Page 90 of Embracing the Beat
“You could do that. Or you could come to Arrhythmic. We’re not Reverb,” Jax says.
“I’m just a little sour on labels after the last few years. I want to be happy and sing. If I can have that with Arrhythmic, great. But I won’t settle for less again. I’ll do it on my own.”
Jax nods. “I understand. Hell, I was there before Nick talked about starting the label. What we do isn’t a job, it’s part of us. And you want that part to be happy.”
“Exactly.”
Nick’s phone beeps, and he picks it up, his jaw clenching.
“Shit. Someone must have recognized you,” he tells Jax.
He hunches in on himself. “Paps?”
“Yep. Mike, can I talk to you for a minute?” Nick motions to the back hall and leaves the table, with Michael following behind.
“Are you okay?” Jax asks, studying me intently.
I shrug. “I guess. Why?”
“Charlotte would kill me for saying this, but you look tired.”
I smile at the love present in his voice when he talks about his wife.
“These last two years have been filled with one hellish descent after another,” I admit, huffing a humorless laugh.
His concern is clear in his expression, and he reaches out, touching my arm in a comforting gesture.
“I know part of that is my fault,” he says.
I’d only met Jax a handful of times. The first time in Chicago, recording the duet, the awards show where I met his girlfriend—well, wife, now. And the after-party of the concert he had in Philadelphia. Where I got drunk. And kissed him. He may have kissed me first, but I kissed him back. And the photo of our kiss cemented my status as a “home-wrecker.”
I still don’t understand why. Charlie had broken up with Jax right in front of me. We had both participated in what turned out to be a lackluster kiss. But I didn’t see anyone calling him names.
“There’s always been a double standard for behavior in our industry, Jax.” It was a lesson I learned the hard way.
“It doesn’t make it right.”
“It may not be right, but neither you nor I is going to change it.”
“I feel like shit. And sorry doesn’t seem like enough.”
“It’s not your fault society is what it is. Unless you have a second career as a tabloid reporter I don’t know about.”
“Fuck that shit.”
I laugh at the disgust on his face.
“Then don’t beat yourself up about it.”
Jax opens his mouth to say something else, but closes it when Michael and Nick come back.
“Car’s meeting us out back in ten minutes,” Nick tells Jax.
Jax nods, adjusting the baseball cap on his head.
“Hang in there, okay? Let’s hope Mike can work some magic.”
“I hope so,” I whisper.
