Chapter Twelve
Jay didn’t really snore, but the gentle sounds he made always lulled Ava to sleep. Only now did she realize how silent her nights had become without them.
His breath stirred a few strands of hair that tickled her ear as he slept beside her.
Turning her head, she caught the sight of his open mouth, lips slightly parted, dark hair mussed in endearing tufts.
Even with his face pressed into the pillow, he looked absurdly perfect…
not counting the uncomfortably smooshed nose ring.
Smiling to herself, Ava slowly shifted onto her side. The movement was enough to stir him. He sucked in a quick breath and wiped at his mouth before opening his eyes with a smile.
“Mmm, good morning.”
He shuffled closer to bury his face in her hair and wrap an arm around her. His warm breath grazed her neck, sending a shiver through her.
“What time is it?” he asked, his voice muffled against her skin.
“No idea.”
“I need caffeine.”
“Want me to make some coffee?” she offered.
Jay rolled onto his back, stretching with a theatrical yawn, arms and legs splaying wide. Ava propped her head on one hand, watching him.
“I don’t want you to get up,” he said with a playful whine. “I want you to lie right there all day.”
Temptation tugged at her, and Ava reached out to trace the ink on his right arm.
She hadn’t seen his tattoos in so long, not since his left arm became a vibrant tribute to Queen, blending album artwork with crowns that bled into a silhouette of Freddie Mercury.
He used to talk endlessly about Queen, his eyes alight as he declared Freddie Mercury the original Indian rockstar, a trailblazer for Jayeshes and Arihans alike.
Her gaze drifted to his right hand, where a detailed rose bloomed across his knuckles. The shading flowed up his wrist, weaving into a pattern of forget-me-nots encircling skulls that climbed toward a grim reaper on his upper arm.
“I’m surprised you have bare skin left.”
He chuckled. “Plenty of real estate left. Got my whole right leg and stomach. Lots to work with.”
Ava rose to her knees, leaning over him to trace the mandala on his neck, its intricate lines spilling into symmetrical patterns across his shoulders. Her fingers stilled at a scar on his left chest wall. A long, pale line cut across his skin, flanked by two smaller, rounded marks near his side.
“These are surgical scars,” she said quietly, catching the flicker of unease in his eyes. “From the car crash?”
Jay sat up, his posture tensing. Ava settled back on her knees, watching him retreat into himself.
“Yeah,” he said. “Where they reinflated my lung. Took a piece of my rib, too.”
The clinical part of her brain catalogued the procedure: chest tube insertion. She’d performed it once, draining fluid from a patient’s lungs. It was a painful, delicate procedure, reserved for emergencies—the kind of emergency where you could die.
Her gaze dropped to his torso, really looking now, searching for what else she’d missed in the dark.
“Your lung collapsed, and you still smoke like a train?”
His eyes flicked to hers, a mix of defiance and guilt in them. “Never said I was good at taking care of myself.”
“It could collapse again, Jay.” Her voice came out sharper than intended. “Smoking makes it worse, especially with you singing and screaming for a living.”
“I know.” He sighed, his shoulders hunching as he drew his arms and legs in, shrinking further into himself.
“Can we talk about the crash another time? When I think about it, it’s like I can’t breathe again.
” His voice wavered, and he took a few steadying breaths.
“Shit, any time I get anxious now, it feels like that.”
Ava opened her mouth, then closed it. She wanted to push—wanted to tell him he was slowly killing himself.
She didn’t survive last night’s terror to watch him destroy his lungs one cigarette at a time.
But he looked so fragile, arms wrapped around his knees, breathing carefully like his chest might cave in again.
Maybe that’s why he’d given her those letters. Some things were easier written than said.
A loud buzz suddenly reverberated through the condo, and Jay frowned. “Who the fuck…”
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, his body stretching across the bed.
Ava’s gaze caught on his right leg, its bare skin stark against the tattooed tapestry of his other limbs.
A jagged scar marred the back of his right calf, larger and rougher than the ones on his chest. Must be another piece of the crash she hadn’t known about—another reminder of how close she’d come to losing him.
“Luke texted. Wants me to let him into the building.” Jay groaned and stood, stretching. “That damn doorbell is him mashing the call button downstairs.” He paused, glancing at her. “You never answered my question, by the way.”
“What?”
“How in the hell did you get up here last night? Ari and I picked this place for its security.”
Ava forced a smile, pushing down the knot in her chest. “I told some guy with a keycard I had my friend’s inhaler. He let me through.”
Jay doubled over, and despite everything, she felt a flicker of triumph. The sound of his laughter was the best thing she’d heard all year.
She’d used that excuse to get to the front of mosh pits for years when they used to go to shows together. Unethical? Yes. Effective? Also yes.
“This is why I love you,” he said, catching his breath. He leaned toward her, wiggling his eyebrows. “You’re a menace, Dr. Davenport.”
“Shut up. I’m an upstanding citizen.”
Jay’s chuckle rumbled as he gently eased her back against the bed. His lips found hers, warm and fleeting, before he pulled away to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Then he slid out of bed again, leaving her wanting more.
The whiplash of it left her unmoored. He dodged her questions, then laughed. Exposed more trauma, then he collapsed into her, grinning. The room felt like it was both too heavy and impossibly light.
“What time is it?” she asked, focusing on something concrete.
“It’s past noon. We slept a lot later than I thought we would.”
Past noon. She should leave. Give him space to talk to Luke and get back to her own life—the one she’d built without him, the one that had been enough until last night had reminded her it wasn’t.
Plus, Binx needed breakfast.
“I’ll leave so you guys can talk,” she said, sitting up.
“You might want to get dressed.” Jay pulled on his boxers, giving her a quick onceover.
She scanned the room, unsure where her clothes had landed. Jay bent to toss her sweatshirt onto the bed, and she slipped it on before spotting her leggings near the nightstand.
“Stay if you want,” he said from the doorway. “I can whip us up some lunch. Maybe he won’t stick around long.”
She remembered how Jay used to cook dinner for her and her parents.
He enjoyed cooking—really, he liked anything that kept his hands busy.
Ari and Mira usually joined, too, turning Ava’s small family of three into a family of six.
Then, at the end of the night, Jay and his siblings would leave through the front door, only for Jay to slip back through her window minutes later, curling up beside her.
But that was then. And this was now, with surgical scars and collapsed lungs and a bassist waiting downstairs.
“I should get ready for work.” She walked over and settled her hands on his hips, looking up at him. “Maybe tomorrow we can do this again?”
He kissed her in answer, the pull between them flaring again as Jay pressed her against the doorframe. She pulled back just enough to run a finger along his lower lip, trying to steady the ache building inside her.
“I’m glad to have you back,” she rasped, breathless at their closeness. She could feel all of him against her.
Jay was leaning in to kiss her again when a knock sounded at the door. He groaned, gave her a quick peck, then headed for the door, wearing only his boxers.
“Hey,” she heard Luke say. “What the fuck happened to your hair?”
Jay laughed, but it sounded uncomfortable. “I cut it.”
He moved aside, and Luke stepped into the foyer.
The last time Ava saw Luke Baker was at least six years ago, when he looked like Cousin Itt with a long beard and even longer hair.
Now he was clean-shaven, his brown hair only reaching his shoulders, and without the tattoos and piercings that marked the rest of the band, he looked startlingly young.
His eyes found her and widened. “Holy shit. Ava?” His head swiveled between them. “I thought y’all were done for.”
The words hung in the air. Done for. A tragedy everyone else had already archived.
Maybe they had been.
“Got everything?” Jay asked, ignoring Luke’s comment entirely. “Want a coffee before you go?”
Ava patted her sweatshirt pocket, feeling her keys, phone, and wallet. “I’m good.”
He walked back over to wrap his arms around her and kiss the top of her head. “Text me when you get home.”
They separated, and she could feel Luke watching them, probably cataloging every detail to report back to Riley.
“Good to see you, Luke,” she said as she passed him. “You look good.”
“You too, Ava.” He wore a smirk now.
Slipping on her sneakers, she spotted the journal discarded on the floor. She picked it up, holding it out for Jay to see before tucking it under her arm as she stepped out.
As the door closed behind her, she stood in the hallway with the journal pressed against her chest. Through the door, she could already hear Luke’s voice, muffled but urgent.
She’d come here last night terrified by the idea that she could’ve lost him.
Now she was terrified she would lose him…just in a much slower way.
Ava headed for the elevator, surgical scars and cigarette smoke heavy on her mind.