27. Paxton
27
PAXTON
“ W hat’s wrong?” Dodger demands.
I asked him to meet me at The Pelican after Tatum left for the day, and he agreed. Not gonna lie. I was hoping it would help me get my head on straight, although it seems like it hasn’t done shit.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I clear my throat and answer, “What?”
“I said, what’s wrong?” he repeats, eyeing me carefully. “You’re quiet.”
I hesitate, thumbing the label on my bottle as I replay my conversation with Tate before she disappeared to the kitchen. “Remember Tate?”
“Huh?”
“Tatum,” I clarify. “Your family friend’s…cousin or whatever.”
Recognition flashes in his eyes. “Tater Tot. Yeah. Why?”
I pause, knowing Tate will kill me for sharing anything about her with anyone, let alone the guy in front of me, but I don’t know where else to turn. If she won’t let me go to the source and answer my questions herself, I have to go to the next best thing.
“She’s here,” I say.
Dodger looks around the dim bar. “Here?”
“Not here ,” I tell him. “I mean in town.”
Settling back into his seat, he shakes his head. “How? When?”
“Ran into her at a bonfire a little while ago, then she showed up at my place, and?—”
“What do you mean, she showed up at your place?” he demands.
“It’s a long story,” I grumble. “Turns out she works for me, though. Cleans my house,” I add. “Do you know if she was ever engaged?”
“Nah, not that I know of. Her family is more of a…friend of a friend kind of thing, though, so I’m not sure. Rory’s the one my family’s close with.”
I nod slowly.
“Whatever happened with you and her, anyway?” Dodger prods.
“We hooked up, then she told me she was engaged and not to contact her.”
“No shit?” He laughs. “Fuck, I didn’t know she got married.”
“She didn’t,” I mutter.
His forehead wrinkles. “She called it off?”
“That’s the part I’m not sure about,” I lie, finding the need to cover for her, though I have no idea why. It’s not like she’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed. But I can’t help it. I like her. And I want us to have a chance even if I’m still on the fence as to whether or not she actually deserves another one with me. Scratching my jaw, I tell him, “Tatum is a, uh…”
“Pain in the ass?” he offers dryly.
“Guess you could say that,” I grunt, though he definitely hit the nail on the head. She’s the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met, but even so, I can’t get my mind off her. Seeing her in my home every week? Talking to her? Touching her? The push and pull is enough to drive any man insane, but what a way to go. “I’m throwing a party next weekend to help keep the media's attention, and I invited her to come.”
Bringing the drink to his mouth, Dodger asks, “What’d Tatum say?”
My teeth grit at the memory. “She turned me down.”
“No shit?” He laughs again. “Maybe you really do need the band to get laid.”
“Fucking isn’t our problem,” I admit. “It’s the commitment part she shies away from.”
His shoulders lift in a shrug as he shifts on the barstool, getting comfortable. “Makes sense, all things considered.”
Surprised, I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
His silence speaks volumes as he lets his drink hover an inch from his mouth before he runs his tongue along the top of his teeth and takes a drink. Setting it back on the bartop, he mumbles, “Nah. Nothing.”
“Tell me,” I push.
“Not my story, man.”
“Kinda sick of being left in the dark, Dodge.”
A divot forms between his brows, and I know I have him. Because yeah, sometimes I’m not privy to shit, and I get it, but again? After the last few months of fucking crickets when it comes to all things IndieCent Vows despite our recent agreement? The bastard owes me, and he knows it.
“Remember the guy who died a while back?” he asks warily. “One of my buddies, from the car accident?”
I nod.
“Yeah, well, she knew him, too. He was Squeak’s older brother.” He sobers even more and takes another swig of his drink. “I think his death fucked with all of us.”
“Including Tatum,” I conclude.
Damn. The memory is foggy. It’s been years. But even so, I remember Dodger’s face when he found out. The way he was gutted. The drinks afterward. The weed. We did everything we could to help him forget, even if it was only for a little while. But the worst part? It was that he didn’t even go to the funeral. Couldn’t swing it, thanks to the band’s packed tour. Pretty sure it haunted him for months. Hell, maybe it’s still haunting him. Maybe it’s why he hates Lockwood Heights almost as much as Tatum does. In all honesty, I get it. It’s why I didn’t want to come home, either.
“Seems ghosts have a way of haunting all of us, don’t they?” he adds, referring to my mom.
Ignoring the dull but familiar hit of shame, I mutter, “Yeah, I get it.”
And I do. I spent years ignoring my mom. Hating her for giving my dad’s decision so much power that she couldn’t even get out of bed most mornings. I was only a kid. A little fucking shit who lost his dad, but instead of grieving the way I should’ve been able to, I lost both my parents in every way. That’s when the fighting started. When the need to be numb or drowning in adrenaline took over.
“You really like her?” Dodger prods.
“Yeah, man. I really do.”
He hesitates, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he stares at the half-empty beer in front of him. “Look, I know you don’t like talking about your past mistakes, and I get it. We’ve all screwed up more times than I can count, but…” He sighs. “I need you to promise me you won’t screw up again. Not like you did with Raine.”
Fuck, if the memory doesn’t burn. Dodger’s bike wasn’t working, so he asked me to pick up his little sister, Raine, for one of our concerts while we were visiting his hometown. Instead of being there, I was having my cock sucked by a groupie in the back room while doped up on coke. It’s one of the reasons I quit. One of the reasons I’m pickier with my one-night stands. One of the reasons I’ve worked on mindset and self-control and clean habits.
“You know I’m not that guy anymore.”
He gives me a slow nod. “Still gonna need to hear you say it.”
He’s right. He does. And I can’t even blame him for questioning me on this. For making me promise him I won’t screw up again. Because if Raine’s boyfriend hadn’t shown up, she would’ve been hurt, used, and possibly killed. And it would’ve been all my fault.
“I won’t screw up again,” I promise.
“Good.” Dodger takes in a deep breath and settles back in his chair. “So, she said she won’t come to the party, huh?”
I nod, grateful for the subject change.
“But you want her there?”
My head bobs again. “I like her, Dodge. Even when she drives me insane.”
Scrutinizing me over the rim of his drink, he asks, “You know if you hurt her, I’ll kill you, right?”
“I know.”
“Good.” He downs the rest of his drink, then sets the empty bottle on the counter. “You said she’s your maid?”
“Yeah?” I answer.
“And you use a maid service.”
I frown. “Yeah?”
“So, you don’t contact her directly when you need shit done, right?”
“No, I contact her boss,” I reply.
“Reach out to her boss and say you want to hire Tatum for the party. Make her boss put the pressure on Tatum directly. When she shows up, you give her the night off. It’s what I would do.”
It’s not a bad idea. If I can make the stakes high enough.
“Thanks, man. I’ll give it a try.”
“It’s the least I can do after all the shit we’re putting you through.”
“At least you own up to it,” I joke.
“I know. Let’s just say, Judge isn’t the most trusting guy you’ve ever met, and after everything that happened with Rudy…”
The dead guitarist’s name hangs in the air, another ghost who loves fucking with my life despite never meeting the guy.
Forcing a wry smile, I mutter, “Yeah, no shit.”
“I’m working on him, though,” Dodge promises. “I am.”
“I believe you.”
And for some reason I can’t explain, I really do. Dodger’s a good guy. A grumpy motherfucker, but a good one most days.
“And, uh, speaking of Judge.” I tug at the collar of my shirt, hoping his decent mood lasts long enough to fill him in on everything else that’s been happening, lately. “Roman asked me to do him a favor.”
Dodger’s eyes narrow. “What kind of favor?”
“They want me to participate in a fight night.”
Dodger’s head falls forward. “Tell me you said no.”
“Dodge—”
“Tell me”—he looks over at me—“you said no.”
I hold his cold stare, refusing to cower or let him push me around despite it being his MO with everyone else. “I said I’d do one fight.”
“Seriously?” Dodge groans. Surrendering his ice cold gaze, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Judge is gonna kill you.”
“He won’t kill me ‘cause you won’t let him,” I point out.
With a low laugh, he shakes his head in defeat, knowing I’m not wrong. “Only ‘cause I’ll kill you myself, dumbass.”
“It’s one fight,” I argue. “And look at it this way, at least I can keep an eye on things and make sure they don’t do anything too stupid. Right?”
He scoffs into his beer bottle before remembering he’s already finished it. “Sure you can.” The bottle clinks against the counter as he shakes his head again, considering my admission and what it might mean in the big picture. “Dumbass.”