Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(47)

Jax arrives and although the shock on his face is bad, the fact he averts his eyes from the mess of mine is embarrassing. “What the f-uck happened? You said Dan had attacked you, but shit…not how bad.”

“Don’t say anything, please.” I wanted to put make-up on, but the police will need photos. For the first time, I have to show the world what Dan does to me.

“Is Jem around?”

“I don’t know.” I haven’t seen him since last night. I’m not sure what to say or what exactly our position is now. No way can I think anything through currently. “You want a drink before we go to the police?”

Jax looks around the lounge room. Of course, he’s never been in the house. I poke him. “I’d give you the guided tour, but I’m not sure I’m allowed.”

“Not without the entrance fee.” I turn to a smiling Jem who’s in the doorway, rubbing his head with a towel. He’s post-workout, damp t-shirt stretching across his abs and perspiration glistening on his taut biceps, all of which would be enough to fuel any girl’s Jem Jones fantasies. Jem’s smile disappears when he looks at my face, the action causing a twinge of pain around my mouth.

“Hey, man,” says Jax with a cautious tone.

“Hey,” he says then looks to me. “You’re coming back here after the police station?”

“If that’s okay,” I reply.

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Right.” Jem heads upstairs.

The amount said with so few words doesn’t escape Jax. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“I wish you’d come back with me instead.”

Last night I was adamant I’d go to Jax and the boys, since waking today, I’m too scared to go far. “I feel safer here.”

“Yeah, but why? Jem’s the reason you didn’t come to the studio yesterday, isn’t he?”

“That’s dealt with.” I head to the open door.

“Is it? Really? The more involved he gets the more likely things will go wrong.”

“For me or the band?”

“Both.”

Irritation prickles. “I’m really not up to talking about this shit now, Jax. Perhaps you should discuss your concerns with Jem.”

Jax rubs his eyebrow, the way I recognise he does when Jax is about to ask something he’s not sure he should. I can guess what. “Did you… you know. The other night after the studio when he took you home? Is that why you couldn’t face him?”

“Did I f-uck him? Just come straight out with it.”

Jax wrinkles his nose. “Yeah.”

“No, I didn’t, and I have no intention of.”

“So why avoid him?”

“He kissed me.”

Jax laughs. “A kiss? And that was enough to screw around with your head?”

At this moment, I feel like screaming at Jax but his words resonate. Why did a kiss from Jem then rejection have such a big impact? I could explain to Jax that to me there’s an intimacy in a kiss greater than sex, that kissing Jem was like opening myself up and letting him across the void between me and the world. How can a kiss be that? I don’t know, but it was and that’s why it f*cked with my head.

“Shut the f-uck up, Jax,” I growl, “I’m not in the mood.”

Jax brow creases with concern. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here if that’s how you feel.”

“And I really don’t want you interfering.” I gesture at the door. “Let’s go. Get this over with.”

“Ah, Ruby…” As he approaches, Jax touches my hand and laces his fingers through mine. “I’m here if you need me. Please be sensible.”

Physical contact with Jax isn’t unusual and, despite his words outside the hotel room the night on tour, there’s nothing between us. No spark of something unknown hovers or any intense desire to keep his skin on mine. He’s Jax, a mate, and nothing else. If I mean any more to Jax, he’s hiding it.



****



Jem



Jax taking Ruby to the station is good for two reasons. Firstly, Jem Jones at a police station would have the media and Steve down on me like a ton of bricks. The other reason: distance. If I’m the one to take Ruby, I can’t keep the distance between us that I still fool myself exists.

The whole time Ruby and Jax are away from the house I attempt to channel my nervous energy into something constructive and end up on the treadmill. Music and exercise are the only things that drown out the onslaught of memories – from last night and the ones from earlier in my life.

The pair aren’t back by lunchtime so I text Jax. No response.

Keep out of it.

I call the studio manager and attempt to shift around the booking. He’s pissed off but I don’t know why, he’s getting paid. I hang up after a terse conversation and the phone rings again immediately.

“What the f-uck, Jem?”

“Wow, Steve. Hello to you, too.” There’s me thinking I could avoid talking to my manager.

“What the f-uck?” he repeats. “What the hell did you do? Were you high?”

“Stop shouting and tell me what you mean?”