On Edge

  “This isn’t what you want to hear about in a war zone. Sorry, Pax.” I went to take the letter from him, not wanting to remember one of my lowest moments, but he moved it out of my reach and continued. “This letter is terribly morose. I don’t know if I’ll send it to you or not. I probably will because these letters have turned into more of a diary than anything. No reply from you. No answer. I should stop but I can’t. I miss you too much. These letters make me feel like I’m still connected to you in some small way. And I need that.” He stopped, dropping his hand to his knee.

  “There’s more, but—”

  “Finish it.” My throat was clogged with tears.

  “Jetta.”

  “Finish it.”

  He sighed and started the rest of it. I could physically feel my heart breaking. It was like shards of glass fracturing into my chest, each pain a reminder that this man had the power to destroy me.

  “Sometimes I find myself wondering about you. If you think of me, if things had been different where we would be now. Would we be married with kids? I’d be an army wife, following you from state to state. Deployment would be a bitch. You gone for months on end, no guarantee if you’ll come home. There’s no guarantee now. But at least we’d talk. You’d Skype or call or write me love letters. I’d wear something suitably low cut to tease you on the Skype calls. I’d send you funny pictures or long love letters in which I’d explicitly tell you about what I want to do to you when you get home. And when you are home, I’d never take you for granted. We’d talk. We’d do couple things. We’d hold hands and go on adventures and bask in our time together. We’d spend days in bed. Weeks making love at all hours. At all opportunities. I love you, Pax. Come home safe.”

  He dropped the letter onto the desk and sighed heavily into the silence. Our eyes met, mine filled with tears.

  “Year three I got that letter. August. I realised I needed to help you. That by not replying, I wasn’t helping you move on. I couldn’t process that yet though. I was selfish enough to still want to hold on to this part of you. Instead, I organised for Mum to have access to my bank accounts and start sending you the money.”

  I felt my heart stop. Everything in me paused as my entire world shifted on its axis.

  “What money?”

  Pax jerked back. “The money. Mum would put it in envelopes and drop it off at your letter box.”

  “I….” My body seized.

  “Jetta, you got the money right?” Pax’s green eyes flashed, crinkled at the edges as he stared at me. He leaned forward, hands moving to my shoulders. “The money, Jetta? Did you get it?”

  I nodded stiffly, watching him relax. “I thought it was from Paul.”

  He froze. His hands, still on my shoulders, flexed, digging in. “What?”

  “I’ve been…. I confronted Paul. After Courtney was signed, the money kept coming. She was still living with me, I was her legal guardian. But the money kept coming and I didn’t know who it was from. So I asked Paul and he admitted it.”

  “He said the money was from him? He stated those words?”

  “Yeah.” I blinked fast, trying to stop the tears burning my eyes. “When it stopped two years ago, about the same time Courtney moved out, I started an account.”

  “What kind of account, Jetta?”

  “A pay back Paul account. I’ve— for the last two years, I’ve been transferring him money from the account. Trying to pay him back for his help.”

  Pax gently moved me away, sliding the chair back. He stood and walked around the desk to his door.

  He threw it open, startling Addie, who yelled, “What the— Pax?”

  “Get me Sawyer.”

  “On it.”

  He slammed the door shut and stalked around the desk to me. I stood, scooting back until I hit the wall. His hands came up, slapping against the plaster on either side of my head. He got close, his face mere centimetres from mine.

  “For ten years you thought I didn’t care. You’re back in my life for all of three days and you’re already in my bed. I’m going to clue you in, Jetta. Something is not right. Just like you’re not the girl you were, I am not the boy you knew.”

  “I know that now.” I pressed hands to his chest.

  “Year six.” He pulled back, sliding his right hand down to grip his shirt and pull it out and up, baring a scar on the edge of his rib cage. “You’ve seen this?”

  I nodded.

  “Year six. April 28th. Third tour in Afghanistan. I got clipped by a bullet. Fractured my rib and needed a shitload of stitches. Bled like a motherfucker.” He dropped his shirt and brought his free hand up to cup my cheek. “April 30th. I read every single one of your unopened letters. I started at the first and kept reading.” He leaned his forehead against mine, his breath brushing against my cheeks. “May 1st. I made the decision that when I saw you again I’d marry you.”

  I trembled as his words sunk in. “But you never came to me. Four years and you never once reached out.”

  “I had another tour to go, was planning on entering the SAS and I had to work out a plan to get you back. Shit got real for a while there, and I had to deal with it.”

  “But—”

  “I can’t take back the last ten years, Jet. I don’t want to. We are together now because of them. Do I wish I could change some things? Sure. People dying, not talking to you. But we fuck up, so we own those mistakes and we move on. I own this. I didn’t do right by you. I’m sorry. More sorry than you can imagine. But I bought my house with you in mind. I learnt to walk again because I wanted to dance with you at our wedding.”

  My tears overflowed. “There’s so much between us Pax. Ten years of silence. Ten years.”

  “I know. We’ll work it all out. We just have to trust each other.”

  “I… I don’t know if I can. Nothing is like I imagined it would be.”

  “You can’t, then that’s on me. I haven’t earned your trust yet. But I will.”

  I shook my head. “I want to trust you.”

  “You will. And when you do, it’ll be better than you imagined.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, my nose, my lips. I pulled him close, my body aligning perfectly with his.

  “We’ll get through this.”

  I nodded, pressing myself closer, letting his warmth fill the parts of me that had been ice cold. And for the first time in a while I felt like maybe we would.

  After the high emotions of the day I was drained. Ready for home, food and sleep. But it wasn’t meant to be.

  Pax parked my arse on his couch and called for Swayer to enter. The guy was fit with blond shaggy hair and a ready smile. He shook my hand, telling me profusely how much he adored my lyrics. I was surprised that someone so beach-bum looking even knew I wrote songs, let alone who sang them. After waffling on about one of my lesser-known lyrics, he turned to Pax with an overly dramatic huff.

  “The records are clear from Courtney Oliver and Jet’s end.”

  I blinked at the sudden change of topic, but Pax nodded, seemingly able to keep apace of the conversation.

  “From his end?”

  “I’m trying to gain access to accounts which will give me an idea of what he’s making. Based solely on his current assets and account spend rate? I’d make a guess that this guy is ripping off more than just Jet and Courtney Oliver.”

  I interrupted, “Her name is just Courtney.”

  “No.” Sawyer shook his shaggy head at me. “The goddess deserves to be called by her full title, Courtney Oliver—Superstar.”

  I burst out laughing. “Do not tell Courtney you think she’s a goddess.”

  “I’ve an Olive—she already knows how I feel.”

  “An Olive?” This came from Pax.

  “It’s the term for her fans.” Sawyer shrugged. “Like Lady Gaga has the Little Monsters and Justin Bieber has the Beliebers, Courtney has—”

  Pax held up a hand. “I’ve decided I don’t care. And you should probably hand in your man card.”

>   “Dude. You need to get on this bandwagon. Olives are the best!”

  I started laughing again as Pax made a face.

  “Sawyer—”

  “Right.” He nodded, clasping his hands together and rubbing them. “So back to the case. I’ve got way more digging to do but in a nutshell, I’m about to hit the jackpot.”

  “Make a case note—Paul is accepting repayments from Jet for money he didn’t give her. She’s been misled and lied to. Ensure that’s added in there and track how much she’s paid him. At the end of this, she is getting that money back.”

  Sawyer nodded. “Anything else, bossman?”

  “No.” Pax pushed off the desk. “You can go.”

  “Wait.” I stopped Sawyer with a hand on his arm. “Pax, the conversation with Paul the other night?”

  He nodded, gesturing for me to go on. I dropped my hand and clenched my fists on my knees.

  “He said that with Courtney cancelling her tours, we’re up shit creek because of cancellation fees etcetera. He gave me the option of a $250,000 signing bonus if I took on her cancelled shows. Basically it would change from the Courtney Oliver Let’s Get It On tour to the Ten Years of Memories tour, with me headlining and singing alongside the band. It would be a ten years since my parents died extravaganza.” I heard the bitterness in my voice.

  “He’s trying to make you go back on stage. Even though he knows you hate it?”

  I nodded, my eyes to the floor. When Mum and Dad were touring during my younger years, right up until I went to boarding school, they used to have three songs they’d trot me, and later Courtney, out to sing. I had hated it. Crying, vomiting. I hated crowds, hated the way they looked and shouted and judged. But I had done it because there had been no other choice. People had loved that part of the gigs. My dad crooning his hit song My Baby at me, my mum singing a duet with me of her song A Daughter’s Love. Us all singing a song called Family. I’d had no say.

  “So you’ll say no.”

  I closed my eyes. He made it sound so simple.

  “No. I’m going to say yes.”

  “What?” Both Sawyer and Pax spoke.

  “This is going to be huge,” Sawyer butted in before Pax could question me further. “It’s ten years. They get the old band together, pull you up on stage—hell, they’re bound to make millions on the tours and media alone. Throw in sales of your parents’ back catalogue, they digitalise and release a ten year anniversary documentary? Hell, they do a best-of hits album? This thing is going to go off. And you up there? You’re this enigma. Pax says you can sing, but shit. They have you up there? Maybe get Courtney once she’s out of rehab for the final show? This shit is crazy smart.”

  I knew Sawyer was right. I’d considered every option, thought of every possibility. It would take me years to raise the kind of money this reunion would generate. With it, I could ensure that Courtney could have a few years off to recover. Look after her. Look after me. Pay off Pax. I’d also sing some of my originals, get my name out there as a lyricist. Set myself up to continue writing songs that other people who loved the limelight would sing.

  “It makes sense to do this.”

  “To sign up with the devil? To let this guy continue to control you?” Pax was livid.

  “No. To use this as an opportunity to raise money that I need to pay you back.”

  “I don’t care about—”

  “I do!” I stood, angry. “I care. Don’t you get that? If we’re going to be partners in this relationship, there can’t be a deficit before we even start!”

  “Jetta, it’s not like—”

  “No! I need to do this. I need to be responsible. A year, five years, ten down the track, when we have a relationship that is strong, that we both believe in and has gotten past all the shit we’re bogged down in right now. Then I’d be able to let you pay for me, let you take care of me. But right now is not that time. Right now I need to be strong because I am strong. I need to be responsible and not feel like I owe you. Like I need to keep owing you.” I stepped closer to him, my head tilting back to look him in the eye. “I need to be in control because that is who I am. Do you get that?”

  His jaw ticked, the vein pulsing. His cheeks were flushed with anger, his green eyes violently bright. He nodded sharply.

  “But I’m with you. This guy does not get within three feet of you without me or one of my guys present. And when we nail this guy, you get everything you’re owed.”

  I paused, considering. “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “OH, MY GOD, WE’RE GOING ON TOUR!” Sawyer threw his hands up, shouting, dancing from one foot to the other. Pax slipped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in to his side.

  “Yeah.” I looked up at him, his face smiling down at me. “I guess we’re going on tour.”

  Jetta

  Paul’s reaction was much what I had expected. Ecstatic joy, panic at the amount of work that would need to be done to get me show ready, and a suggestion about my weight.

  I told him to shut his mouth or I walked.

  Papers were to be sent to Paxton’s office by the next morning. Everything would be locked down by Wednesday lunchtime. I already felt small seeds of doubt start burrowing in.

  “I still say this guy is the devil.” Pax was seated at his kitchen bar while I served up dinner. It was simple spaghetti with meatballs and cheesy garlic bread, but I liked it.

  “I’m not doubting he is the devil and will get what he has coming to him. But, Pax.” I paused, leaning across the breakfast bar to clasp my hands in his. “Even if I did nothing, if I didn’t take this gig, then I would literally be no better off than I am now. I would still be getting ripped off.”

  “I know. I don’t have to like this though.”

  “I know.” I squeezed his hands and let them go, turning to test the pasta.

  “You haven’t asked about Esso yet.”

  I stilled, surprised at his statement. I turned the pasta pot off and reached for the colander. “I’m trying to trust you by letting you tell me when you’re ready.”

  I tipped the pasta and water into the colander, draining the spaghetti. As I served up our bowls, Pax’s eyes stayed on me.

  “What?” We ate at the breakfast bar.

  “I’m surprised.”

  “At?” I spun my fork through the pasta, picking up the delicious sauce and pieces of Parmesan cheese.

  “For someone who doesn’t trust me, you’re being awfully trusting.”

  I swallowed my mouthful and sighed. “No, I’m just trying to be trusting. Inside I’m bursting to know what’s going on. When I can go home, how long this will take. If I’ll be safe again or not.”

  Pax brushed a hand across my cheek, tucking hair behind my ear. His smile was genuine and comforting. “You’ll be safe. I promise. I’ve got guys on the job.”

  “All I need to do is pay the guy, right?”

  Pax sighed and swirled his fork in the bowl. “Yes and no.”

  “Will you give me the story?” I asked, suddenly not hungry.

  Pax gestured to my bowl. “Eat, and I’ll talk.”

  I picked up the cheesy garlic bread and took a bite, the taste exploding on my tongue. Cheesy garlic bread could save the world.

  “Esso has been on my radar for years. No—” He held up a hand halting, my questions. “I can’t tell you why. A lot of what I do is classified. I don’t like to talk shop at home. But also I can’t always talk about my day. You’ll have to get used to that.”

  I considered it and nodded in understanding. Not agreement, but understanding.

  “Anyway, the Owl and the Pussy Cat guy? He’s one of mine. The government had been struggling to get a guy in there for years. We were contracted because we’re good and this guy was untraceable. He’s in and the Intel he’s getting is good. So good that instead of shutting the operations down, they’ve kept him there for another twelve months.” Pax shook his head in disgust. “I want him out. He wants out. The government
wants him in. They’re building a case so airtight not even the lowest ranks of Esso’s organisation will be getting out of jail before their eightieth birthdays.”

  I sucked up a strand of pasta, chewing thoughtfully. “So he risked it to tell me to see you.”

  “Yeah. The threat against you? That’s my limit. I mean, the guy has killed and deals all sorts of shit that would keep you awake for years. But threatening a woman I know? No.” He shook his head, taking a few bites before continuing.

  “We’ve had enough. We contacted our guy and he wants out. You were the last straw. We’ve been in contact with our government guys. They know about you but they want us to hold off on the drop because they want to get people in place. That’s hard for me. I get why they want that, but I want you safe. So I’m compromising. They have until next week to come up with a plan. Next week we’re meeting to discuss tactics, but I want this done. They’re prepared or not. If they want Esso after that meeting and they don’t like my timelines, they do it themselves. My guy and my team are out.”

  We ate the rest of the meal in easy silence. I was processing all I’d learnt.

  “Have you killed?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. We were sitting by his pool at this stage, having moved outside following dinner. The late summer sun had finally set but the heat was still in the air. I had a glass of something fruity and alcoholic; he was kicked back with a beer.

  “Yeah. But only because I had to.”

  I took that. “Recently?”

  “No. Not since I’ve been back. And I hope not to. But Jet? Anyone tries to take my life, your life, the life of anyone in my family, or my friends? I will pull a trigger and walk away without a regret.”