by Kim Cong
“Jetta.” My sister’s voice interrupted him. I spun, seeing her standing there with Kathy and Ross. She was so tiny, her face red and tear stained. I felt Pax come up behind me.
“Ney-ney?” I looked at her, then at Pax’s parents, who also looked devastated.
“Jetta, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Ross started toward me, propelling Courtney with him.
“No.” The word was a whisper as it slipped past my unfeeling lips. “No!” I turned, trying to find a way to escape. Pax gripped my arms and crushed me to his chest.
“I’m here, Jetta. I’m here,” he kept whispering into my hair over and over as I broke down.
I felt Courtney’s thin arms weave around my waist and her face press against my side, tears soaking my shirt.
Together we had all cried as our reality was shattered.
The next few days were a blur as friends of my mother and father flew in from all around the world. Decisions had to be made and I was barely functioning.
“Did they want a funeral? The Chief Minister is offering to hold a public memorial. Should we do that?”
“Jetta, did they want to be buried or cremated?”
“Roses for the caskets? Should they be red? Or white?”
“What songs should we play in the interval?”
So many decisions. I nodded and answered and ate when food was put before me. I watched Courtney withdraw, her poor little face constantly covered in tears. We were both in shock but one of us had to be a grown-up.
“A private funeral, with a public memorial to follow. The public need to grieve and Mum and Dad would have loved that.”
“They wanted to be buried, side by side.”
“Roses for Mum, a hundred of them in the darkest sinful red you can find. A single white lily for Dad.”
“I want Mum’s single ‘Never Forget’ and Dad’s hit ‘Family.’”
And slowly they left us. Even Kathy and Ross who had been there all day needed to go. But Pax, Pax stayed. He fed us, and made us shower. He hugged us both when we needed to be touched by someone who was warm and real. He pulled me into my room and held me as I cried myself to sleep.
Courtney woke me up with her screaming. I flew to her room, Pax already ahead of me. Distraught, she screamed that they were going to separate us. Over and over she made me promise to keep us together. Over and over I did, soothing her, rubbing her back, rocking her as she cried.
Our big house filled with her broken sobs. Finally, she slept.
The day of the funeral dawned bright and clear. A private service for Mum and Dad’s closest friends. We had no blood relatives, but in many ways, the band members were our family. They clutched us to them, their voices broken, their faces reflecting back my shock and horror and utter devastation.
Not one person wore black.
The service was a chance to say goodbye. And we did. It was private, shut away from the eyes of the world’s media, from the hordes of public wanting their piece, their chance to mourn. It was family saying one last farewell.
The public memorial was pandemonium. People screamed and threw themselves on the hearse. Rock legends and pop stars, music directors, governors, presidents, ministers, people of all persuasions flooded the cathedral where rock music banged out. Courtney and I were front and centre to the world’s grief. Two figures, dressed in deep red dresses, clutching at each other’s hand while the world mourned.
In one way, it was an utter shambles. Tacky and crude and pure unadulterated media whoring.
In another, it was beautiful. A tribute by the masses to my parents—the ultimate rock send-off. A concert to rival that of any grand stadium.
Finally, as the day drew to a close, Pax gently guided us into Kathy and Ross’ car. The celebration of my parents’ lives would continue on into the night and much of the next day. But for the two young girls they’d left behind, exhaustion and grief would push us into sleep’s welcoming arms.
It was the next day; Pax had returned home. I’d spent my first night alone and made it through. In my heart, I knew he was going to leave. I knew it as an abstract thought. A moment which was still in the distant future and perhaps would never eventuate.
When he arrived on my doorstep, I broke down. He was in army fatigues. His hair still cropped, his face sad and tired.
Paxton Elliot was no longer the boy I had nearly slept with; instead, he was a man I barely knew.
Fear drove me. Fear of losing him, of losing the one thing that I still had in my life.
I beat against him, screaming at him not to leave. Not to go. Not to abandon me.
It took him ten minutes to finally leave. I was inconsolable. He paused at the car door to look back, his own face flushed with tears.
“I love you, Jetta.”
“No, you don’t.” I was collapsed on the garden path, my legs having long since given out. I was broken.
“Yes, don’t ever doubt that.”
“If you did, you wouldn’t go. You wouldn’t put me through this.”
He looked broken, haunted.
“I have to. I have to go. I signed up and I have to.”
“No.” I slowly drew my legs up under me. “No, you don’t have to. You never have to do anything.”
“Don’t let me leave this way, Jetta.”
I pushed up off the ground, setting my feet apart to steady myself, and slowly lifted my head to look at him.
“Go. But know this is the end.”
“Jetta—”
“Just go, Pax.”
I turned, broken, empty, and started to walk away. I heard a thump against the roof of his car and then the door slammed. A moment later his car took off, tires squealing up the drive.
Courtney sat in the entryway, crying. “They’re going to make me leave, aren’t they?”
I gathered her in my arms. “Never.” The word was a promise. “Never. We’re in this together, okay? Always together. Just us two. I promise.”
Present Day – Jetta
The band hadn’t performed together in years. Hell, I hadn’t even seen Marco and Anthony in about five years. I’d only ever performed these songs with Mum and Dad and only three or four of them at that.
Most big concerts took months of preparation, training, practice.
We had eleven days.
Eleven days.
This was insane. It was madness.
Paul had us up at six in the morning and we basically recorded from then until six at night Wednesday and Thursday. He’d edit with his team that night and we were back to it.
Friday dawned bright and early. I’d just finished in the shower when there was a knock at my door. My robe clutched closed about me, Paul stood in the door way with a group of people behind him. I blinked, glanced back in the room at the clock and then back over to Paul.
“Ummm, it’s only five thirty. I’m not late yet.”
Paul pushed past me, gesturing for the group of people behind him to enter.
“Today we’re not practicing or recording.”
I stood aside as the group bustled in and starting dumping bags and cases about my room.
“We’re not? But Paul, the gig is—”
“Today we’re doing a media blitz.”
I blinked at him again and then looked at the people who had entered. A woman was rummaging through my wardrobe, a man was unpacking make-up and another woman was standing off to the side, her head tilted as she stared at me.
“No.” My eyes blazed as I looked at Paul. “I know what this is.”
“Yep.”
“No.” I repeated, shaking my head. “You never said anything about me having to do this.”
“Jetta—”
“Paul.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Jetta, I’m telling you now, you have to do this. We have band photos today, and then media interviews this afternoon. We need to sell tickets and merchandise. Today you earn your signing bonus.” With that little proclamation, Paul spun and walked out.
>
I was pissed off. “You’re getting a bald spot and you have a beer belly!”
He flicked me his middle finger before disappearing.
“Your hair stays.” I rolled my head over to my left shoulder and looked at the woman.
“What?”
“Your hair. It’s gorgeous. I’ll add some highlights, trim the layers but we’re not changing it from how it is. It. Is. Perfect,” she declared it with a smile. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was responsible, rational, reasonable, and worthy of respect.
“Your clothes are terrible.” This came from the woman in the wardrobe. “I cannot work with these.” She reappeared holding my favourite jeans and a pair of my Converse. “Come here and I’ll get your measurements. I’ll have to raid my supply. Nothing in here screams rock dynasty!”
“Miss, sit your butt down here.” The guy stood at the desk, holding out the chair. “We don’t have time to waste.”
I rolled my eyes, sighed, and moved to sit down.
“I’m doing this for Courtney.”
“What was that, love?” the hairdresser asked as she squirted dye into a small bowl.
“Nothing.”
I’d spent five hours in various photo shoots with and without the band. After a lunch that involved me taking one bite of a sandwich before I was once again drowned in enough hair spray to add another hole in the ozone layer, and my face caked with enough makeup to kill a Kardashian, I was whisked into interviews. All sorts of TV media, news anchors, entertainment journalists, radio presenters and shock jocks sat me down and grilled me on my life story. It all started the same. How excited they were for this ten-year reunion. How sad they were for my loss. Where was Courtney? Why had I shunned the media for the last ten years? And underlying it all was the unspoken question—was I any good?
By the last interview, I was drained. I was emotional. I was hungry angry. I was han-gry.
I walked out and Ewan, today’s bodyguard, handed me a chocolate bar. I smiled gratefully and wolfed it down in three bites.
“Damn. I need a burger, fries, ice cream and a long hot tea.” I rolled my shoulders, feeling their tightness. “And a massage.”
“I can help with that.”
I spun around and saw Pax leaning against the far wall, a smile on his face. Squealing like a three-year-old, I ran and threw myself into his arms, kissing his face, his cheeks, his lips.
He laughed, pulling me up and holding me tight. Our lips met and the kiss deepened, grew heated. Warm flutters started working their way through my body. He broke off the kiss with a groan.
“Damn, woman. Don’t give me a boner in front of the guys.”
“Dude.” We both looked over my shoulder at Ewan who was laughing. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Pax let go of me with one arm to give him the finger. “Fuck off.”
Ewan kept laughing. Pax’s arm dropped back down to hold me, his face gentle. “Hey, princess.”
“Hey, Elliot.” We grinned at each other.
“Surprised?”
“Oh, yeah.” I laughed and tightened my grip on him. “And so very happy to see you.”
“Good.”
“Speaking of. What are you doing here? We’re flying back tonight.”
Pax let me go, slowly letting me slide one delicious inch at a time down his body until I was standing. “I missed you.”
I tilted my head a little and looked at him. “You flew all the way to Sydney to catch a ride on a plane back with us because you missed me?”
“Mmmhmmm,” Pax murmured his agreement while lowering his head, touching his lips to my neck.
“You… you…” I lost my train of thought for a moment as he gently bit the skin of my neck. The man knew how to play my body.
“Jetta?”
“Mmm?” I drove fingers into his hair, holding him close.
“We.” He interspersed his words with kisses. “Should. Go.”
“What?” I tried to hold him to me as he pulled back.
“To the airport. Your flight leaves soon.”
I blinked at him. “Flight?”
“To go home?” He was grinning smugly. The jerk.
“Right.” I shook myself. “Right! Yes. We should—we should go!” I grabbed his hand and led him toward the exit, yelling over my shoulder. “Ewan?”
“Yes?”
“You never saw any of that.”
All I heard were two very loud male laughs from behind me.
We made out in the back of the limo all the way to the airport. When the door opened, Pax ended up having to spend a few minutes thinking of England before we could exit.
On the plane I had wanted to keep kissing, but Pax had stopped me with questions. Instead of engaging my body, he’d engaged my mind. We talked of my day, how I was feeling, his payroll frustrations and his pride at securing a new high-profile corporate client—no names were used, but I was still happy he was sharing.
Our drive home was silent. Canberra was built in such a way that nearly everything was less than half an hour from the city centre. The airport to his house was about a twenty-minute drive.
We made it in ten.
I made it to the hallway before Pax pressed me against his entryway table, his front to my back, my hands splayed against the top of the wooden table as his mouth bit, licked and sucked my neck. I groaned and arched against him, feeling his erection press into my arse.
“Missed you, princess.”
“Why do you call me that? Is it like a thing now?” I panted as his lips trailed up toward my ear.
His breath was hot as he answered, “It’s totally a thing. That’s what you are to me. My princess.” He bit down gently on my earlobe before sucking the sting away. “The woman I want to worship. I want to please.”
He pulled back and turned me around, his green eyes on fire. “The woman I want to swear all fealty to. The one I want to kneel before.” His lips pressed to mine, hard, hungry, and hot. Our tongues tangled as we pushed and pulled, undressing each other.
“What is—” Pax pulled back and looked down. The dress and cowboy boots were gone. Before him were the undergarments that the stylist had thrust upon me and said would help me exude confidence.
They were hot. Black silk lace. The bra was a cleavage booster, the boy-leg panties hot as hell.
“Dear God.” He took another step back, raking me with his eyes.
“You like?” I arched my back a little, pushing the girls out toward him. His eyes fell on them and he groaned.
“Oh, yeah. Oh, fuck yeah.” He was back on me, his hands, his fingers, and his mouth. My underwear disappeared in record time and a moment later Pax surged into me, his cock hard and hot. Our mouths fell apart as we both groaned.
“God, princess. Jetta. Jet. God.”
I laughed softly. “Oh yeah. I missed this.”
We both suddenly froze. “Condom.” His eyes looked at me.
“Slut stick.” I gestured at my arm where a small scar marred the surface. “We’re covered. Unless you have—”
“I’m clean. When did you get...?”
“A year ago. Woman issues.” I pulled his head down and smashed my lips to his, both of us trying to control the intensity. We were wild, lips, hands, teeth. His thrusts were punishing, bruising.
“Come, princess. Come for me, baby.”
I bit down on his shoulder as he drove me forward. I groaned against his shoulder, letting go as we both tipped over the edge.
Long moments filled only with the sound of panting followed.
Finally, my heartbeat returning to normal, I lifted my head and met his eyes.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” We both smiled. His eyes roamed over my face, caressing me with his gaze.
“Jet.” A hand came up to brush some hair away from my face, his thumb tracing my lip. “I love you.”
I felt everything in me heat. “Pax, I—”
“No. Seriously. I love you. Always have. F
rom that moment in detention when you walked in complaining about the fact you should be able to sing about shooting a man from Reno, through to this exact moment, I’ve loved you. But I am in fucking love with you now. Not infatuation, not teenage lust. I am in love with the woman you are right now.”
Tears hit the back of my eyes. “Shut up, Paxton. I’m trying to reciprocate.”
He huffed out a relieved laugh. “Thank God.”
We both clutched each other, unwilling to let go.
I felt Pax harden against my thigh. “Pax?”
“Ignore him. He just likes the fact you’re naked and you’re mine.”
“Yours?” I pulled back, arching an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” His hands executed a move so smooth that one minute they were on my back, the next they were cupping my breasts.
“I am my own woman, Paxton Elliot.”
“Oh.” He bent down, pressing a kiss to one nipple. He grinned up at me from that position. “I know.” He pressed a kiss to the other one. “But here’s the thing.” He moved back. “It goes both ways.” He pressed a final kiss to my second nipple and then stood, his cock jutting up at me. “I’m yours as well.”
I groaned as he lifted me up and then pulled me down onto his cock. “I can… I can live with that.”
My eyes fluttered open as he laughed huskily.
“Good.”
I was up and out the door and to the warehouse by six the next morning. Pax drove me and stayed for the first half of the morning as I sang, danced and played my way through five songs. We were good. We were channelling my parents like crazy. I was shaking my tail feather like a peacock on crack.
As we finished the last song, a fast-paced rock ballad, I pointed at Pax, shimmying my breasts at him as he laughed. A final crescendo and the song drew to a close. Everyone was silent for a minute as we grinned at each other.
Then Marco threw his hands in the air, yelling, “Fuck yeah!”
Anthony laughed, pointing his drumstick at me. “Right on! I think we got this!”
I laughed and put my microphone back in the stand, wiping sweat from my brow.