by Kim Cong
His house was gorgeous. All old restored wood floors, charcoal carpets and off-white walls. His kitchen was massive and white with charcoal stone benchtops. The whole thing shone and looked like it was brand new. I noticed the coffee machine still sparkled.
The rest of the house was poorly furnished. Most of the rooms were empty, except for a few key pieces like a recliner, huge-arse TV, a table and a bed. The spare bedrooms were empty, barring one that had some gym gear and skis scattered about.
The games room had a poker table, chairs and a bar fridge—though Pax said he had a pool table and some pinball machines and old arcade games on order.
The only area he didn’t show me was behind a big metal door near the front entrance. I asked him what it was and he shrugged.
“It’s my study. Don’t worry about it. Only I ever go in there.”
“Oh, so you’re not going to show me?” I laughed, placing a hand on the door. His hand shot out, gently pulling me away.
“No.” His voice was firm. “No.” He changed the subject by asking me what I wanted to drink.
Now I was standing at the French doors, holding a steaming cup of coffee and watching the breeze brush against the trees. It was late January and hot. Even this late at night the breeze from the mountains was only just now cooling the heat of the day. Pax had flicked on the ceiling fans and the air conditioning in the main living areas of the house before sitting me down at his kitchen bar, and then started throwing together some salad stuff and defrosting steaks.
If someone had told me three days ago that I would be sitting at Pax’s table eating dinner with him I would have laughed.
He was now outside at the barbeque, grilling. I enjoyed taking a moment to watch the show, especially the slow ripple of muscle as he brought his beer to his lips. He’d changed into jeans and a shirt and I had to say he was definitely not the twenty year old I remembered. He’d filled out; arms, legs, and the promise of what was underneath those clothes was tantalising.
“Steaks are done.” I had a moment’s notice to avert my gaze from his arse. Bad Jet.
“Do you need me to do anything?”
He strolled over, plate of steaks in one hand, paper towel and tongs in the other, a sexy grin on his face.
“Stand there and look hot? Oh, wait. Too late.” He winked at me and I rolled my eyes. Dear Lord.
“Geeze, your pick-up lines have gotten much worse.”
He groaned as we entered the kitchen. “Please tell me you don’t remember that.”
I laughed. “How can I not? It’s not every day some guy decides to christen you his pick-up line expert.” I nabbed a plate and started serving while he got another beer. He held one up and I shook my head, happy with the fruity drink he’d served up earlier. He replaced the spare and cracked the top off his, taking a swallow before pointing the bottle toward me.
“Look. I knew the right pick-up line was out there. I just needed to find it.” His grin was easy and sexy.
I laughed. “Yeah, with a girl who you were a hundred percent not interested in at all romantically.”
“I don’t know about that.”
I paused and met his gaze. “Explain.”
He shrugged. “It might have started out as me not being interested, but I can assure you, there were multiple nights before that kiss by the gate that you were the star of my fantasies….” He trailed off.
I didn’t know what to say. Then he grinned again. “Come on, we can eat outside.”
He led me through his beautiful home back to the deck outside. We set our plates down and I sighed in envy. The place was stunning. It was the type of house I’d always dreamed about living in. The kind of house where you had roots and would stay for years and years. For a girl who was always on the road, this was the kind of thing you dreamed about.
“I love your house.”
He grinned over at me. “When I bought it, I figured you would.”
Umm… what? I ignored that comment.
“Well, I highly doubt many people hate it. The girls you bring home must love the pool.” I blushed. Why did these things keep coming out of my mouth? What was wrong with me?
“I only moved in about a month ago. I bought it when I first got back, but I was pretty fucked up. I ended up having to live with the parentals for a few months, which didn’t work out too badly. The place got renovated to standard and I was able to move in without worrying about dust and shit getting on my stuff.”
I took a sip of my fruity drink. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to renovate yourself.”
“Couldn’t. I was hurt too bad.” Our conversation paused as we both started to eat.
“You keep saying you were hurt pretty badly. Kathy never said a word. Well, I mean she said you were out, and that you’d been dismissed because you got hurt. But not how bad it was.” He leaned back in his chair and took another sip of beer.
“Jet, it’s not pretty. I got into a situation with my unit. I got injured. I still have some issues.” He paused for another swig of beer and then leaned forward, looking directly at me.
“I went from being fit and strong to as weak as a baby and barely able to walk three steps without assistance. It was demoralising and hard as fuck to get up and get on with it. I didn’t need people around me. I was an absolute shit to live with. Mum and Dad pulled me out, and I see someone a few times a month or so to chat through my progress.”
I reached across the table, entwining my fingers with his. “I’m so sorry, Pax.”
He shrugged but didn’t let go of my hand. “Having a PT guy who’s been there and won’t take no for an answer helped. Made me realise I wasn’t the first guy to go through this. But I was still a shit. So yeah, I asked Mum not to tell you. I knew she and you were still close and I just, I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“I… I don’t know what to say.” I’d noticed the slight limp but hadn’t thought to put that together with him being injured. I wanted to ask more, question exactly how he got hurt, ask the millions of questions burning across my brain and tingling on the tip of my tongue. But his face told me it was a subject he didn’t want to raise.
“So don’t say anything. I’m better now. End of convo.”
It wasn’t, but with a final squeeze of his hand, I went back to my dinner.
I was sleeping in his room, in his bed, beside him. Paxton didn’t have a couch or spare beds. Or apparently any kind of blow-up mattress. I tried the recliner for all of five minutes before deciding it was lumpy and terrible and Pax needed someone to take him shopping—stat.
So there we were. It was late. I was exhausted and he was there. Beside me. Breathing evenly, completely relaxed, completely unaware of how epically aware I was of him. Every part of me was attuned to his body. The heat radiating off him; his calm, even breathing; his earthy man smell.
I wanted to roll in to him and get something started. But chicken that I was, I didn’t. Instead, I imagined how nice it would be to touch him, to have him touch me. I wondered if it would be as hot as it was when we were younger. If he’d taste the same.
I was on the cusp of sleep, when Pax pulled me into his arms.
“This is where you belong, Jetta.” His whisper was so slight I briefly wondered if I heard correctly. But before I could ask, I tripped over the chasm falling into sleep.
Paxton
Pax woke to soft music coming from his alarm clock and the smell of strawberries. He hit the off button and looked over at Jetta, who was snuggled into him, the little spoon to his big one. She was still out, her breathing even and deep.
Pax grinned. She was gorgeous; even asleep she was absolutely stunning.
And finally she was where he wanted her to be. Needing him.
Pax rolled, extracting himself from the bed. He liked the cold air in the bedroom but gently folded her into his blanket, ensuring she wouldn’t feel the cool.
He paused, taking a mental picture of the moment. It was a g
ood moment. Calm. One to remember when things went to shit in the future.
He turned and quietly left the room, nabbing his mobile from the dresser drawer close to the bedroom entrance. He quietly shut the door and then went out into the main living area, heading straight for the double doors out onto the deck, dialling the number he’d memorised the night before. The phone rang three times before it finally connected.
“Esso.” The voice was gruff, as if he’d just woken up.
“Esso. Paxton Elliot.”
There was a slight pause. Pax knew Pax knew he’d surprised him. “Elliot. This is a pleasant awakening. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Cut the shit, Esso. You kidnapped my woman. That shit? It ends today.”
“Your woman?”
“Jetta Oliver.” Pax looked out at the early summer sun. It was cool in the morning air, but the heat was already building.
“Ms. Oliver? I take it this is a recent development?”
“No.” Pax didn’t elaborate.
“Well, Elliot, I don’t know what to tell you. Your woman owes me money.”
“Bullshit.”
“Hmmm. That is true. Her father and sister owe me money.” Esso’s voice dropped. “And I will get it.”
“She’s dead to you from today. You don’t even remember her name.”
“I can’t do that, Elliot. Take another option.”
“I’ll pay it.”
“And you have a million dollars just laying around do you?”
Pax gritted his teeth. He did, but he also knew that his man was in play. If Brean, the guy Jetta referred to as Suit One, was using his safe word - the Owl and the Pussy cat - then this was about to wrap up and no way was Paxton about to fuck up a nearly eighteen-month investigation.
“I’ll have it to you by the month’s end.”
“You do that.” Esso’s voice was slimy, satisfied. “But, Elliot?”
Pax didn’t answer, just waited for Esso’s parting gift.
“I keep an eye on my assets.” The line went dead.
Pax gripped the phone, looking down at the blank screen.
“Fucking Esso.”
Jetta
Waking in Pax’s bed, alone, was a blessing. I felt less awkward. After a shower and breakfast, our first stop was my loft. I insisted Pax stay in the car. He insisted he come up.
At breakfast Pax had explained that I was in danger and that he was uncomfortable with me being alone. He assured me he would take care of it, but it would take a while. Considering I was still reeling from the kidnapping and the threats of forced prostitution, I was more than happy to take up his offer of protection and a house for the month.
I started throwing clothes and things in my bag while he wandered around my apartment, taking in the photos, the instruments, and recording gear. Apart from my music sheets, which were stacked everywhere, my house was spotless, everything in its place.
When I got into a creative groove, I would lose track, discarding sheets until I finally composed a piece to be exactly how it sounded in my head.
Unfortunately for me, Pax was seeing the aftermath of one of those times.
He ignored me and picked up my favourite guitar, an acoustic Fender, a gift from my dad for my sixteenth birthday. My mum had designed the graphics, a phoenix rising from the ashes, like my tattoo. Gorgeous.
“You still have Nix.”
“I could hardly get rid of her. She’s my best girl.”
He grinned, settled in, and began to strum while I finished packing.
“Not bad, Elliot.” I walked over and held out a hand. He finished strumming and passed Nix over.
“I learnt from the best.” I moved to put her back on the stand but he touched my arm, pausing me.
“Pack her. You never know.” Goosebumps broke out across my skin and a small shiver ran down my spine. His words were a small reminder that this wasn’t over. I packed her up silently and, for good measure, grabbed my mum’s ukulele as well. Some things were priceless.
It would take us three hours to drive to Sydney. I was too nervous to do much but look out the window. We were about thirty minutes out of Canberra before Pax spoke.
“So. What’s the playlist for today?”
“Playlist?”
“Come on. You can’t tell me you don’t still do that.”
I stared at him, surprised. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
His eyes met mine for a long moment before he turned back to look out the windscreen. “I remember everything, Jetta.”
I looked away and stared out the window.
I used to write playlists in my head. It was a silly thing I did where I’d try to find the perfect song for each moment. Now I didn’t.
“I don’t do that anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because for a long time, the playlists weren’t happy.”
“Are they happy now?”
I glanced back over at him. “I hope they will be.”
We were both silent as we continued toward Sydney.
Four years earlier – Paxton
Pax opened the package. Chocolates, a book, some photos, a t-shirt with an empty toilet roll and “What would MacGyver do?” printed across the chest. A toothbrush with two tubes of toothpaste and a seven pack of underwear rounded out the care package. He grinned. Pure Jet.
Pax ripped opened a chocolate and popped the treat in his dry mouth. After a month out in the trenches stalking across a desert full of people who just wanted to fuck up whoever they saw, he deserved a little bit of goodness. More, he deserved to get the taste of dirt out of his mouth.
Pax kicked off his combat boots and stretched out of the dodgy single cot that served as a bed and tucked one hand behind his head as he held the letter up to the light with the other.
Dear Pax,
I miss you. It’s hard to explain how much. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way you’d make me laugh and listen. I miss your hugs.
I don’t know why I write these for you anymore. It’s not like you write back. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you can’t.
“Oh, Jetta.” He ran his thumb over the corner of the letter, wishing it was her skin.
Courtney’s been driving me crazy. Paul discovered how good she is. I wrote a few letters ago about her voice. It’s amazing. She’s basically the best of us all.
But I’m so worried. I can’t help but be worried. She’s so young and immature. I’ve been taking her to see a psychologist, but it’s not helping. I can’t control her. Mum and Dad indulged her so much and I just can’t. I don’t want to. I want her to be responsible, not fall into the same spiral that they were in. I try so hard to be a good parent, to set solid boundaries, but I just don’t know if this is the right thing. I want to encourage her to do what she loves, but I think she loves the fame more than the singing.
“Doesn’t surprise me. You always were the only sane one. How did you turn out so well?”
Anyway, I’ve been writing songs again. I sold them and celebrated by sending Courtney to Melbourne for her art camp. I’m so selfish, but it’s nice to just be alone and not have to worry about her. She was away for a week so I got rip roaring drunk and ended up on the floor going through some old photos. I sent you copies.
Pax reached for the photos and laughed. They were of her and him. There were a few, one of her at his house, standing on his bed in nothing but underwear, hand on hip, bent forward toward the camera, mouth open in a smiling yell and devil horns in the air. It’d been the first time she’d ever gotten drunk and the first time he’d seen her in various stages of undress. He’d needed to capture it to remember and to prolong her embarrassment throughout the hangover that had followed.
The second picture had been taken by his mum. They’d been swimming in the pool. It looked like Christmas day—Pax had graduated earlier that summer. They had wet hair, both leaning over the side of the pool, slightly sunburnt, his arm slung over her
shoulder, Jet grinning up at him, Pax smiling down at her. The last one was a more recent photo. She’d changed. She’d dropped the puppy fat and slimmed out in her face, but her curves were still there. She was seated in a giant hand seat, one leg thrown over the thumb, holding a guitar, a bunch of papers scattered around the foot of the chair. She was smiling at the camera, her hair down. He ran his thumb over her face, wishing he was there with her.
I also made you a mix tape. Or CD. Anyway, your mum said you had a stereo there so I just thought…. It’s not very good. I never was a great singer. But enjoy.
I miss you, Pax. Stay safe and come home soon.
Love you.
Yours always,
Jet.
Pax gently and carefully folded the letter and placed it in the Ziploc bag along with the others, inside his pack. When he was out on patrol for weeks on end, the Ziploc kept them safe for those moments he needed a reminder of why he was fighting.
He stuck the CD in the player and put the headphones on, hitting the light switch on the way down. In the dark, he lay listening to her utterly amazing, sexy voice sing of when they’d meet again.
Present Day – Jetta
“Get. The Fuck. Out.” Courtney was dead calm and it was scaring me. I’d told her I knew. I’d told her about Esso. She didn’t care.
“Courtney, this guy, he’s—”
“I said. Get. Out.”
Pax was leaning against the wall between the living room and the kitchen, watching. He’d been silent the whole time. As soon as we walked in, Courtney started flirting with him. As soon as I mentioned Esso, she stopped and went stone cold.
Now she was trying to get us to leave.
“Courtney, you have a problem. We can help you. We can get you help.” She rose from her chair and glared down at me.
“I do not have an issue.” Tears of frustration welled, threatening to fall.
“Ney-ney, you’ve got an addiction. We owe a million dollars.” She whirled from me and stalked to the kitchen. Her dress was a white, ripped long thing. It made her look all of twelve years old.