He didn’t need to look to know Afra was rolling her eyes. “You probably didn’t notice last year because you weren’t on board for the actual planning stage, but Ari can only take large crowds in small doses. So when we’re planning a tour, we pick a handful of large venues and those are our tentpoles, and then we use more intimate concerts as stakes. Bonnaroo’s a really big tentpole, so he wants some really small stakes.”
Ari took down a few mugs and poured. Afra took hers black, and Theo liked his to look and taste like caramel. He turned around to comment, but Theo was head down in the textbook again, this time on a fresh page with barely any highlighting so far. Ari put the mug down in front of him, but he didn’t even grunt in acknowledgment.
Afra took her mug directly from his hands, and they stood together at the counter, leaning back against it and stretching their legs. They’d been at this for long enough that Ari’s back was sore. “Actually there’s a bar in Nashville that would be a great venue, and they’ve got an available slot…. Fuck.”
Ari looked up from his drink to see Afra frowning at her phone, coffee forgotten in her other hand.
“Problem?”
She winced. “The date they’re available, uh… I was hoping to take a few days to be back here.”
He shrugged. “We could get someone else in for a few days, have them handle things.” They’d done it before, when Afra had appendicitis on Ari’s first tour. He didn’t like it—Afra knew his quirks better than anyone, and he didn’t bristle when she tried to handle him the way he did with strangers—but it couldn’t be helped.
“The intern could probably handle it,” she mused. “I mean, by then he’ll have one and a half whole tours under his belt….” Her leading tone and the use of his title didn’t prompt Theo to raise his head as he tapped the end of his highlighter under a graph that looked like an upside-downU.
Then she sighed. “Except if we’re going to do this at a bar, he’s got to be twenty-one—hey, Theo, when’s your birthday?”
“May third,” he said absently. “Hey, do you have any food?”
“Depends. Are you feeling up to trying properly spiced food again?” The looks on Ari’s parents’ faces when he’d revealed he was twelve before he ate anything spicier than garlic had been priceless.
“I will eat literally anything. I’m not going to taste it anyway. This textbook is all that exists.” As he turned the page, though, he knocked into his coffee mug, and suddenly the kitchen became a whirlwind of activity in an attempt to save said textbook.
They got everything cleaned up, and Ari washed his hands in the bathroom to remove the lingering stick of coffee and milk, since the textbook was drip-drying over the kitchen sink while Afra attempted to talk Theo out of a panic attack. At least Ari thought that was what she was doing, but he couldn’t hear much over his rough-cut album. As per his habit, he was in the midst of playing it on repeat in the background, a process that helped him catch any defects.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Jax was standing in the doorway, staring at Afra, poised awkwardly like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Afra was eyeing him back warily.
Afra had agreed with Ari that he’d probably screwed up at the dinner, but Jax was the one who’d torpedoed it. Afra was still Ari’s big sister, and part of her, she said, would never forgive Jax for making Ari unhappy.
“Sorry for interrupting. I’m just here to get some stuff?” He looked spooked. What had Afra said when Ari was in the other room?
Ari motioned to Afra that he could take it from here. She looked dubious but stepped to the side anyway.
“Sorry,” Ari said. “We’re a bit—tour planning. You know.” He didn’t, of course, but Ari wasn’t going to air Afra’s personal business to Jax. It was none of his now.
Just like the mysterious Christine was none of Ari’s.
Silence fell over them as Jax shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
“Oh, right, your helmet.” Ari looked around and realized he’d left it… not here. Where had he put it? He’d meant to shift it next to the door. “Let me just….” He waved a hand over his shoulder and stepped away.
“Right, sure, no problem,” Jax said distractedly.
Ari hurried to find the helmet tucked in the closet he’d shoved it into, unable to bear the sight of it on his counter any longer, a painful reminder that Jax hated him now too much to even ask for it back.
When he returned, Jax’s face was flushed and he wouldn’t meet Ari’s eyes.
“Here.” He held out the helmet upside down. Jax’s keys were nestled safely inside.
“Thanks,” Jax said. He looked at the helmet and keys for a long moment. “Is this—” He stopped, then shook his head. “Never mind.”
Ari tilted his head. “Yes?”
Jax gave a pathetic smile. “It’s nothing.” He lifted the helmet. “Thanks. I better let you get back to….” He waved a hand. “Yeah. Bye.”
“Bye,” Ari said, bemused, as Jax hurried away. He watched him disappear into the stairwell—didn’t want to wait for the elevator, it seemed—and then closed the front door. He pressed his face against it and took a deep breath.
Would it never not hurt to see or think about Jax? Every reminder of him came with a deep certainty that Jax was “the one.” Except how could he be when he’d behaved the way he had? When he’d gotten over Ari so easily?
