Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
Jaxon
I turn and press a soft kiss to the top of Izzy’s forehead. The corners of her mouth pull up in a small smile before dropping back down, her breathing never changing.
To say the last three nights were the pinnacle of my existence would be an understatement. Izzy may have attempted to drowsily pull herself from my arms Friday morning to make it to work on time, but I had much different plans.
The kissing kind.
The showering-together kind.
The making-her-breakfast kind.
We’d compromised, and I’d done all the things I wanted, and I accepted all the blame when I’d stopped by her office with lunch a few hours later.
Since Becca lives with Izzy, I don’t think she bought the excuse that Izzy had to save me from a giant rattlesnake that had me locked in my room, but it was worth a try.
And if I thought Friday was good, it was nothing compared to waking up slowly with Izzy yesterday morning after a night of movies in bed, popcorn for dinner, and kissing her whenever and wherever I wanted.
It’s the type of relationship songwriters have written about for centuries; hell, I might even have a song or twenty that it would apply to, but understanding the cliché enough to write about it and living it are two very different things.
I’ve realized I was wrong before. It’s not a missing part of me or a homecoming, because those would suggest a definable hole. But Izzy doesn’t fix me—she frees me to chase dreams I never even knew existed. And somehow, that’s even better.
My phone vibrates with an incoming call, and I slip from bed when I see Andre’s name on the screen.
“This had better be good,” I whisper, answering my phone after silently shutting her door behind me. “I was still in bed.”
“And, based on the last few days and the updates I’m getting from your security team, should I assume that bed was not, in fact, your own?” he asks.
“It’s a solid assumption.”
“Well, make sure to tell Izzy hello for me.”
“I’m hoping to pretend this conversation never happened and instead focus on much more enjoyable things to do with our mouths.”
Andre sprays some liquid or another from his mouth. “I have not had enough coffee today to hear that shit from you,” he says once he has stopped sputtering. “There may not actually be enough caffeine in the world for it.”
“Don’t hate me because you ain’t me,” I joke.
“You know what? Never mind. You don’t get to know about the call I just got from your manager.”
“Henry called you?” I ask. My manager has called me a couple of times over the last few days, but I’ve been busy, so I haven’t gotten around to calling him back.
“Yeah, apparently his superstar client is refusing to answer his phone. Bold move to start playing the diva card fifteen years into your career. No one really knows what to do with it since you’re usually on top of your shit.”
“If by ‘on top of my shit,’ you mean I usually have literally nothing else going on in my life besides my work, so I’m very responsive and focused on my job twenty-four seven, then sure.”
“That’s exactly what I meant. It makes the rest of our jobs so much easier.”
Well, shit. I guess when he puts it like that, maybe I do need to get my life figured out. I’m about to head back to the studio and focusing on Izzy as my full-time job likely isn’t going to work.
I’m not sure what that means for me, but I still have time to figure it out.
“Sorry, Andre. I promise I’ll return his call.”
“Good. He needs to talk to you about hosting the Heartland Music Awards next weekend.”
It’s the second-biggest night in country music, but one I said I wouldn’t be attending when I thought my music career was about to be flushed down the toilet in an epic swirl of writer's block and inactivity. It’s also the night of Bryn and Jameson’s wedding, so I’m not sure what Henry and I would need to talk about.
My team knows I’m busy and I’m sure they told him that when he asked about me wanting to be the host this year.
“He can’t actually care that I’m busy. It’s not like the hosts get paid much money.”
“Sure, but it’s a prestige thing,” Andre replies.
I roll my eyes, not caring that Andre can’t see me. “I think my overflowing trophy case is enough prestige for one lifetime.”
“I understand, Jaxon, but SevenFour Entertainment wants you on that stage for some reason. It’s not Henry. It’s the label.”
I pay Henry and my management company a lot of money to deal with this shit. I know the label hasn’t made as much money off me this year as they have in the past, but surely they can’t be so greedy as to let me have one year off without trying to force me into shit I don’t want to do.
Izzy walks out of her room, a pair of running shorts and a baggy shirt on.
“I gotta go, Andre,” I say quickly. I’ll start focusing on my work tomorrow. When Izzy looks less fuckable. Or at least has to go back to work.
“Call Henry.”
“Fine. I’ll give him a call.” I take in the round edges of Izzy’s bottom as she grabs two cereal bowls out of her cabinet. “Tomorrow though.”
“Who are you calling?” she asks, pouring us both bowls of cereal. Our meals have been much simpler since I’ve stopped getting takeout for us multiple times a day.
“My manager needs me to call him back. But it can wait until tomorrow.”
“Great,” Izzy says, handing me my sugary breakfast. “Because I just got a text from my mom—you’re invited to family dinner tonight.”
***
Sunday night dinner at the Harper house is in full swing by the time we walk in. The house smells like garlic bread, and the air is buzzing with conversation.
“We're late,” Izzy mutters beside me, tucking her hand into mine like it's second nature. I don’t think she realizes she does it, and I don’t say anything. I never want her to stop, though.
“Fashionably,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek as Jen appears from the kitchen holding a wineglass in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.
I may have changed outfits a few times before we left. Any other family, and I would be fine, no nerves at all. But the Harpers, particularly after my interaction with Ken at coffee, are an unknown threat. Or maybe I know them too well.
Either way, I have no idea what kind of reception I’m going to get at this dinner that Izzy spontaneously invited me to this morning, and that’s fucking terrifying.
“There you are,” Jen says, pulling Izzy into a one-armed hug before waving the spoon in my direction. “You. You’re responsible for her glowing skin and that dreamy look she’s been walking around with.”
“Guilty,” I reply, grinning.
Oh, thank God. At least Jen is in my corner.
“For Pete’s sake,” Bryn mutters from the couch, where she’s perched on Jameson’s lap, wineglass in hand. “Get a room.”
“They have one,” JT calls from the kitchen. “That’s why they’re late.”
“We’re not that late,” Izzy says, cheeks pink but voice steady.
“You’re not that innocent either,” Lila teases, elbowing her as she walks by with a plate of sliced tomatoes. JT trails behind her, already grabbing for one. She smacks his hand without even looking.
“What did I tell you, Pretty Boy?” she says, eyes still on the plate.
“That the tomatoes are for the salad. But you never said I couldn’t steal one if you weren’t looking, Pipsqueak.”
“She’s always looking,” Carter says, carrying in a tray of drinks, his mom, Alice, following closely behind him. “Having eyes in the back of your head is a requirement to work at KH Security.”
Alice’s eyes light up when she sees me. “Oh! You brought the rock star! You’re…you’re…you’re…”
She trails off, and everyone at the table is doing their best not to notice her inability to recall my name. Knowing how deeply it hurts Carter to see his mom struggle like this, I try to defuse the situation.
I laugh and lean down to kiss her cheek. “Guilty again. Jaxon Steele.”
All three of the Harper sisters snort at my stage name, but I choose to ignore them. “It’s good to see you, Alice.”
She smiles, then leans in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone, but I still think your best album was the one where you wore the leather pants.”
Laughter bursts from around the room.
“You wore leather pants?” Izzy asks, eyes wide. “I know I missed a solid decade of your musical career, but how has that not resurfaced?”
“Once,” I say, holding up a finger. “For my second album. And I regretted it for the entire decade.”
“Pretty sure it’s still trending on Twitter somewhere,” Jameson adds unhelpfully.
I give him a what-the-fuck? look, but he just laughs. I guess if anyone knows how long your bad decisions can live on the internet, it’s Jameson.
“Dinner’s ready!” Jen calls, and everyone files into the dining room. Izzy ends up between me and Ken, who claps me on the back hard enough to make me lurch forward slightly.
“Look at you. Still here and spending time with my daughter. Maybe you aren’t so bad.”
“Maybe not,” I agree. Though, I have a few unanswered texts from Andre that make me question just how much longer I can stay in Wild Bluffs.
Forcing that thought from my head, I take the seat beside Izzy’s, grabbing her hand like a lifeline.
“So speaking of albums,” Ken says. “What’s next for Jaxon Steele?”
“Jax just finished writing his next one,” Izzy says, her eyes full of pride and something else. Something that looks a bit like sadness.
“It’s about time,” Carter teases from the end of the table.
I shrug. “You can’t rush brilliance.”
Izzy elbows me playfully. “While I’d normally question the brilliance comment, he’s right. I’ve heard most of the songs, and they’re amazing.”
It’s going to be my best album by far. Though every musician thinks that about every album, so maybe it’s not saying much.
“You still playing that Les Paul you had with you on the tour last year?” Ken asks.
I smile. Of course, Ken would pay attention to the guitar I’m playing—he’s the one who first introduced me to the differences possible in the instrument. And that’s a nice fucking guitar.
Ken always had various guitars around the house. He was a great hobby musician, not that many people ever got to hear him play.
When I got older, we’d often have conversations about guitar models and the sounds they produce.
“It is unfortunately back in Tennessee,” I reply.
“Is it a Custom Select?”
“Sure is. I got it when I had my first song earn diamond status.”
Ken nods. “That gold hardware is pretty. I bet it plays like a dream.”
“Okay, Dad,” Izzy chirps. “Stop drooling over his guitar.”
“You should bring it to the wedding,” Bryn says. “Maybe you can play a song. Or at least let my dad drown his sadness at having his favorite daughter married in the feel of luxurious mahogany wood.”
“Bryn,” Izzy chides. “He’s not playing at your wedding. Singing is work for him, and you can’t afford a Jaxon Steele appearance.”
“I assumed I got the family discount,” she replies, her eyes widening in a dare as she looks at Izzy.
“I’m sure I can pull something together, Bryn. If you really want,” I assure her. “Though, I’m not sure I can get the Gibson here in time.”
“Next time, then,” Ken says, giving me the first genuine smile since I got back in town.
Conversation flows like water. Jameson and JT end up in a debate about whether mini golf requires real golf skills. Jen starts listing wedding tasks that need to be done, but she stops when everyone groans and Bryn threatens to not include her in any more of the wedding planning.
“It’s six days until the wedding, Bryn. You need to finalize these things.”
“We have a planner for a reason, Mom. I don’t want to care about flowers or centerpieces.”
Bryn holds up her hand as her mom begins to speak again. “No, for the love of all things holy, don’t you dare ask me about fucking chargers again. I don’t understand them.”
Lila and Bryn argue over what movie they’re watching on Friday night, until Kelsey clears her throat and announces they should all watch Mamma Mia again. I catch Izzy smiling at me between bites of lasagna, the soft kind of smile that wraps around your ribs and makes it hard to breathe.
Under the table, her pinky hooks around mine, and it’s like everything is finally right in my world.