Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(65)

For a few days, Jem insists on taking me to and from work until I assure him I feel safe. Since Dan was arrested, he hasn’t contacted me. Maybe now someone outside of us knows, Dan realises he has to be careful; perhaps a lawyer has got through to him. I don’t know. Jem’s doubtful about letting me go alone, but knows my opinions on him trying to take care of me. After an argument about how he’s trying to control me, Jem backs off. He doesn’t always back off, and as we’re both prone to moodiness, and because Jem is used to getting his own way in everything he does, we clash. Sometimes it’s snide remarks; occasionally, it’s arguments followed by sulking, but always ending up in bed working things out when words fail. This is how we’ll always be together, because neither of us is likely to drop back on our personalities for another person.

Exhausted after a double shift, I go home to Jem’s and flop on his sofa. Despite being in a busy suburb, I marvel at how quiet it can be here, even when the rush hour traffic passes outside. Jem’s house is set back from the street, bordered by trees for privacy. Kicking my shoes off, I rest my feet on the coffee table and my head on the cushions, soaking up the peace.

Footsteps descend the stairs and I open an eye as Jem walks into the room. I tip my head back and he bends to kiss my lips as he stands behind the sofa.

“Hard day at work, darling?” he says.

“Terrible. Pass me my newspaper and slippers.”

We both smirk at our daily joke and he moves around to sit next to me.

“Done much today, Jem Jones?”

“Yeah, I have actually,” he replies and flicks my ear. “I’ve been listening to the Ruby Riot tracks and chatting to the sound guy about cleaning some of it up. I don’t think they’re quite there.”

“Cool. Can we hear yet?” I twist around on the sofa and lay my head in Jem’s lap, looking up at him. He strokes my cheek with his rough fingertips and I close my eyes. Something soothes whenever I’m with this man; and in a quiet moment, when we’re both calm, the space we’re in holds us together and happy.

“Patience, you will.” Jem strokes my hair. “I reckon the tracks will be done by the time we get back.”

“Back from where?”

“I want to go away. Take you somewhere for a weekend.”

“I’m working this weekend and I can’t take any more time off.”

“Well, whenever you’re not working for a couple of days. You can’t work seven days a week.”

“Where?”

“Dunno. Where do you want to go?”

My mind blanks. I’ve never left the UK. I longed to go to the States once-over and I know Jem has places over there; but what if there’s a collection of Kristies ready to jump out of the closet?

“I think you have more idea of the world than I do.”

“Do you like beaches? Cities? Countryside?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t go on holiday.”

“No?”

“No.” I chew my thumbnail. “I don’t think I’d like the beach. And I don’t want to go anywhere people will follow us around because they’re starting to.”

Jem huffs and twirls some of my hair around his hand. “Well, you are Jem Jones’s girlfriend.”

I can’t help the little surge of butterflies in my stomach on the rare occasions he calls me that. “Yeah, I told you not to hold my hand in public, you old romantic.”

“Shut up,” he warns and pokes me in the side. “So that’s a yes, you’ll come somewhere?”

“Yeah. Somewhere quiet.”

“All my places are in cities,” he says half to himself.

“All? How many have you got. No, don’t answer that question.”

“They’re mostly apartments anyway. I’m not big into entertaining so if it’s small, no pressure to have parties. Dylan’s is the party house.” He pauses. “Was the party house.”

“You know where I’d really like to go? Somewhere in the middle of nowhere with absolutely nobody, anywhere nearby.”

“Okay. Do you know where I’d really like to go?”

“Where?”

“Wherever you are.”





Chapter Twenty-Seven



Ruby



The sun sets in the Spanish sky, streaking a burning gold and red across the wide sky above the orange groves. I sit on the cushioned chair outside the old farmhouse; legs tucked under, as I drink freshly squeezed juice from the oranges I picked earlier. Jem appears from inside and perches next to me in a world away from the London we left yesterday.

“You’re right about quiet. I can literally only hear crickets,” he says.

“Not your thing?” I ask, hoping he’s not going to hate every minute.

“Not what I said.” Jem wraps an arm around my waist, our skin sticky in the evening warmth as we cuddle up. “This would never have been my choice in the past. I think I avoided places like this before because when it’s quiet the thoughts sneak in.”

“Really? I’m the opposite. When it’s quiet my mind can be quiet too.”

“I’ve spent a lot more time alone recently, so I’m getting used to it.” He catches my look. “I mean away from the music world alone. You don’t count.”