These were questions the violin now had to ask, since the piano had thundered itself into acceptance.Forgive me, Ari thought, raising his violin to his chin. He had no idea how to earn Jax’s forgiveness in real life. He could make the arrangements with his parents, he could try to prepare Jax for what meeting them would be like, for the scrutiny and backhanded compliments. But would it be enough?
He didn’t know. But the violin’s part—that he could write. He coaxed, he wheedled, he begged, he serenaded.
He let himself believe the piano would forgive him, and the two parts dovetailed again. But the music couldn’t go back to what it had been. The key had changed, the time signature too. The shine had worn off. The music was still beautiful, but now it had a scar. It was haunting.
When Ari put down the bow, it was nearly two in the morning. He knew instinctively that the song was finished. He wouldn’t edit it, not beyond refining the length of the notes, playing with vibrato in the shakier sections. For better or worse, the song was done.
Was his relationship with Jax over too?
IT TOOKJax almost two hours to clean up the bar before he crawled home to bed.
Monday he woke up with a feeling of dread and lay in bed for several long moments remembering why he was angsty. Right. Last night he and Ari had an epic fight and then Jax lost Murph several guitars.
Jax thought about his savings account. The police weren’t likely to find the guitars. They couldn’t even stop the spate of robberies in the neighborhood. Jax had little confidence that this would break the case. But he didn’t exactly have a spare thousand or two lying around to replace the instruments, so he’d never have enough money by January to return to MIT. He’d have to delay until the summer semester.
Jax’s plan had been solid—make enough money by January, defend and return home before Ari went on tour. Maybe, if Ari wanted him, go with him for a while. If he waited until May, he’d have to leave around the same time as Ari….
But maybe that wouldn’t matter. Maybe all of his careful plans for the future, working his life around Ari’s, would be for nothing after last night. Were they even still together? Did Ari even want them to be? Or had Jax been fooling himself the whole time?
Jax got up, showered, got dressed, and mechanically choked down a bowl of oatmeal. Then he swallowed his pride and called Murph.
“I fucked up. The back door didn’t latch properly, and someone got in. They took the guitars. But I’ll totally pay for new ones,” he rushed to get out before Murph could say anything. “It was totally my fault. I should have been more careful.”
“Damn, b’y. Breathe.”
Jax did, but only because he needed to.
“So. No guitars?” Murph blew out a breath. “Not convenient.”
“I’ll pay for them,” Jax said.
“B’y. You don’t have to. That’s what insurance is for.”
“They’ll hike up your premiums. I can’t let you do that, not when it’s my fault.” His pride wouldn’t allow Murph to suffer the consequences for his stupidity.
“Jax.” Murph had pride of his own, damn it.
“Murph, I was an idiot who got distracted. I shouldn’t have… I should have made sure the back door was shut.” Ah, shit. There it was, that feeling of shame. Jax Hall, too flighty to be trusted to lock a stupid door. The only thing that would assuage it would be to get Murph to accept the money.
So he said, “Ari’s going to cover half of it anyway. All right? You know he’s got money.”
Ari is never going to find out about this.
Sometime later Hobbes found him staring at his spreadsheet, trying to recrunch the numbers, but no way could Jax get the money by January—not unless he found another source of income or sold something of value. Not that he owned much. He eyed the old laptop, but even it would probably fetch more as scrap metal than as a machine. The motorcycle, maybe, but who would buy one of those with winter coming?
“Didn’t think I’d see you this morning,” Hobbes said, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Jax shrugged.
Hobbes narrowed his eyes. “You said you had a date. You were planning that date. Why are you not currently curled up in Ari’s bed?”
Jax’s mouth twisted. He couldn’t lie to Hobbes any better than he could to Sam. “We fought.”
Hobbes blew out a breath and headed for the coffee maker. He flicked it on and turned back to Jax. “What about?”
Jax shut the laptop—it couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know—and met Hobbes’s eyes. “What do you think?”
“So. Finally asked him about that blind date.”
