Chapter Fourteen #2
“Not as good as Mom’s,” Jay lamented, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“Definitely not,” Ava agreed.
The heaviness from the car had settled somewhere between the first plate and the last of the halwa. It hadn’t disappeared completely, but they managed to set it down for the night, the way they had agreed.
“You work tomorrow?” Jay asked as he signed the check.
“Later in the day.”
“Wanna take a walk? This side of town’s changed so much.” He tucked the receipt away. “Unless you’re tired.”
“Let’s walk.”
Outside, a slight chill hung in the air. A sudden flash made Ava blink, and before she could process it, Jay’s hand was on her arm. His eyes scanned the sidewalk across the street, his mouth pressed into a flat line.
“I’m calling David,” he said, fingers already flying over his phone.
Ava followed his gaze and spotted a man across the street, fiddling with a long-lens camera.
“Story dropped in Rolling Stone about Ari,” Jay explained, voice tight. “Details got out somehow, and now the press is sniffing around.” He nodded to the restaurant’s entrance. “Go inside. I don’t want you in their shots.”
Ava scowled. “I don’t care if—”
Jay put a finger up, already on the phone. “Hey, Dave, we’re ready.” He ended the call and looked at her. “You say that now. But they’ll find your name. They’ll find where you work. They’ll dig up your medical license and your parents’ address.”
Unease twisted in her stomach as Jay draped an arm around her, steering them toward the parking lot behind the restaurant and out of the photographer’s sight. The back of the building was quiet with the faint smell of a kitchen exhaust and the glow of a single overhead light.
He sighed and pulled away so he could lean against the back of the building. She watched him check his phone. His shoulders didn't drop as he stared at the parking lot and dug into his pockets.
Finally, he said, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I suggested dinner.”
“Why are you sorry?”
Jay lit a cigarette, his movements automatic. “You’re private. I’m the one who wanted the public to pick me apart. It’s not fair if you get dragged into it.”
“You talk to me like I can’t make a decision for myself.”
Jay froze, cigarette halfway to his lips. “Of course you can make a decision for yourself. I’m trying to save you from my bullshit.”
“I don’t need your protection, Jay. After twenty-whatever years, I think I can handle your crap by now.”
Frustration bubbled under her skin, threatening to boil over. He still came to her for strength in some of his lowest moments, and yet he doubted her ability to handle his life.
Jay took a long drag, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m pushing you away again.”
Ava stepped toward him. The smell of smoke curled around her, and despite everything she knew as a doctor about what it was doing to his already compromised lungs, the scent still meant him.
It still meant home.
“I’m standing right here, agreeing to a second chance.
You know there’s still something here, but you have to decide if you’re all in.
” Her voice was steady, but her heart pounded.
“That means I deal with your life as is. If you can’t accept that, tell me now.
” She held his gaze. “I won’t go another five years pining after you. I won’t.”
Jay’s lips thinned. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot.
“You really mean that.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“You’d walk away if I can’t stop trying to protect you from myself.”
“I’d have to.” Her throat tightened. “Because you’d be making the same choice you made last time.”
He stared at her, and she could see him working through it—the pattern, the fear.
“You’re right. I’m doing the same shit over and over again.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the careful styling. “I keep thinking if I can control enough variables and keep you at arm’s length from the worst parts of my life, then maybe I won’t ruin you.”
“You don’t get to decide what ruins me, Jay.”
“I know.” He stepped closer. “I know. But when I think about what the tabloids could do…” He stopped himself. “But that’s not your problem to worry about. That’s mine. And you’re telling me you can handle it, and I need to believe you.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying to.” He reached for her hand. “I’m so used to thinking the only way to keep you safe is to stay away. But that’s just the fear that eventually you’ll realize you’re better off without me.”
“I built a whole life without you, Jay.” Ava took a breath. “And the second I saw you at the hospital, I knew I was never better off.”
He nodded, and she caught the shine in his eyes. “I don’t want to push you away anymore.”
“Then don’t.”
They stood there with only the distant sound of traffic and the photographer hopefully long gone.
Then Jay pulled her into him, his arms wrapping tight around her.
He tilted her chin up, and she could see the fear and the hope tangled together.
When he kissed her, it was different from the ones they’d shared in his condo—less desperate, more intentional.
A honking horn pulled them apart.
David leaned out of the SUV’s window. “Y’all need a moment, or we ready?”
Jay laughed, the sound lighter than before. A strand of hair fell across his forehead, and Ava reached up to tuck it back. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.
“We’re ready,” he called back to David.
He didn’t let go of her hand.
The next morning, Jay’s laugh filled the room as he twirled Ava’s hair around his finger.
They lounged in the wreckage of his bed, coffee mugs abandoned on the nightstand, watching old Wicked Smile performances on the massive TV on the wall.
Ava scrolled through clips, fascinated by the band’s evolution, watching Jay grow from a boy behind a curtain of blue hair into the rockstar who owned every stage he touched.
“Watch this,” Jay said, pointing to a 2010 Dallas concert clip. “I was so nervous. See? I’m about to glance at Ari through my stupid fringe, and he’ll shrug, basically telling me to man up.”
In the grainy footage, Jay’s electric-blue hair—his accidental trademark from the MySpace days—flopped over his eyes. Ava nodded at his now-black hair. “Remember when you tried red?”
He groaned. “The backlash was unreal. People photoshopped me into the Wendy’s logo and shit. I didn’t even think it was that bad, but the internet is a cruel mistress.”
They laughed, their eyes back to the screen where Jay was now kneeling and projecting into the microphone. Ari was behind him, shirtless as usual, beating the snares and cymbals so hard sweat was flying. Riley swayed, strumming, and Luke bobbed along to the beat.
Ava’s gaze always landed on Jay, though. Onstage, his confidence was magnetic when he became a performer the whole world wanted. She watched his hands—the way they wrapped around the mic stand—and remembered exactly why teenage Ava never stood a chance.
She shifted against the pillows. “How are you feeling about everything?”
Jay’s shoulders tensed. On the screen, there was a close-up of Ari. “Part of me feels like I’m giving up.”
“You’re making a choice. There’s a difference.”
“A selfish choice.”
“It’s not selfish to leave a burning building.”
He didn’t look at her, still lost in the performance. “I know. But it’s been my whole life. I don’t know who I am without it.”
The vulnerability in his voice made her chest tighten. “Then it’s time to find out.”
He slid down to lie beside her. “I am being selfish right now, though. I’m hoping you’ll call in sick so you can stay here.
” He shuffled around in the sheets until he was able to grab her and pull her into him, wrapping his legs around hers.
He leaned to kiss her, and she pressed flush against him, hands roaming.
“A,” he moaned, chuckling. “I cannot get turned on with myself singing.”
He commanded the TV to power off, and the screen went black.
“You can tell your TV what to do?”
“Impressive, huh?” He smirked. “Turn you on?”
There was a click, and the screen flickered back on at his words.
She erupted into giggles. “Well, you’re turning something on.”
He groaned, mock-exasperated, and ordered the TV off again.
They sank into a comfortable silence. Ava closed her eyes and listened to Jay’s steady breathing and the whoosh of cars passing below.
“We’ve just been talking about me.” His fingers found hers and threaded them together. “Tell me about Ava: Version 2017.”
She shrugged. “Same old Ava.”
“But you’re a doctor now.”
He began trailing slow kisses on her jaw. She let him, her eyes still closed. “You can’t get Dr. Davenport without Ava. Still the same.”
“Still hitting shows?” He pressed his lips to her neck and huffed a laugh against her skin. “Still reading those cheesy romance books about cowboys?”
She snorted. “God, I sold my cowboy collection a couple of years ago to pay for textbooks. I miss those.” He nipped at her shoulder, and she felt herself melting back into him. “And no. I haven’t been to a show in ages.”
“How are Ma and Pop then?”
His lips moved to her collarbone, and she let her head tip back. The conversation was going soft and distant at the edges. It took her a moment to remember he'd asked her a question.
“Boring as ever. Weekly calls, monthly family dinners. No complaints.”
“Ma still cooking that dry-ass meatloaf?”
Ava shoved at his shoulder. “You leave my mother’s meatloaf alone.”
“Kidding.” He chuckled only to add, “It was only dry sometimes.”
“That’s why you drench it in ketchup.”
Jay gagged theatrically, earning another shoulder shove, and flopped back against the pillow beside her.