Chapter 44
Chapter forty-four
Izzy
“Come on, Lucille,” I say to the seventy-four-year-old woman lifting weights next to me. “We both know you can do heavier than fives. I’m using twenty-fives.”
Lucille glares at me, but she switches her dumbbells out for eights. I let out a laugh and keep pressing the large weights above my head. Lucille secretly loves it when I give her shit.
It might be the endorphins finally hitting forty-five minutes into class, but I’m feeling great. I’m excited for Bryn’s wedding this weekend.
Things with Jaxon are going well—even I can’t pretend they’re fake anymore.
I know we need to have a real conversation about it, and I’ve been practicing non-cringe-worthy ways to approach it, but at the same time, it feels like we’re on the same page. And it’s fan-fucking-tastic.
“Why’re you so happy?” Joseph asks.
He's back to being the only man from town brave enough to show up for old-lady workout class—Jaxon never came back after that first time—and he always finds one of us to chat up.
“I’m always happy,” I reply. “A fucking ray of sunshine—sorry, Lucille.”
Lucille tsks, but I can tell how entertained she is by the whole interaction. I may be friendly, but I’m not sunshine. More like a cute cartoon rain cloud.
“Is this what happens when you’re sleeping with a rock star?” he asks, gesturing toward my face.
Yes. No. I mean, the increased number of orgasms in my life is definitely a factor in my happiness, but the truth is, it’s a very small part.
And it’s not a consistent one. Yes, Jaxon has made me come more times than any other man, but it’s still not a surefire bet. The first time we had sex after the orgasm…I was too in my head again, worrying about what it would mean if it didn’t happen that time.
Jax spent a LOT of time with his head, and then his fingers, and then his cock between my legs, his voice in my ear, before I finally gave up.
He’d held me and told me stories, and made it seem like it wasn’t awkward or like I wasn’t still broken.
He just seemed to…accept that it wouldn’t happen every time.
Then he’d woken me up with his tongue on my core, and I’d exploded into a million pieces in less than thirty seconds. Well, at least thirty conscious seconds.
“Are you asking me about my sex life?” I tease, tilting my head to one side before walking to the pulldown machine. “Why don’t you go flex in the mirror or something?” I joke. “Leave the heavy weights to us women. You just go make sure you look pretty.”
“Thank you for noticing I look pretty,” he says before flouncing off.
Ten minutes later, I leave class. I plug my phone into my car’s speaker system, noticing as my music app pulls up that I have a voicemail.
I mentally remind myself to call whoever it is back when I reach my house and then pull out of the lot, belting out the lyrics to one of Jaxon’s first songs as I drive.
My phone may be magical, because, as if I conjured him, Jaxon is sitting on my front steps.
“Why does this seem familiar?” I ask, as I climb out of my car, my athletic shorts sticking to the back of my legs.
The day is sunny and warm, and Jaxon looks like he could be shooting a cover for his next album the way the rays of light dance across his broad shoulder and through his hair.
I almost tell him I love him, right there and then.
I don’t know what makes me want to say it, but it takes all my control to not blurt it out.
Jaxon takes me in, his eyes tracing the line of my tank top, past my stomach, and down my bare legs, like he’s trying to catalog the way I look.
“Workout class,” he says like it’s the answer he’s been looking for. “Of course. It’s Wednesday.”
“Yup. Just getting jacked with the other old ladies,” I joke, flexing a bicep and leaning in to give him a kiss.
“Iz…I’ve been…I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”
Suddenly, I notice he’s not smiling. How he waited on my porch instead of letting himself in.
“Sorry,” I reply. There’s something about his posture that makes my desire to kiss him feel like it might not be welcome right now. “I left my phone in the car by accident. What’s up?”
He runs his fingers through his hair, leaving deep trails alongside earlier ones. “I’m hosting the HMAs this year.”
“Oh,” I say, uncertain why the smile on my face feels out of place. “Congratulations? That sounds like a pretty big deal.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “It is. And it also isn’t. But, well, the thing is...”
I raise my eyebrow, wishing he would cut to the chase so we can at least be on the same page about why this seems like the world is coming to an end.
“What?” I ask when it appears he’s not going to finish his thought.
“It’s on Saturday.”
A knot forms in the center of my ribs as I ask, “As in…this Saturday? Like, the day of Bryn’s wedding?”
Jaxon nods, barely able to meet my eyes.
I lick my lips, searching his face for answers. “And, you’re going?”
“I fought it,” he says quickly, as if it would somehow soften the blow.
“I told them no. I pushed back. Which is why I’m just mentioning it now.
But my label won’t budge, and well, it’s in my contract that they can make the final call on these things.
So, if I don’t go, I could lose everything.
My contract. My label. My songs. All my songs, Iz.
” He says the last part like it explains everything.
“Right,” I say, but it’s like my synapses have stopped firing, my brain unable to understand. “So, you’re hosting the HMAs on Saturday night, so you’re…not going to be able to come to the wedding?”
“It’s at the same time, Iz. I can’t. I literally can’t.”
“Okay,” I say. Not because it is, but because, what else is there to say? He has to go.
“Unfortunately, they need me there as soon as possible. I have to be on a plane to Nashville in”—he checks his watch—“twenty minutes. I tried to tell you sooner, but you didn’t answer your phone.”
Heat burns behind my eyes. My jaw aches from clenching.
“I see,” I say, crossing my arms, not out of anger, but to protect myself from the sadness I feel creeping in. It’s not even about fooling my family anymore. I just want Jaxon with me.
“I’m coming back, Iz. Trust me.”
I do. It might be blurry and unlikely, but I can see our life together playing out. One where he loves me for who I am, and I’m his biggest supporter, the inspiration behind every love song he writes. I want it to be true.
But I don’t know if I will be able to fully believe it until he actually comes back.
“Okay.” A tear drips down the side of my nose, and I swipe at it angrily. I should not be crying right now.
“Iz,” Jaxon says, coming down the stairs, his arms expanding to give me a hug.
It’s an embrace I desperately want.
He wraps me into him, but I just can’t seem to make my crossed arms drop and return his hug. I’m disoriented. I’m not sure why I’m crying. We’ve moved past the point where the only thing between us is a deal for him to be my fake date to something real.
“I’m so sorry, Izzy,” he says, his voice soft and low, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “I have to do this. It’s my career. My life. My songs.”
“Of course. Of course you do. I understand,” I say. And I do. Even if my heart doesn’t. Even if I’m questioning everything.
Jaxon leans back cautiously, his callused thumb gently touching my face. “I will be back. I need you to believe that.”
I nod, pursing my lips together to stop their trembling.
“Iz.” His chestnut eyes are pleading, his disheveled hair a clear sign of his distress.
Sniffling, I say, “I’m sad you can’t come to the wedding with me, but it’s not your fault. We’re both grownups. I understand how important your job is to you, Jaxon.”
“You’re very important to me too, Izzy.”
I just nod, biting my cheek to keep any more tears from falling while he’s here. I know it’s okay to be sad, but I also know Jaxon feels bad. I don’t need to make him feel worse.
It will be fine. Totally fine.
“I’m coming back, Iz. I promise. I’m coming back for you,” Jaxon says, the pain in his voice clear, even behind the confidence he’s trying to exude.
Maybe. But promises are often just prettier versions of goodbyes.
I stare at him, my arms wrapped around my waist, unable to comfort him. Unable to get out of my head enough to say anything.
“I…I have to go,” he says, as if that encompasses everything. And maybe it does.
“I know.”
It’s like we’re a broken record, neither of us able to say anything worthwhile.
He needs me to believe he’s coming back.
I want to, but am not sure I can until I see it with my own eyes.
Jaxon’s phone vibrates, and he looks at the screen before meeting my eyes again.
“I’m so sorry, Izzy.”
I shake my head. “Not your fault.”
“Jaxon!” Nash calls from where he’s sitting in the driver’s seat. “We’ve got to go now!” He shoots me a sympathetic look, as if he knows exactly what’s going on out here.
“You’d better go,” I say. “Good luck, okay?”
Finally, with one last “I’m coming back,” Jaxon walks away, his eyes still glued to mine, even as he leaves.
I watch him with a forceful smile plastered on my face.
He hesitates at his car, turning back to me, his eyes pleading. And I can’t help the stupid, stubborn hope that bubbles up. Hope that maybe, he’ll stay. Or at least ask me to go with him. Even if we both know I can’t.
Jaxon’s large shoulders rise one time, as if he’s taking a deep breath, and when he breaks eye contact to climb into the passenger’s seat, I finally let the tears fall hard and fast.
“Are you okay?” Becca asks as I walk into the house, her eyebrows pulled together in concern.
I shake my head but keep moving toward my room. Not bothering to take my clothes off, I climb under my covers, pulling them up to my chin.
I let myself cry. Not the silent, polite kind of tears but the ugly, hiccupping kind that leave my eyes sore and my chest hollow. Every ounce of hurt that Jaxon stirred up by leaving again crashes over me, and for a while, I just let it. I let myself break.
But eventually the sobs ease, my heartbeat steadies, and I’m left with nothing but the echo of my own breathing. And in the quiet, the same thought that has been echoing in my mind since I first started hanging out with Jaxon floats back in.
What if he doesn’t come back?
The idea feels like a punch, but I force myself to sit with it. To imagine it. To picture a life without him. And slowly, I realize something.
If Jaxon walks away for good, I’ll still be here. I’ll still have friends who show up with drinks and takeout when I’ve had a hard day. I’ll still have a family who teases me but never doubts that I belong. I’ll still have a job that challenges me and a career I built with my best friend.
I’ll still have me.
The me who will survive this heartbreak and come out sharper. The me who is kind and good. The me who is afraid but does the damn thing anyway.
And damn it, that me is worth something.
I love Jaxon—even if the timing of that realization sucks. I want him to come back. I want us. But if he doesn’t, I refuse to let that mean I’m not enough. I am enough. I always was.
I wipe the last of the tears from my face, straighten my shoulders, and whisper into the empty room, “I’m pretty fucking awesome.”