” I shout.
“Says the person who’s too afraid to chase them.”
“Fuck you.”
“You’ve already done that, sweetheart.
I bolt out of my seat so fast, I’m surprised I don’t fall over. I’m at the door in three seconds, gripping the handle.
“Trish.”
The harsh tone of his voice makes my body stop.
“Trish, please. I’m sorry.”
I pause with my back to him, my body halfway out the door. My heart, however, is halted inside the room. A heart so full of hurt yet, for some reason, still beats faster at the sound of his voice. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
He’s right. He shouldn’t have. What is it about this inept man that can’t comprehen
d the years of tragedy he ensued on me?
I should walk out the door. I should slam it and choose to sleep on the floor of a hospital waiting room all night, or hell, even brave it out in the greatest hurricane to bear down on our city in a hundred years. But this is the opportunity most people wish they had—to confront an enemy at a time when that person needs mercy instead of vengeance.
With my back to him, I speak out into the open air of the room.
“Why’d you do it, Jax?”
He doesn’t answer. I know it’s not because he doesn’t understand the question. It’s because he knows it all too well.
“I let you film us because I thought it would be fun. I wanted to give you that memory to take with you. It was for you and you alone. Never in my life would I have believed you’d share it.” Reluctantly, I turn around.
His head falls back on the pillow, and he looks up at the ceiling. He swallows, hard, and his Adam’s apple bobs.
“I don’t know.”
I cry out in exasperation. “Nine years I waited for an explanation, and this is what I get. You don’t know.”
His head rises. His eyes are glassy. “I mean it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I…I was an asshole.”
“No, you weren’t. That’s what I don’t understand. You were honest and good. You were my friend.”
“And you were mine.”
“Then why humiliate me?”
“Because I’m a selfish bastard, that’s why!” he shouts. “I showed my friends because the tape we made was hot. I uploaded it to my computer, and Chad asked if he could have a copy. I said no, but I let him watch it.”
“Why would you even show it to him?”
“I was eighteen and thought it was awesome to have this tape with my beautiful girl and he was my best friend. I never dreamed he would post it. I didn’t even know you could just upload things to the internet like that. I had no idea it would be all over the school.”
“You’re blaming this on Chad? He never should have had it in the first place.”
“I’m not…I’m not blaming Chad.” He winces, grabbing his side. “I’m blaming myself. God dammit, Triciana, listen to me.”
True Abandon Page 5