22. Paxton
22
PAXTON
I couldn’t sleep last night. Too stubborn to jerk off and give Tate the satisfaction of wanting her, while also being too amped up after our encounter to get any actual rest. After she left, I texted Roman, asking for him to do some sleuthing and figure out where Tatum lives. He sent me her address within five minutes, offering to pick me up and take me there.
I shower slowly, letting the cold water run down my body as I search for some fucking self-control. After drying off, I dress in some workout clothes, grab a banana from the kitchen, and head outside in time to see Roman pulling into the driveway.
As I open the passenger door, Roman greets me. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.” I climb inside and shut the door behind me.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
It’s a good question. One I’ve asked myself a hundred times since the tail lights of my car shrunk in the distance as she drove it home. I thought I had the upper hand, but she proved me wrong. Fuck, did she prove me wrong. I still can’t figure it out. How she does this to me. Why she affects me. Why I can’t stop thinking about her, even when she rejects me over and over again before giving me a taste. A fucking morsel of interest. I know she wants me. I know she’s as curious about me as I am her. So why does she keep pushing me away?
“No answer, huh?” Roman prods.
I give him the side-eye, debating how much I should say or if it’s smarter to keep shit close to the chest. Then again, it’s not like it would hurt. Getting some advice or something. Fuck, I don’t even know what I need anymore.
“She’s a pain in the ass,” I mutter.
“A hot pain in the ass.” He whistles. “Fuck, man. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to keep my hands to myself last night?”
Jealousy sparks like a hot ember, but I ignore it, buckling my seatbelt. “Start driving,” I order.
“All right.” He lifts his hand in defense, then grips the steering wheel and turns down my driveway. “I can see why you feel like she’s worth the effort, though.”
My lips press into a thin line. “Glad one of us can.”
With a laugh, he pulls onto the main road, flipping the bird to a paparazzi parked out front as we zoom past them. “Dude, I don’t know how you put up with that shit.”
“Comes with the territory of being a rockstar,” I remind him.
He gives me an unconvinced look. “At least tell me the payout’s worth it.”
Staring out at the side mirror, I scratch my jaw as the paparazzi’s car fades behind us. Even without the rights to any of IndieCent Vows songs, I’ve made more money playing the guitar than I could’ve dreamed of making when I was living in The Drift. And yeah, there are definite drawbacks to the fame, but overall? I’m a lucky bastard, and I won’t deny it. “Yeah, man. The payout’s worth it. Although, from what I hear, you’ve figured out a way to handle the best of both worlds.”
His mouth lifts. “Guess you could say that.”
Then, he pushes the pedal to the metal, and we fly down the road toward Tatum’s.
My head swings to the side, and I spit blood onto the mat, ignoring the ringing in my ears. After Roman dropped me off at my car, I followed him to Jagger’s for our sparring match.
Fuck, it feels good. The surge of adrenaline I’ve been craving since stepping off the stage a few months ago hits like a drug, taking the edge off the throbbing of my mouth after Jagger’s one-two jab. To be fair, it isn’t entirely my fault. Yeah, I’m a little rusty, but Jagger’s a beast. He’s fast, agile, and when he connects, he hits like a Mack truck.
“I told you to go easy on him,” Roman calls from the edge of the mat. He dragged in a few folding chairs for him and Jagger’s brothers, like watching me have my ass handed to me warranted front-row seats.
“If he wants in, he’s gotta be able to take a hit,” Jagger counters. “Just because he’s a rockstar doesn’t give him a free ride.”
Free ride, my ass. I haven’t gotten a free ride for anything in my life.
I take a swing, connecting with Jagger’s jaw, knocking him off guard, but only for a second. Lifting his arms, he protects himself from my second blow, laughing when my fist meets the back of his forearms. “Not bad, Pax.”
Chest heaving, I pause my jabs and stare at him, waiting to see if he’s still on the attack.
Slowly, he lowers his hands and cocks his head, assessing me. “How come I don’t remember you?”
“He’s from The Drift,” Hawke announces from beside Roman and Ford.
Surprisingly, the gang’s all here. Jagger, Hawke, Ford. Even Roman decided to stick around. Guess they’re curious to see if the rockstar’s worth their time. And even though I know this is only an audition for a position I have no desire to take permanently, I’m grateful for the distraction. For the rush I can only get from three things. Playing in front of an audience. Good sex. And a solid brawl. Since IndieCent Vows is on hiatus, and Tatum’s acting like a thorn in my side, this is the first fix I’ve had since the bonfire. And fuck, I’ve needed it more than I care to admit.
“We know people from The Drift,” Hawke defends.
“For example, you ,” Ford jokes, referring to Roman.
“I’m also older than you,” I add.
“And his last name isn’t Six,” Roman adds dryly.
The words syphon off my newly-found adrenaline, and I scowl, flexing my hands.
“That’s right.” Jagger scrubs the edge of his jaw with his taped knuckles. “Paxton…Turner, is it?”
I give him a short nod.
“You know, I think you’re lucky,” Hawke adds. “Wish our dad would’ve bailed like yours did.”
The words hit like a lash, though I keep my expression indifferent. He has no fucking clue. What it was like. To have a man you looked up to. Respected. Hell, he bought me my first guitar. Gave it to me on Christmas despite my mom insisting we couldn’t afford it. Only for him to leave without a word. Vanish into thin air, leaving nothing but a broken woman and a confused little boy to mourn him.
Ford’s chuckle cuts through the memories, and he asks, “How’d you wind up playing with our uncle, anyway?”
Rolling my shoulders to stay loose, I answer, “Right place at the right time.”
“Just like your run-in with Roman, am I right?” Hawke offers.
Jagger’s expression stays locked down as he continues staring at me. It reminds me of his uncle. The way he leads his brothers. The way he’s suspicious of everything and everyone. Even me. A stranger. A stranger with connections to his uncle, but a stranger nonetheless. Coming to some kind of conclusion, his mouth lifts on one side as he crosses his arms. “How long are you staying in town?”
I shrug. “Apparently, it depends on your father.”
Ford chuckles. “Yeah, Daddy Dearest likes to keep Judge on a tight leash.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that they’re trying to figure out how to shut us down,” Hawke adds. “The question is, are you here to help them?”
His expression turns cold, and it catches me off guard. How easily he cannibalized his easy-going facade before showing me his true colors, and exactly how little he misses. Like a fucking hawk. And that’s all it takes. I get it now. The reason why they’re kings of their school and Harden Heights in general despite their age. They might’ve been born with a silver spoon in their mouths, but these brothers are far from soft. If I don’t play my cards right, I have a feeling they’ll have no problem chewing me up and spitting me out. The question is, what do they expect me to say?
“I think you’re forgetting you are the one who invited me here,” I point out. “Not the other way around. But sure, I’ll bite. Clearly, you don’t follow your uncle’s band very much. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you up. Me? I’m the fuck up. Always have been, always will be, and since Judge was called in to keep your shit under wraps, you should know my involvement is the last thing he wants.”
“Why?” Ford prods.
“Because it’ll only do the opposite. Which is why I’m gonna have to pass.”
“Pass?” Ford scoffs. “We haven’t offered you anything yet.”
“Yeah, but you’re going to,” I decide. “It’s why you invited me here.”
“He’s right,” Hawke announces, clearly impressed how I pieced together their plan despite the few pieces I was given in the first place.
“Listen, I’ve already been down this road. So, thanks. And I, uh, I had fun today.” I glance at Jagger, finding his gaze still glued to me. “If you ever wanna brawl again, I’m in. But an official fight night?” I shake my head. “Like I said, I gotta pass.”
Jagger stays quiet, his attention never wavering and far more unnerving than it has any right to be.
“Roman?” he calls.
With a slow nod, Roman steps onto the mat and approaches me. “Listen Pax, there’s a lot of money?—”
“I don’t give a shit about the money.”
“Neither do we.” Hawke shrugs. “But it’s an opportunity?—”
“I don’t give a shit about the opportunity, either,” I return.
“Come on, man,” Roman says. “We need you.”
“Bullshit,” I start.
“Do it for Rafe.”
Feeling sucker punched, I jerk back and replay his comment, but a buzzing hits my ears, convincing me I misheard him. “What did you say?”
“I said, do it for Rafe,” Roman repeats. Cooly. Calmly. Like he didn’t just throw my best friend’s name in my face. “We both know my brother would’ve done anything for you.”
“Except stop pushing drugs despite me telling him it was gonna bite him in the ass,” I spit. “And would you look at that.” My upper lip curls. “It did.”
Unaffected, Roman argues, “Without him, you would’ve never picked up the guitar again. You wouldn’t be where you are today. You wouldn’t have this life. You wouldn’t have anything without him.”
My lungs stall as I stare back at him, and I swear it’s like looking into his brother’s eyes.
In a fucked up way, he’s right. Without Rafe’s arrest, I would’ve continued spiraling. Would’ve continued fighting and fucking and doing drugs until it killed me or put me behind bars. Seeing your best friend hauled away in handcuffs will do it to a guy. Shake you straight. But it doesn’t take the guilt away. The reminder that maybe if I’d pushed Rafe harder, if I hadn't dropped it, he would’ve chosen a different path. He would still be free. And I’ll carry the guilt of it for the rest of my life.
“Fuck you, Roman,” I murmur. But there isn’t any malice in it. How can there be? He’s as much of a victim of his older brother’s decisions as I am. Nah. My words are laced with defeat, and Roman knows it as well as I do.
Something flickers in his cool, dark gaze, but it disappears in an instant. “Someone pulled out,” he explains. “Someone pulled out, and it would save us a big headache if you stepped in. One night. That’s all.”
“And if it blows up in your face?” I challenge. “It’s not like I’m gonna be recognized or some shit, right?”
Leaning closer to Hawke, Ford mutters, “I think he’s missing the point.”
“Me, too,” Hawke replies.
Meanwhile Jagger’s eyes stay trained on me, but he doesn’t say a word, and it’s starting to piss me off.
“Who wouldn’t want to see a rockstar brawl underground?” Roman explains. “The crowd. The opponents. The people throwing down bets. It’ll be one of the biggest fights to date.”
“Until your little fighting ring is exposed for the world to see,” I argue.
Silence echoes throughout the room as each of the boys exchange guarded looks. Everyone except Jagger. Because this is a two-edged sword, and despite their arrogance, there’s a reason they keep everything on the down-low. They don’t exactly want the spotlight on them, either. Not if they can help it.
“We can handle it,” Ford announces.
“Of course you can,” I mutter. “You don’t think there’s an issue connecting me to what you guys have going on underneath the table? You said so yourself, everyone’s going to recognize me?—”
“And we said we’d handle it,” Ford repeats.
I shake my head. “If I agree to this, it’ll piss your dad and uncle off even more.”
“Let us take care of Daddy Dearest and Uncle Judge,” Hawke growls.
“Okay, so you’ve considered every angle,” I assume. “And you’ll take care of it.” I nod slowly. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”
“You’re making this bigger than it needs to be,” Ford returns. “Half the fun of fight night—actually, every event we put on—is the fact that no one talks about it. Hell, no one even knows when it’s happening or where it’ll be until a few hours beforehand. There are no cameras. No evidence. No trace of anything. You might be a rockstar, Paxton Six, but we’re fuckin’ royalty around here. And if we want, you’ll be nothing but a ghost doing your best friend’s little brother a favor.”
My fists tighten at my sides, and I fight the urge to smack the asshole upside the head. This is what Judge is worried about. This is why he’s here. They’re cocky motherfuckers who feel untouchable. And maybe they are…for now. But it’s bound to catch up to them, and when it does? Who knows what could happen.
“Let me get this straight,” I grit out. “You’re not blackmailing me or trying to guilt trip me or?—”
“Rafe’s mistakes are his own,” Jagger announces. “And that’s final. You owe us nothing, and we all know you can walk out that door of your own free will. This is nothing but a proposition.”
Ford settles back in his chair, looking less than pleased with his brother’s contribution to the conversation. Meanwhile, Hawke stares at Roman, and Roman stares at me, his expression unreadable, and fuck if it doesn’t remind me of Rafe’s. But the worst part? Roman’s right. Rafe would be all over something like this. A way to rake in a shit-ton of cash for a single, measly fight? Fuck, yeah. And how many times have I willingly fought before this? More than I can count. So, what’s wrong with handing Rafe’s little brother an opportunity to do the same?
One night. It’s one night.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Go for it. Exploit the shit out of me. But if you wind up in a cell next to your brother, it’s on you, and I’m not hiding this shit from Judge, either. We clear?”
Roman nods. “Yeah, man. We’re clear.”
“And we’re not going to jail,” Ford adds, hooking his hands behind his head. “Stop being dramatic.”
“Whatever you say, Ford.” I pick at the tape along my knuckles, ready to get the hell out of here, when Jagger stops me.
“Hey, Pax?”
“What?” I seethe.
“You ever wanna brawl again, I’m game.”