Jet (Marked Men, #2)(42)

I just gawked at her, because I had no idea how she saw the whole picture so clearly like that. Sometimes it was easy to miss all she had going on because her punk-rock. fairy-princess, persona was so distracting.

“Like you.” She pointed a neon-tipped finger at the end of my nose and flicked it. “You didn’t mention that you went to see your mom yesterday. Why is that?”

I groaned and shoved both my hands through my hair getting gunk all over them. “Because I don’t like to talk about it. Nash has a big mouth.”

“No, Nash is a good friend who knows how hard you are on yourself when it comes to taking responsibility for your parents’ shitty marriage. One day, you’re going to have to recognize that your mom is a grown-ass woman, responsible for all the choices she’s made and continues to make where your dad is concerned. You did your best to help her, to get her out of there, and she clearly doesn’t want to go. That can’t be your burden to bear for the rest of your life, Jet.”

It was pretty much the same thing Nash had told me yesterday, but understanding that they were right, and being able to just put it down and walk away, were two different things entirely. So I told her the same thing I told Nash, “She’s my mom.”

Only Cora wasn’t Nash, and she wasn’t the type to accept as gospel why I continued to torture myself over the matter. She put one of her tiny hands on mine and squeezed.

“Right, she is, which means she should be there to take care of you, and be proud of all the amazing things you do. She should be giddy with excitement about how talented her son is and she should be your biggest fan. What she shouldn’t be doing is letting her unhealthy relationship with your dad keep you tied to this town and to her, when everybody, and Jet, I mean everybody knows you could be doing so much more on such a bigger scale.”

I couldn’t argue with her because she was right. Everyone was right, but that didn’t change the fact that I was stone-cold terrified of what would happen to the woman if I just washed my hands of the situation, and let my dad finish dismantling her. I didn’t know if I could live with myself if I let that happen, and no amount of success or personal achievement was worth that risk. I wasn’t even going to mention the offer of the tour with Artifice, because that would just give her more fuel for the fire. If I was here in Denver to keep the old man occupied, there was less of a chance he could totally destroy her.

“It is what it is, for now.”

She lifted a pale eyebrow. “But it doesn’t have to be. Look at you and Ayd. Things can be one way for a long time and then have to change because there is no other choice.”

I just shrugged. “Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes at me and climbed to her feet. “I have to go or I’m going to be late. Stop acting like a typical brooding musician and make Ayd talk to you. By the way, she was totally a ten when I saw her this morning, so way to go, killer.”

That startled a laugh out of me and shook some of the gloom from my current mood. “I told you one day I would have one.”

She laughed and winked at me with her blue eye. “Well, the catch is that you’re totally a ten right now, too, and I don’t think you’ve ever been above a five. You’re good together, Jet, in any form that happens to be. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.”

“Yeah. For some reason, I think that might be a lot harder than it sounds.”

After Cora left for work, I screwed around for a couple of hours and tried to finish the song I was working on last night when Ayden had ambushed me. It was sad and had a melody to it that made something in the center of my chest hurt. It was missing something I couldn’t put my finger on. With my mind spinning about the tour and a certain Southern girl, I couldn’t get it right, so I tossed my guitar in the case and went down to the studio. I was supposed to finish up with Black Market Alphas later on tonight, but the mood I was currently in didn’t bode well for getting anything accomplished, especially if Ryan showed up flashing his idiotic bravado and unearned arrogance.

I tweaked a couple of the tracks, messed around with some of my own, and sent a text to all the guys in my band that we needed to get together to talk. My dad called me three times and I sent all three directly to voice mail. I debated on calling Ayden and decided that the phone worked both ways. If she wanted to talk, she could get in touch with me. After all, I wasn’t the one who left her hanging alone in bed after a night of mind-melting sex.

Before I knew it, the afternoon had blown by and Ryan and the rest of the band were rolling into the studio. It was a shame the lead singer was such a little punk, because the other guys were all cool and I really saw a lot of myself in Jorge. They were getting set up when my phone beeped at me with a text.

I was surprised and admittedly stoked to see that it was Ayden.

Where are you?

At work.

You? Working? ;)

That made me scowl. What did she think I did all day long when I didn’t have a show? Of course I worked, how did she think I paid the bills?

When I feel like it. Why, what’s up?

I wanted to see if you were hungry. My last class got canceled and I’m starving.

I can’t leave. In the middle of a session.

I can come to you.

That was weird. I never let anyone in the studio that I wasn’t working with or in a band with. This place was generally my escape from the rest of the world. This is where I came to get away from all the other stuff I normally couldn’t deal with. Letting her in seemed like a bigger deal than it probably actually was, and it took me a solid ten minutes to text her back.