Chapter 42
Chapter forty-two
Izzy
I’ve just finished the outline of the landscape analysis for W&R Mercantile when a text from an unknown number pops up on my phone.
Unknown Number
Hey, it’s Andre. I hate to ask this, but besides flying to the middle of nowhere, I’m not sure there is another way. Can you help Jaxon clean out his dad’s room? It’s the only one he hasn’t gotten to, and I have to keep delaying the moving team.
I stare at the message for a long second, not sure what I want to do.
I know he has been avoiding that room, but I didn’t realize he hadn’t cleared anything out at all. Which explains why he never mentioned anything about it.
Me
I’ll help him tonight. Not to worry. I’m on it.
Andre
You’re a saint. I owe you.
Me
Happy to help.
Which is true. I am happy to help. I also know Jaxon’s relationship with his dad is something that haunts him to this day, so I’m glad I can be there to support him.
Unfortunately, I also have three more hours’ worth of work to get done, so I can’t just ride out to his house like an avenging angel.
I call him, though, and when he doesn’t answer, I leave a brief voicemail, one that gets cut off when I start laughing as Becca makes kissy faces at me.
That afternoon, I pull up to his dad’s house and give his security guard a quick wave. He waves back, familiar with me enough to stay in his car rather than coming over to make sure I’m not a threat. Ah, the benefits of sleeping with your sister’s security client.
Jaxon’s rental is here, and there’s music coming from the house, the soft sounds of his guitar mixing with the deep timbre of his voice. He truly is remarkable.
He always had a way of singing that made the world feel like it was his for the taking—like no dream was too far out of reach, even if he had to duct-tape it together and drag it behind him to get there.
He used to hum under his breath when he was nervous. Used to pluck out melodies on that battered old guitar. Back then, our world was smaller. Just two best friends in a town that felt too tight for the dreams we didn’t know how to say out loud yet.
But even then, I knew. I knew he was going to do something big. I just thought—I hoped—I’d be there cheering him on. And no matter where we are now, I missed that part of his life.
Now he’s everything I imagined and more. A household name. A voice that people stop what they’re doing to listen to. And somehow, even after all this time, his voice still stops me in my tracks.
It’s not just the music. It’s the man behind it.
Knowing he won’t hear me knock anyway, I push the door open and let myself in.
“Hey,” I say, sliding my hand along his shoulder when I find him sitting on the couch, his guitar in his hands. “I like that one. Are you already working on the next album?”
He turns his face toward mine and gives me a large smile. “No. It’s an acoustic version of one of my old ones: ‘Forever Starts Here.’”
“Really?” I ask. “Don’t people love the version you already have?”
Becoming a Jaxon Steele fan—a Steelie if you will—is harder than anticipated, especially when I’ve been spending every spare minute with him.
Not only do I have over a decade of albums to catch up on, but there are often deep layers to each song that his fans really dig into on internet threads.
But even when I was intentionally avoiding his songs, I’d still heard “Forever Starts Here.” It’s one from his last album that became the number one first-dance song seemingly overnight.
I don’t think I’ve been at a wedding in the last two years where it wasn’t played.
Jaxon shrugs off my question. “Sure. But it hits different now. I just—let me play it for you.”
I take a seat across from Jaxon as he lightly strums his guitar.
“You’ve heard the original one?” he asks, a slight glimmer in his eye telling me he finds it amusing how few of his songs I know.
“I have,” I say with a small, magnanimous nod.
“So here’s what I’m thinking,” he says before starting into the song. It’s slower than the original, and while you can still feel the love in it, there’s also a darker undertone. More pain. Maybe loss.
When he reaches the part that says, “We walked different roads, found love in the dark, but I always carried the light of your heart,” his eyes meet mine, and it feels like he’s singing it for me, about me.
“I thought I moved on, thought I was fine, all the while imagining you by my side.”
I listen to the song, to the happy ending the couple has, and I wonder if it’s about me, even though I know it doesn’t make sense. Jaxon and I weren’t ever anything but friends, and up until five weeks ago, he likely never thought of me.
Though, he does have a tattoo that suggests otherwise.
I wipe a rogue tear from my cheek as I smile. “It’s beautiful, Jax.”
“They won’t let me record it that way,” he says, his eyes on his right hand as he plays an intricate finger-picking portion of the song.
“Why?”
He shakes his head just enough to make his chestnut locks sway back and forth. “It’s not the right vibes for Jaxon Steele.”
“But you’re Jaxon Steele,” I say. “Don’t you get to be the one who decides?”
“That is not quite how it works when you have a label. Plus, they’ve gotten me this far, I trust them to know what’s right for me.”
Jaxon’s making his team enough money that he could sing songs about dancing at midnight with enchanted pigs and they'd let him.
But who am I to say? Since those six painful months in high school where I learned everything I could about the industry, I've gone out of my way to know as little as possible.
“Well, I think it’s a better version. You should at least play it for them.”
Jaxon gives a non-committal hum. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asks. “Not that I’m disappointed. You know I voted in favor of us spending every possible second together. To really sell it for the town, of course,” he adds with a teasing wink.
Sure. Really selling it. The town. My family.
Me.
“I left you a voicemail,” I say. “Andre asked me to help you get ready for the movers.”
Jaxon’s face tightens at that. “I’ve got it.”
“I’m sure you do, but I figured I could help anyway. Plus, this way I get to hang out with you more.”
I’d told Jax he was on his own tonight after remembering my sister’s wedding is this weekend, and tonight is old-lady workout class. The Monday before the wedding is the right time to start trying to get in shape, right?
I brought my workout clothes, so hopefully I can get Jaxon started in his dad’s room before heading out to the gym.
Jaxon sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to do it.”
“I know,” I say, moving from my seat to perch on the edge of the couch. I reach out to play with a couple pieces of his hair. “But it’s just a room. I could do it for you, but I think you should do it.”
He looks at me, the pain in his eyes nearly bringing me to my knees.
“Iz, I can’t…go in there.”
I tilt my head to the side before asking gently, “Why not?”
He shrugs, focusing anywhere but on my face.
“Are you still mad at him?”
I’ve always had a great relationship with my parents, so I’m treading on uncertain ground here.
I can’t imagine a world in which my parents aren’t some of the first people I turn to with both my troubles and my celebrations, so this has always been a part of our friendship that’s hard.
I just don’t get what it would be like to be so mad at my parents that I not only leave town, but I never look back. Never reach out.
“Yes,” he says automatically. “And no.” He takes a deep breath in. “If you’d asked me even a month ago, I would’ve simply said yes. It was easier to hold on to the anger.”
Silence stretches between us, and even though I hate awkward pauses, I let it stay, physically sitting on my hands to restrain myself from breaking it.
Finally Jaxon lets out a sigh. “Maybe I need to talk to my therapist about this.”
I nod. “It might not be a bad idea, but until then, want to tell me why you haven’t gone through your dad’s room yet?”
“I guess…I’m worried what I’ll find. That it will make everything real.”
I reach for his hand. “It’s already real, Jax.”
He swallows. “Yeah, but…he reached out once or twice a year since I left. I never responded.”
After another heavy pause, he continues, “He told me it was my fault my mom died. That they didn’t catch her lupus flareup because she was pregnant with me.”
“I know, Jax. Your dad told me.”
I consider how much I should say, before deciding on the unfiltered truth. “He regretted it until the day he died.”
Jaxon shakes his head. “He didn’t want me. He would’ve rather had my mom.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he blamed himself for not realizing how sick she was, and you were a daily reminder of his failure.”
“I hated him.”
“I know,” I say. “He hated himself too.”
“The only way I could’ve made it worth having me around is if I became a farmer, but that would’ve made me feel like I let down my mom.”
I squeeze his fingers. “Do you want me to tell you what’s in there? Would that be easier than you walking in there yourself?”
Jaxon thinks about it for a while. “No. I need to do it. If not for my dad, then for my mom. For me.”
“Can I hold your hand while you go in?” I ask.
Jaxon pulls his guitar off and sets it gently on the couch next to him. “No. I just…I’m not ready. For whatever is in there. I’m sorry Andre made you come all this way to help me with something when I’m not ready to do it.”
“I’m here. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here.”
But what I don’t say is that the sale is in less than a week.
So whatever he’s going to do—whatever we’re going to do—we’re running out of days to do it.