12. Jaxon
Jaxon
"No, Luke. Absolutely not." I pace the length of my home studio, phone pressed against my ear. "Eight weeks is too long. I can't leave Lily for that kind of stretch."
"It's a limited engagement, Jax," Luke argues for the third time in this conversation. "Six cities, major venues, completely sold out already. The exposure—"
"I don't need exposure," I cut him off. "I need stability for Lily."
"Which this tour would provide financially," he counters smoothly. "The custody hearing is in three weeks. Showing the judge you can maintain your career while providing for Lily sends a powerful message about your commitment to both responsibilities."
I curse, frustration mounting. The European mini-tour he's proposing would be lucrative, certainly, and under different circumstances, I'd jump at the chance. But the thought of leaving Lily for nearly two months, especially with Zackery Dean still circling like a shark...
"Find me a compromise," I tell him. "Weekend shows only. Nothing more than three days away from home at a stretch."
Luke sighs, the sound crackling through the speaker. "I'll see what I can restructure. But Jax, at some point, you're going to have to figure out a sustainable balance. You can't put your career on permanent hold."
"Watch me," I mutter, though I know he's right. The balancing act of parenting and performing is one I haven't fully solved.
"One more thing," Luke says before I can end the call. "The charity concert tonight—are you bringing Vivienne?"
The Children's Cancer Foundation benefit has been on my calendar for months, booked long before Andrew's death, before Lily, before Vivienne crashed into my life with spilled champagne and challenging eyes.
"Of course," I reply. Our arrangement makes public appearances like this a given. "Why?"
"Just checking. The press will be all over this—your first performance since taking Lily and the engagement announcement. It's a perfect chance to show your career is continuing with guardianship and an engagement."
The "narrative." Sometimes I forget how calculated this all is—our carefully constructed story we’ve been living for months. Especially now that private moments with Vivienne that haven’t felt coordinated in a while.
"We'll be there," I assure him. "Picture-perfect couple supporting pediatric cancer research. What could be more on-brand?"
"That's the spirit," Luke says, missing or ignoring my sarcasm. "Call time is six for sound check. Performance at eight."
After ending the call, I sit at the piano, fingers finding notes without conscious thought.
The melody that emerges is the one I've come to think of as Vivienne's song—the piece I was playing the night she first appeared in my studio doorway.
I've been refining it for weeks, adding layers, finding the bridge, transforming it from sketch to complete composition.
I'm so absorbed in the music that I don't hear her enter until she speaks.
"That's new," Vivienne says from the doorway. "At least, I haven't heard that part before."
I look up, startled but not displeased by the interruption. She's dressed for work in a tailored blue suit that brings out the warmth in her eyes, hair swept up in a sleek knot that emphasizes the elegant line of her neck.
"Just working through some ideas," I say, suddenly self-conscious about playing her song with her present. "Ready for the benefit tonight?"
She steps further into the room, expression troubled. "About that. My father's demanding dinner with him and Mother tonight. Alone."
The emphasis on "alone" tells me everything I need to know. "To discuss our relationship, I assume?"
"And the 'consequences' of it," she confirms, mimicking quotation marks around the word. Her jaw tightens. "He specifically uninvited you, which feels like a deliberate power play."
"It is," I agree, recognizing Henry Clarke's tactics from my own father's playbook. "Divide and conquer. Easier to pressure you without me there."
Vivienne leans against the piano, frustration evident in the tight line of her shoulders. "Part of me wants to cancel altogether. But that just delays the inevitable confrontation."
"So go," I suggest, though the thought of her facing her parents' disapproval alone sits uneasily with me. "Hear them out, stand your ground, and then meet me at the concert afterward."
"You'd be okay with that?" She sounds surprised.
"I don't love the idea of you dealing with Henry's manipulation tactics solo," I admit. "But I also respect your ability to handle your own battles. Just text me if you need an emergency extraction."
The smile that breaks across her face warms something in my chest. "My very own superhero rescue service?"
"Capes are extra," I deadpan, which earns me a laugh.
"Deal." She straightens, checking her watch. "I should get to the office. Eleanor Sinclair is flying in from London to review the Lumina international rollout."
As she turns to leave, I find myself calling after her. "Vivienne?"
She pauses, glancing back.
"Whatever your father says tonight, just... remember we're in this together."
Something softens in her expression. "I know. Partners, right?"
"Partners," I confirm, the word feeling simultaneously inadequate and loaded with meaning neither of us is ready to examine.
After she leaves, I return to the piano, but the melody eludes me now. Instead, my mind circles back to Luke's concerns about the tour, about balancing career and guardianship, about maintaining the "narrative".
The sound of running footsteps in the hallway pulls me from these thoughts. Lily appears in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Uncle Jaxon! Mrs. Patterson says we have to leave for school in five minutes, but I can't find my science report!" Her eyes are wide with the particular panic of an eight-year-old facing academic disaster.
"Did you check the printer?" I ask, already standing to help search.
"Yes! And my folder, and my desk, and everywhere!"
"Okay, breathe," I instruct, guiding her back to the hallway. "When did you last see it?"
"Last night when Vivienne helped me fix the grammar," she says, calming slightly as we head toward her room.
"And where were you working?"
Lily stops abruptly, an epiphany dawning. "The kitchen! We had hot chocolate!"
Sure enough, we find the report on the kitchen counter, partially hidden under a placemat. Crisis averted; I walk Lily to the door where Mrs. Patterson waits patiently to drive her to school.
"Have a great day," I tell her, adjusting her backpack strap. "Remember, I have that concert tonight, so Mrs. Patterson will be here when you get home from Kayla's house."
Lily's face falls slightly. "You won't be here for dinner?"
"Not tonight, kiddo. But I'll come say goodnight when I get back, even if you're already asleep."
"Promise?"
"Double promise," I assure her, using the phrase she's adopted from Vivienne.
After she leaves, I head to my office to tackle the mountain of emails Luke forwarded about tonight's benefit. Performance details, press arrangements, security protocols—the business side of music that's never been my favorite part of the job.
One message catches my attention—a brief note from Gerald Lumina confirming that Vivienne and I will both attend the Lumina campaign launch party next week. It still seems strange, having our social calendars so intertwined, our professional lives increasingly connected.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of preparation. Conference call with my band, scattered across the country but flying in for this one-off show. Rehearsing the songs I'll perform tonight. Quick meeting with my financial team about the estate management trust for Lily.
By six, I'm at the venue for sound check, running through technical cues with practiced efficiency.
It's been a few months since I've performed publicly—not since before Andrew's death—and I feel the rustiness in my muscles, in my timing.
Nothing catastrophic, just the slight dulling that comes from focusing elsewhere.
"We're missing the bridge transition in 'Hollow Ground,'" I tell Mike, my longtime guitarist. "Let's take it from the chorus again."
We work through the rough spots methodically, finding the groove that once came automatically. By the time we finish, I'm feeling more confident, the familiar pre-show energy beginning to build.
"Like riding a bike," Mike comments as we step off stage. "Bit wobbly at first, but it comes back."
I nod, checking my phone for messages from Vivienne. Nothing yet, which means she's either still at work or already at her parents' for the dinner from hell. My stomach tightens at the thought of what Henry Clarke might say to her, what pressure he might apply.
"You good, boss?" Mike asks, noting my distraction. "You seem tense."
"Fine," I assure him. "Just been a while."
In the green room, I change into performance clothes—black jeans, charcoal button-down, the leather jacket that's become something of a trademark.
As I adjust the collar, I catch sight of my reflection and suddenly feel like I'm looking at a stranger.
Or rather, at a past version of myself—Jaxon Hart, rockstar, before the complications that have become my life.
The sensation is disorienting, like stepping between worlds. The man on stage, the man at home with Lily, the man who kissed Vivienne in the kitchen—are they the same person? Can they coexist?
A knock at the door interrupts this existential spiral. Luke enters without waiting for a response, tablet in hand.
"Venue's filling up nicely," he reports. "Full house, lots of big donors. Press row is packed—everyone wants shots of you back on stage." He glances around. "Where's Vivienne?"
"Dinner with her parents," I explain. "She'll join later."
Luke frowns slightly. "Not ideal timing. The red carpet shots—"
"She'll be here for the performance," I interrupt, not in the mood for PR calculations. "That's what matters."
"Sure, sure." He scrolls through his tablet. "Just a heads up—Zackery Dean is attending tonight."