The Only Song (Only You)

2. Jaxon

Chapter 2

Jaxon

Mason

Pick up your phone

Stop ignoring me

I need you to listen

When will you take this seriously?

Jaxon

Pick

Up

I t’s a surprise Mason stopped messaging me. As my cousin, he’s not a bad guy, but as my physical therapist, he’s a pain in my ass. Has been ever since this injury threatening my career flared up.

I ignore his messages as I climb the stairs to the second floor of Montgomery Music Hall. I need solace. A space to stretch. After eight hours of auditions, my body is aching.

Another message from Mason comes through, but my phone stays silent. At least I know the ‘do not disturb’ feature works.

I wasn’t always this in touch with him. My injury started as minor aches and pains, and I’d go see Mason occasionally for some rehab. But now, I see him twice a week minimum. With the tour taking us across three major cities in the U.S., it means I won’t be getting rehab from him at all—needless to say, he’s not happy.

People don’t realize that being a professional musician is as much a sport as being an athlete. Hell, we are athletes. Our bodies are put through hours and hours of rehearsals in tight studios and hot stages. Am I lifting and pushing two-hundred pounds of weight? No. But am I forcing my joints to play close to two hundred beats per minute? Yes. And it’s painful. The thought of it makes me roll my wrists with phantom pain.

I glance at the time. A little over fifteen minutes left until the end of auditions. Just fifteen more minutes, then I’m finally free.

Free to rest. Get a massage. Soak in the jacuzzi. Rub one out in the shower to relieve some tension. Then take some Advil and fall asleep to whatever crime show reruns are on the hotel TV. I don’t hate being here in San Francisco, but being on the West Coast in general makes me yearn for the rolling waves outside my LA home on Bluewater Lane. The one beside my fraternity brothers, Xander and Max—who may as well be my real brothers—overlooking the sweet Malibu coastline.

But it’s under renovation, which is just another reason for me to go on this tour. I’m getting sick of living in my New York apartment. I want peace, not pressure. I don’t need the reminder from Mason of why I shouldn’t be on this tour. I need to focus on getting through it. With a heavy sigh, I opt to take the bull by the horns and pull up our messages to get this conversation over with.

Jaxon

71 unread messages

That’s a new record for you

My phone rings immediately, and I swipe to answer.

“Are you ignoring me on purpose?” Mason’s voice grates through the line.

“No,” I grit back. “I told you. It’s audition day for the Troubadour Orchestra tour.”

“The tour I’m telling you not to go on. You really are stubborn.”

“I prefer committed.”

“Committed to killing your body.”

His comment silences me. No one gets it. The adrenaline rush. The addiction. The pressure.

I’m not just any performer. I’m a Concertmaster.

I lead the orchestra. I perform the solos. I direct the music if there’s no conductor.

I earned my way to this first chair and I plan to keep it.

But as I go to retort, to tell him that I can do this, I’m reminded of the time it almost did destroy me.

Center stage. Scorching lights. Thousands in the crowd.

All the eyes were on me and my trembling hand. My forearm locked up right before the entrance into my solo. The panic almost crumbled me. The numbness in my fingers almost froze my brain.

But I pushed. Through the pain. Through the sharp, hot needles. Through the muscle tears.

I bowed with a tight smile before the roaring audience.

And I paid the price for it after. I couldn’t play for two whole weeks. Mason rehabbed me the whole time with a scowl on his face and ‘you’re an idiot’ in his eyes. I’m still aching to this day—but I’m not going out without putting up a fight.

This will not be the end of my career. The end of me.

I pull my phone away as Mason continues to chew me out. Musicians look up from their stands as I stomp past their practice rooms. I must be angry enough for them to react that way. I don’t try to hide it, though. I hide it enough, and it’s exhausting. Right now, I need the break. From the auditions. From Mason. From the pain.

I continue to move at this pace until a silky voice floats up and stops me in my tracks.

A voice I haven’t heard in six years. A voice I never expected to hear from ever again.

Even if we’re in our old university, I never expected her to show up. Not at these auditions. Not after everything that happened six years ago.

What the fuck is she doing here?

I bring the phone up to my ear and catch the end of Mason’s rant. “When are you going to listen to me, Jax?” His disappointment rolls off me. It’s nothing new and it’s the last thing on my mind right now. I’m already making my way back to the recital hall. Back to her .

“I have selective hearing.”

“Then hear this. If you don’t stop, your body will do it for you. There’s more to life than violin, Jaxon. Performing can’t be the only thing that makes you happy.”

But the last time I was happy was the last time I was with her .

My fingers in silky red hair. Hot breaths on a cool night. The taste of honey on my lips.

I had it all in that moment. And then I turned my back on it.

I threw it all away to be a soloist—to this day, I’m not sure I made the right choice. All I know is it was easier to ignore the guilt without her around.

I let out a breath as I realize that was six years ago.

The last time something other than violin made me happy was six fucking years ago.

“I’m a performer. This is what I do,” I reply tersely.

Mason tuts on the other end of the line, but I don’t hear the rest of what he says. All my focus is on the vision of my past on the floor below me. I watch silently as she unpacks her violin. The wood is deep and dark, like the outfit she wears that hugs all her curves. Her crimson red hair is bright against her midnight attire. Every musician wears black. But no one wears black like Sadie Love.

She’s stunning. She’s show-stopping. She’s fucking here.

“Mason, I have to go. Day’s not over.” I hang up, check my phone remains on ‘do not disturb’ as I make my way back toward the recital hall. Toward her.

My mind is already made up. I’m going on this tour. I’m going to prove him and myself wrong. Prove it to the fear in me that says I’m only as good as my body allows. It’s a lie. It has to be. This injury can’t be the reason I don’t get to be Concertmaster for another decade or two or three.

But if Sadie’s here, more than just my career might be in trouble.

My heart might be too.