Bittersweet Chronicles: Pax (3 page)

“So how’s everything going, kid?” Blake asks as he wipes down the counter.

“Good, man. I’m playing at Burn Saturday and Jayz next week.”

He pitches the rag he’s been using into a utility sink behind the bar. “That’s great but I’ll tell you kid, you get too comfortable here in this tiny town and you’ll never make it. You have to go where the market is, and it ain’t in two-bit Bittersweet.”

“I know you’re right, but I’m set up here, man. I’ve got gigs and friends.” I sigh, my thoughts straying to Carly yet again. I’ve known her for all of five hours. Nothing to do with her should be in my mind when I’m considering my career, but when I do think of her, Bittersweet seems even more appealing than it did this morning. “I also have a place to live, and I’m not sure my dad would help me with that again.”

My condo is the one thing I’ve accepted from my parents since I left home. It may seem hypocritical, but when they told me that if I were going to college they’d be paying for a place for me to live in anyway, I caved. What I’ve taken on is damn hard no matter what, so if my parents have the money—which, trust me, they do—to put a roof over my head, then I’ll take that. I still work, teaching guitar at the local music shop, to pay for my food and car insurance and all that, but I let Dad handle the mortgage on the condo. I know it’s bullshit, but I’m not perfect.

Blake nods as if he understands. “Well, just keep it in mind. I love having you here, you always bring in a ten percent increase in business, but you’re too talented to stay, and I’m not selfish enough to ignore that.”

I finish up my drink and head backstage to get ready for the show. When you’re one guy with a guitar, there’s not much in the way of ‘getting ready.’ I make sure it’s tuned, get myself a bottle of water to take onstage, and that’s about it.

Thirty minutes later, the place is getting busy and Blake pokes his head in the little closet they give performers as a prep room. “You ready?” he asks.

“Yep,” I say, standing and giving him a smile. “All set.”      

I stroll out on stage, the lights momentarily blinding me to the crowd beyond. I sit down, get my guitar settled, and then look out at the audience. It’s a pretty full house, but up front by the stage, it’s clear. I smile and introduce myself.

“Hey, my name’s Pax, and I’m here to play you a few songs. Some of them are mine. Some are covers. I hope you like ‘em.”

Then I launch into one of my most popular tunes. When people ask me who I sound like, I’m always tempted to tell them, “Myself,” but I know that’s not what they’re looking for. They want to be able to put me in a box, find a word to classify me, so the best I’ve been able to come up with is John Mayer or Ben Taylor. But that’s not right because I know I’m edgier than either of them. I’ve had people compare me to Uncle Joss when he does his solo stuff. It’s not a comparison I mind, but it’s also not something I can play up because it might clue people in to who I really am.

I guess I’m lucky I’m not like Lukas Nelson or Scott Eastwood. I remember seeing photos of those two when they were my age. One glance at them and everyone knew that they were looking at music and movie progeny. I look a lot like my dad, but I have my mom’s coloring—she’s Italian. We have the olive skin and dark hair. Dad’s fair-skinned and has light-brown hair. The difference in coloring is enough that people don’t see the resemblance. I also ended up the same height as Dad, but he’s a pretty lanky guy. I’m a little bulkier. After playing hockey in high school I’ve kept up the workouts and lifting I did to be on the team.

I’m on my third song when I see her, a girl who’s been moving closer and closer to the stage since I started playing. When she reaches the circle of light that filters onto the closest portion of the dance floor, I look straight into Carly’s eyes. My heart beats faster and I have to swallow to keep my voice steady as I sing. For the first time ever in my life I wish I could cut my set short. I’m so afraid she’ll leave before I can get off-stage to talk to her.

Unfortunately, it looks like her problems have walked in with her because the next thing I know, the guy from the beach is coming up behind her and she’s yanking her arm out of his hand as he shouts at her. I see her wilt under his assault, and then he’s grabbing her again and she’s trying to pull away, but he’s dragging her across the floor, her feet skidding along as she struggles against him.

I see people near them look over, wondering what the commotion’s about, but no one’s intervening. I’m off my stool before I even register that I’m moving. I set my guitar down harder than I should and jump off the stage, reaching the pair of them in about three strides. I put my hand on the guy’s arm, Carly looking up at me with fear in her eyes.

“Hey, man. It doesn’t look like she wants to go with you—again. Why don’t you walk away,” I tell him.

His lip curls up on one side as he gives me the once-over, still not taking his hands off the girl.

“You need to mind your own business, pretty boy,” he snarls. “The bitch and me are having a business discussion. Go back up on stage and play us something, will ya?”

“Look,” I grit out as I lean into his face. “Didn’t this afternoon teach you anything? I’m not going to let you hurt Carly, and I’m not afraid to take you on.” I look him up and down, making sure to stand up to my full height since I’ve got several inches on him.

“Yeah, and if I haven’t made myself clear, this is None. Of. Your. Business. And I’m not going to let some punk kid keep me from doing my job which is to bring
her
to my boss.”

I swallow, trying not to let my temper get the best of me. I’m a very mellow guy, a lot like my dad, but once my temper gets unleashed, it’s hard to get it back under control. That part I got from my mom. She spent a lot of time and money on therapists learning to control it. She still lets loose now and then, but Dad’s a pro at talking her down. I’m thinking someone may have to talk
me
down, though, when I see the panic on Carly’s face.

“Just walk away now and everything’s cool. Otherwise, I can’t be responsible for what happens next.”
      He laughs, but it’s bitter and cruel. “Walk away? Who the hell do you think you are?”

I feel the adrenaline rising inside me. I scan the room, wondering where the hell Blake’s bouncers are.

I shrug. I guess I’m on my own. Or maybe I should say this guy is on
his
own.

I put one arm between him and Carly. She leans back, seeming to anticipate what I’m about to do. He still has a hold on her, but I quickly lever my arm at the same time that I swing one leg across the floor, hitting him square in the ankles.

It all happens fast, and I put my other arm behind Carly’s back so I can catch her as I break his hold on her and she stumbles. Meanwhile, he’s going down. Hard. He hits the wood floor with a loud crash, and I see a couple of guys at the nearest table stand up, ready to rumble.

I spin Carly away from me so she’s out of the line of fire and step on the guy’s wrist fast before he can recover. He’s splayed out on the floor, one wrist pinned, and I guess it’s not too comfortable because I hear him grunt as his face screws up in pain.

Before he can use his other hand, which is moving toward his ankle, where I imagine he has a knife, I kick the arm with my free leg. “Don’t even think about it,” I tell him. He glares up at me.

We’ve created enough noise that Blake’s security men arrive. Tony and Roy are good guys—and about two hundred forty pounds each.

“Need anything Pax?” Tony asks.

“Yeah, I think this guy needs to be escorted out,” I tell him.

“Will do,” he says, tossing a menacing look at the dude on the floor.

I release the guy’s wrist and he pulls it into his body, cradling it. Tony and Roy reach down and lift him up by his elbows.

“Let’s go tough guy,” Roy says as they point him toward the exit.

Bad dude looks over his shoulder at Carly, who’s still silent, eyes wide, watching it all. “You and I will have that talk. You can’t avoid us forever.” Then he casts me a nasty look. “And you and I aren’t done yet either, you little bastard. Watch your back.”

“Come on, big talker,” Tony admonishes as they move away to the door.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the sensations rolling through me. I want to hit something or someone, and I’m about to storm off behind the stage and take on a wall in Blake’s closet with my fists when I turn and see Carly standing there, watching me with her big eyes.

I’m overwhelmed with the urge to take her in my arms and I have to hold a deep breath and pin my arms to my sides for a moment. Finally, I find my voice.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods. “I can’t believe you’ve had to save me twice in one day.” She gives a bitter laugh.

My heart is beating double time, but I’m not sure now whether it’s the anger that was unleashed by the asshole or the lust that’s unleashed by Carly.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, watching her.

She looks up at me now and I meet her eyes. My breathing picks up. I’m not sure if I noticed before, but her eyes are a deep green. Moss green, I think they call it. Like my sister’s favorite pair of suede boots with the fringe up and down the sides.

“I was just walking by when I saw him. I came inside hoping to get away. Then I heard you singing. I couldn’t believe it was you until I got close enough to see your face.”

I scratch my head. “Well, I’m glad you ended up here, but now I’m worried about the next time if I’m not around.”

“I didn’t know musicians could fight like that,” she tells me, trying to detour the conversation.

I fight the urge to puff up my chest or flex my biceps or something. Fighting might be stupid, but if you can win one in front of a hot girl, you feel like you’ve conquered the world.

“Yeah, I don’t know that I’m much of a fighter, but I’ve had a few years of martial arts and I played hockey, so you know—lots of ice fights. Besides, that was more brains than brawn.”

She smiles at me. “Well, whatever it was, I’m very grateful. Thanks so much.”

“Sure thing.”

“I should let you get back to your job though…” She brushes off her hands on her jeans. They’re white—the jeans—and tight. They hug her ass like I’d like my palm to. Plus, she has legs that go on for miles.

I suck in a breath, trying to keep from reaching out and touching the sliver of skin that’s revealed along her waist as she moves around. “Do you have a way to get home?” I ask her, remembering that she’s not even old enough to be in the bar right now. She’s close to my age, but looks a couple of years younger.

“Um, no. I couldn’t get my car started earlier, so I just left it at the beach.”

Frustration rolls through me. What the hell would she do if big, bad dude was after her and she couldn’t get her car started? This girl needs help, but I know she won’t let me give it to her. I ought to just walk away. I’ve got a good life, it’s simple—I play music I love, hang out with women who are low maintenance, and have a few good friends. Carly is one big damn complication. She’s young, she’s in danger, she’s stubborn as hell. I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. Then I remember what her small hand felt like in mine at the coffee shop. Yeah, I’m going to keep getting involved even though I know I shouldn’t.

“Look, I need to finish up my set, but I’d be happy to make sure you get home safely. Will you wait for me? I can get you a seat up here by the front, some food if you’d like—whatever you need.”
      She thinks about it “Okay,” she tells me with a small smile. “I liked listening to you play.”

“That’s great. I liked having you listen. Come on. I’ll get you set up.”

The next hour consists of me playing music while I watch Carly like she’s the last woman on Earth. Everything she does is fascinating. The way she eats the burger I had the waitress bring her, how she looks at me while I’m singing, the color of her hair when the lights play off it. By the time my set is done, it’s official that I’m a lust-struck moron.

After I’m done and packed up, I lead her outside to my truck. “You live in the dorms?” I ask as I help her up into the cab.

“Gabriel Hall,” she answers.

“I know right where that is.” I climb in my side and buckle up before I turn to her. “So, are you going to let me help you out now? I mean it’s pretty obvious the guy’s not going away.”
      She gnaws on the inside of her cheek, her eyes turned to the lights blurring by the windows as we drive along the main drag toward the college. She drops her gaze to her lap, winding her fingers together nervously.

“I can’t,” she says. “I can’t let you get involved. I mean you’ve already put yourself in danger. He knows what you look like and where you work. You need to be careful.

“And you still won’t go to the cops?”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No. No cops. I know the way these guys work. I have a little money I can give them, and then if I just stay out of sight, they’ll get tired of hassling me.” She pastes a brilliant smile on and looks up at me. “It’ll all be fine. I’ve seen my dad go through stuff like this a hundred times. It always works out.”

I slow the truck down as we near the main doors to Gabriel Hall. When I roll to a stop she’s out the door before I can blink.

“See you around, Pax,” she tells me as she hops out.

“Carly—“ I call, but she’s already bounding up the steps and reaching for the front doors of the dorm. Damn.      

**

Five days later Vaughn rolls into town. Vaughn and I grew up together although we went to different schools. His dad was one of the sound techs who worked on my dad’s albums at the infamous Studio B in Portland. My dad and Vaughn’s have been working together for more than twenty years, and Vaughn and I grew up in the lounge of Studio B, listening to the guys lay down tracks and messing with his dad’s sound equipment. Even as teens, if Vaughn or I heard that the other one was going to be hanging out at Studio B, we’d come down and just shoot the shit for a while. Catching up on what girls we’d been chasing or our most recent vacation.

I haven’t seen Vaughn in over a year. The last time we connected was at the Birmingham airport when he had a layover and I drove up to hang out for a few hours.