14. Jaxon
Jaxon
"She's leaving?" Lily's voice is small, hurt edging each syllable. "But why? Did you have a fight?"
I stand in her bedroom doorway, searching for the right words to explain something I barely understand myself. How do I tell an eight-year-old that the woman she's grown attached to is moving to London because I was too scared to ask her to stay?
"It's complicated, kiddo," I say finally. "Vivienne got a really amazing job offer. It's a big opportunity for her."
Lily's eyes narrow with the particular perceptiveness children have for adult evasions. "But she loves us. Why would she want to go away?"
The question hits like a physical blow. Does Vivienne love us? Love me? The way she looked at me when I suggested she take the London position—hurt and betrayal flashing across her face before anger replaced them both—suggests feelings far deeper than our arrangement accounted for.
Feelings I might have returned if I wasn't so terrified of where they could lead.
"Sometimes people have to make hard choices," I explain, sitting on the edge of her bed.
I smooth her hair back from her forehead. "She hasn't made any final decisions yet. Let's not worry until we know more, okay?"
"Can I call her?" Lily asks hopefully. "To tell her I miss her?"
"Let's give her some space for now." I stand, needing to escape this conversation before my own emotions betray me. "Time for sleep. School tomorrow."
After tucking Lily in and promising to check on her unicorn night light battery in the morning, I retreat to my studio.
The room feels emptier somehow, as if Vivienne's absence has altered its acoustics.
I sit at the piano, fingers finding the melody I've come to think of as hers—the song I played on stage that night, when one kiss changed everything between us.
My phone buzzes with a text from Luke:
European promoter called. Willing to restructure tour as requested—weekend shows only, 3 days max away from NYC. Significantly reduced fee but still worthwhile. Need answer tomorrow.
The compromise I'd asked for weeks ago, when my only concern was balancing career with Lily's needs. But there was also Vivienne. Now that won’t matter.
I don't reply to Luke, returning instead to the piano, letting the music express what I can't seem to articulate even to myself. The melody turns darker, minor keys reflecting the hollow ache in my chest.
The doorbell's sudden ring pulls me from the music. Mrs. Patterson has gone home for the night, and security wouldn't allow anyone through the gate without clearance. Which means it's someone expected.
Or someone who still has gate access.
My heart rate quickens as I head for the front door, trying to tamp down the surge of hope. When I open it to find Vivienne standing on the threshold, I'm momentarily speechless.
"I forgot something," she says, voice deliberately neutral.
She looks both familiar and different—still in work clothes, a tailored black skirt and cream blouse, but with shadows under her eyes that speak of sleepless nights. Her hair is pulled back in a severe knot, as if she's trying to physically contain herself.
"Come in," I manage, stepping aside.
She hesitates, then enters, careful to maintain distance between us. "I won't be long. I just need my presentation notes for the London proposal. I left them in the blue room."
"Lily asked about you," I say, following her up the stairs. "She wanted to call you."
Vivienne's steps falter momentarily. "How is she?"
"Confused. Sad." Like me. "She doesn't understand why you aren’t here."
"What did you tell her?"
"That you got a great job opportunity. That sometimes adults have to make hard choices."
She stops outside the blue room—her room, in my mind still—and turns to face me. "Is that what you think happened? That I chose career over... this?"
The bitterness in her voice catches me off guard. "Isn't that exactly what happened? I told you to take the London position, and you said you needed time."
"You told me to go," she corrects, eyes flashing. "You practically pushed me out the door, Jaxon."
"I was trying to be supportive of your career!"
"You were taking the easy way out," she counters. "The moment things got complicated, the moment feelings entered the equation, you reverted to our original arrangement. An arrangement with an expiration date."
The accusation stings because there's truth in it. "You're the one who needed time."
"Because you didn't give me a reason not to."
We stare at each other, at an impasse neither of us anticipated when we entered this arrangement. The silence stretches, charged with all the things we're not saying.
"I should get my notes," she says finally, pushing the door fully open.
I step aside, unwilling to let this conversation end. I follow her. The blue room is exactly as she left it three days ago.
She finds her notes and turns to face me. “Thanks.” she says.
“Of course, this is your home with your things.” I reiterate.
“No, it isn’t.” She states definitively, “This is your house, where you control the narrative and the show.”
"Is that what you think? That everything between us was just for show?"
"Wasn't it?" She turns to face me fully. "Six months, mutual benefits, expiration date. Those were your terms."
"And the song I wrote for you? The kiss on stage?"
Her eyes soften for a moment, vulnerability showing through the cracks in her armor. "I don't know what those were, Jaxon. You never explained them."
"Neither did you," I counter. "You kissed me back, Vivienne. That wasn't a performance."
She looks away, fidgeting with her papers. "It doesn't matter now. I'm leaving for London soon. Clean break, as agreed."
"Like hell." I cross the room in three strides, close enough to smell her perfume—something floral and delicate that contrasts with her steel-spine strength. "Tell me you don't feel anything for me. Tell me that night meant nothing. Tell me leaving is what you actually want."
Her eyes meet mine, defiant despite the tremble in her voice. "Has what I want has been part of this equation from the beginning?" she continues, “Sure, we had an arrangement to benefit us both, but wants? Needs? Did you consider mine?”
"Tell me," I insist, stepping closer still.
"You're afraid," she says instead. "I see it in you, Jaxon. The way you pull back whenever we get too close, too real. You're terrified of whatever's happening between us."
The assessment hits too close to home. "And you're not?"
"I'm terrified," she admits, surprising me with her honesty. "But I was willing to face it. You weren't."
"That's not fair," I protest, even as the truth resonates in her words.
"Then tell me what you want," she challenges. "Not what you think is practical or sensible or part of our arrangement. What do you want, Jaxon?"
The question hangs between us, demanding truth I've been avoiding. What do I want? The answer seems both terrifyingly simple and impossibly complex.
"You," I say finally, voice rough with emotion. "I want you to stay."
Something shifts in her expression—surprise, hope, wariness all mingling together. "Why?"
"Because..." I search for words that won't come. "Because when you left, it felt like someone cut the sound from my world. Because Lily misses you. Because I—"
I can't finish the sentence, the words sticking in my throat. Instead, I close the distance between us, hands cradling her face as I kiss her with everything I can't say aloud.
For one heart-stopping moment, she's motionless in my arms. Then she makes a small sound of surrender against my lips, hands gripping my shirt as she kisses me back with equal fervor.
This isn't like our first kiss, frantic and exploratory. Nor is it like our stage kiss, public and spontaneous. This is deeper, more deliberate—a conversation without words, each touch an argument for what could be.
I back her against the dresser, lifting her onto it as her legs wrap around my waist. The papers she was collecting scatter, forgotten. Her hands slide into my hair, tugging with just enough force to send sparks down my spine.
"This doesn't solve anything," she gasps as I trail kisses down her throat.
"I know," I murmur against her skin. "But tell me to stop and I will."
"Don't you dare," she breathes, pulling me back to her mouth.
Her fingers work at my shirt buttons, impatient and demanding. I push her blouse up, palms skimming the warm skin of her waist, her ribcage, the delicate lace of her bra. When my thumb brushes over her nipple through the fabric, she arches into my touch with a soft moan that undoes me completely.
"Vivienne," I breathe, suddenly needing to be certain. "Are you sure?"
Her eyes meet mine, clarity amid desire. "I've never been more sure of anything."
I lift her, carrying her to the bed without breaking our kiss. I lay her down gently, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of her—hair coming loose from its severe knot, blouse rumpled, eyes dark with wanting.
She reaches for me, impatient. "Too many clothes."
I smile against her lips, helping her push my shirt from my shoulders, groaning softly when her hands explore newly exposed skin. In return, I unbutton her blouse with deliberate slowness, savoring each inch of skin revealed.
"You're beautiful," I tell her as I slide the fabric aside. "So goddamn beautiful."
A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath her bra.
I follow its path with my lips, tracing the delicate skin along her collarbone, the curve of her breast. When I reach the lace edge of her bra, I pause, savoring the way her breath catches as I unhook the clasp, revealing her completely.
For a moment, I just look, memorizing every detail—the softness of her skin, the dusky rose of her nipples, the slight tremble that betrays her vulnerability despite her boldness.
"You're staring," she whispers, uncharacteristically shy.
"Can't help it," I admit, voice rough.