The Only Song (Only You)

8. Sadie

Chapter 8

Sadie

“ T his stupid. Fucking. Case,” I huff, carefully balancing on the tip of my toes as I try a second time to fit my violin case in the small gap. It fits—barely—in a haphazard way that has me grimacing at it. The last thing I want is for the door to open at landing and my case to fall to the ground.A cold shiver rolls down my spine just imagining it.

No. Nope. I cannot have my violin fall.

I’m so focused on finding a way for my case to look less precarious in the overhead storage that I don’t realize the stewardess patiently waiting for me to stop huffing and puffing to turn around and face her.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” she asks, a polite smile crinkling the corners of her blue eyes.

I pause.Is she talking to me? Of course she’s talking to me. I’m the only one left in the aisle trying to fit my baggage in the overhead .

She clears her throat again. “Ma’am, there has been a change to your seat.”

My breath freezes. A change to my seat? That can’t be right. I booked it really last minute. They can’t even put me further back in the plane. I’m pretty sure I’m in the last row.

I peer over my shoulder at her, my violin still pressed to my fingertips so it won’t fall.

“A change?” I repeat back, bewildered.

She nods with a small smile. “Please, follow me.”

I don’t even get a chance to process her words before she starts power-walking in her tall heels down the aisle. I chase after her in her navy uniform, her blonde hair slicked back into a tight bun, down the rows of seated passengers. Clearly, I must be holding up the plane or something for her to be bounding down the aisle so quickly. Fuck .

I pass by the elderly man who glared at me for accidentally bumping into him, by the teenager with the music playing too loudly in his headphones, by the little toddler and her father who’s now wrestling her seatbelt over her wriggly body.

I’m walking, I realize, down to the front of the plane.

God, am I getting kicked off? Is this some kind of joke? Where is she taking me?

My eyes ricochet off the heads of people in their seats. The rows are all full… and with a short flight from San Francisco to Chicago, there’s not really a fi rst class, business class, or anything fancy like that. There’s just an economy and a premium economy. The one where they have less seats crammed together and more foot space. The one that I am now walking towards and that is far more expensive and out of my budget. Will they expect me to pay for this? If they do, I’m screwed.

The stewardess stops and I’m too busy gawking at all the empty premium seats, I almost slam into her.

“Here you go, miss,” she says, pointing to her right.

I stare. The whole front row is empty.

Except for one seat.

“Hey, Sass,” Jaxon says, his tone mildly amused. He’s seated close to the far left window, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips as he peers at me over his book.

My stomach flips. I cannot be seated next to Jaxon Tanner. I already endured two weeks of him. Can’t I have four hours without him?

My lips purse into a tight line, but he responds with a crooked grin. His dimple flashes in a way that shouldn’t make my heart flip-flop, but it traitorously does anyway.

“Did you… call me up here?” I ask slowly.

His dark brown eyes bore into me, and instead of answering my question, he just says, “I’m not really a fan of sitting next to other people.”

I glance at the five empty seats beside him.

“I can see that,” I deadpan .

I scan the empty seats again. Above one empty row, of course, is an empty overhead cabin. My eyes widen.

Is that why I was brought up here? So I’d have a place to put my violin?

My head whips back to Jaxon. He looks to be engulfed in his book, but I don’t miss the smirk playing on his lips, or the entire empty row of seats he’s in. The question flies out of my mouth before I can think better of it. “Did you buy out an entire row for yourself?”

He blinks at me like it’s not an issue. “Yes.”

I shake my head with a breathless laugh. My eyes snag on a shiny black carbon fiber violin case tucked into the overhead. Not a single other bag crowding it. Smart ass. “Did you buy out the row so you can have your own overhead cabin?”

His mouth twitches upward as he flips a page, but he neither confirms nor denies it.

I narrow my gaze on him, searing into his tan cheek. “I was told there’s been a change to my seat.”

“Yes,” he nods. Annoyingly, with no more explanation than the first yes.

I want to bang his head with my case for an answer.

“I don’t like sitting next to other people,” he repeats, as if that was the explanation I needed. It’s not.

“And yet, I’m here?” I grit slowly. Frustrated by his ambiguous responses, annoyance flares in my chest. I can’t figure out how to respond, but sigh. “You know what? I really only need the overhead cabin. I’ll go back to my seat and leave my violin here.”

Jaxon’s eyes flick up to me, mysterious, like his responses to this whole altercation. “You want me to babysit it for you?”

I seethe.

He apprises me with a sharp, dark brow that says he can see right through me. My cheeks and neck flush. I hate it.

“You’re really going to leave your violin?” he asks, smugly. He already knows the answer, because fuck no. I can’t. It would make me so incredibly nervous to be apart from my sixteen thousand dollar instrument and not worry about it getting stolen or something. And there’s no way in hell I’d ask Jaxon to babysit it.

My jaw clenches. “Okay fine. Which of these five empty seats would you like me to take? You know what? I’ll answer that myself. I’ll just take the one by the other window. Away from you .”

He rolls his eyes. “Put your violin away, Sass, and come sit next to me.”

I’d argue, but his tone sounded firm, so I tease instead. “I thought you don’t like sitting next to people.”

“You’re the exception.” His dark eyes flit up to mine and my heart quickens. “I’m already stuck sitting next to you.”

Before I can retort, my phone buzzes in my bag. I fish it out and my stomach sinks as I stare down at the caller ID. Jaxon’s stare burns into the side of my cheek. I ignore it. My phone continues to light up in my hand. I know that picking up this call is the last thing I want right now—the last thing I need. But I pick up anyway.

Pushing my violin case safely into the empty overheard cabin, I slide into the seat next to Jaxon. My thumb taps on the green answer call button and my mother has already started speaking before I even get the chance to say hello.

“Mom? Hi. Hello. Listen. I’m already on the plane.” I shift in my seat to give Jaxon my back as if that might make it so he can’t overhear my mother rant about her and Dad planning to fly out to see me. My volume isn’t loud, but mom’s too-sweet voice in my head is.

She acts sweet as sugar, but really she packs a bite.

“Mom. You don’t have to come see me. It’s fine,” I whisper tiredly into the phone.

“Sadie,” she sighs. I hate that sigh. It’s her I wish you would just listen to me sigh and it makes the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end. “We haven’t seen you play since your college recital. You know, the one with Jaxon Tanner, do you remember? Are you really going to turn your parents down? Do you not want us to be excited for you?”

And there it is. The setup to the guilt-trip.

It’s not that I don’t want their support, I don’t want their… criticism.

And like I need the reminder about Jaxon, who’s sitting right fucking next to me.

“—and you’ll be in the front stand. How could we miss watching?—”

“Mom. Please don’t come up here to watch me.” My chest tightens in aggravation, guilt stabbing in my chest. She wants me to relent, to say that I want to see them, but it only opens up past wounds. I told them about the orchestra, but I spared them the knowledge that I’m partnered with Jaxon. If they knew, I would never hear the end of it. They fawn over him in a way that feels as though he always steals the spotlight, always takes the praise and love and attention of those around him while everyone is cast in his shadow. I know that once my parents realize I’m not in the Concertmaster chair, they’re going to say I failed.

Failed against Jaxon. Again.

“You’re always so dramatic, Sadie,” she tuts over the phone.

Me? Am I the drama?

“I have to go, Mom. Bye.” I hang up before I hear anymore from her just as the seatbelt sign flicks on. The plane begins its taxi to the runway and I’m hyper aware that I had that whole conversation beside Jaxon. He reads beside me quietly, seemingly unfazed by the tense phone call or how I’m clenching my fists anxiously. Angrily? I can’t tell. My parents always have the effect of swallowing gasoline and being lit up from within. It doesn’t just infuriate me, it exhausts me. Burns me at both ends.

“Everything okay?” Jaxon asks, without looking up from his book.

“Fine,” I snap a little too harshly. “Sorry. Yes. Everything’s fine.”

“You can talk to me, Sass.” He turns to a new page, his words soft even though he doesn’t look up. Somehow, it soothes the ache in my chest. “If you want.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. As nice as the gesture is, I don’t buy into it. Jaxon’s still the flaky one who left all those years ago. If I wanted to talk, I’d first ask him where the fuck he went.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I whisper, staring out across the empty row so Jaxon doesn’t see how fragile I can be.

Two hours later, the plane dips—sharp and low—jolting me awake with my stomach in my throat.

Holy shit.

The captain comes on over the speaker. I hear only pieces of the announcement about turbulence and seatbelts as I realize I’m sitting up from Jaxon’s shoulder.

Did I fall asleep on him?

My cheeks flush, but it spreads down to my neck as I peer up at him. From this angle, Jaxon’s skin is smooth, jawline sharp, with dark brown eyes that appear almost black in the dim light of the cabin. Then I realize he’s smirking, so I sit up and shift as far away from him in my seat as possible.

Fuck.

“You’re awake,” Jaxon remarks, flipping another page in his book. The plane shudders and I grasp at the armrest between us.

“The plane’s shaking,” I whisper, hoping to hide the tremble in my voice.

“Captain said we’re flying through a storm. Buckle up.”

Storm? God, it’s hard enough with regular turbulence, but storm turbulence? No.

I need a distraction. Anything from the dips and shudders of the plane flying through thick storm clouds. As if on cue, the plane drops again. It tremors until it breaks through the cloud to clear into open air, leaving me digging my fingers into the armrest and my stomach twisting nauseously. In desperation, I turn to Jaxon.

“What is that?” I ask, pointing to his lap, my voice higher than normal.

“A book?” Jaxon finally peers up to look at me. If I weren’t so panicked, I’d be peeved at the way his eyes drag down my face, my chest, my hands. He looks to be reading me. Or undressing me. I flush at the thought.

“Yes. Obviously, it’s a book,” I snap. “What is it? Satan’s handbook?”

“You would know,” he mutters, finally catching himself staring at me too long. His eyes dart back to the page he’s on and our conversation freezes.

The plane lurches upward this time, a wing shuddering as it travels through more heavy cloud cover and I clench my fists. God, I hate turbulence.

I pivot back to Jaxon, needy, exasperated, desperate. Not the greatest look, but it’s the least of my concerns when it comes to surviving the rest of this trip in turbulence.

“So… what’s the book about?” I ask.

Jaxon lets out an annoyed sigh. “Do you need a bedtime story?”

“It’s the mid-afternoon.”

“A nap-time story then.”

I peek at the text on the page. Thriller. Not my type. “I don’t feel like getting nightmares from whatever that is.”

Jaxon’s mouth twitches and since I clearly dismissed him, he frustratingly goes back to reading.

My stomach lurches again when the seat vibrates, as if I’m in some 4-D movie experience. Or some extreme roller coaster. “I take it back. Read me a chapter.”

Jaxon’s eyes whip to mine. “You… want me to read to you?”

“Please?” I plaster on a tight smile that feels borderline serial killer—fitting for the book he’s reading—but on me, I must look desperate.

“Is what you’re doing with your face meant to convince me?” he asks, eyes sparkling to warm brown. I can tell he’s biting back laughter. God, I must look stupid.

I groan and stare at my white knuckles on the armrest as the plane shudders yet again. My shoulders tense to my ears and I try to shimmy them back down. All the while, Jaxon watches intently, and I’m too nervous to call him out.

When I twist in my seat to face him, I’m struck by the heat of his gaze. Suddenly I’m the one staring now, outlining the curve of his lips, tracing his jet black hair that leads to dark brown irises behind thick black-framed glasses.

“I… need a distraction,” I whisper. As if I’m not already distracted enough by looking at him. His lips part as if to say something witty back, but I add softly, “Please.”

His features slacken as he closes his book and shifts to face me calmly, his foot gently nudging mine.

Rivalry is all Jaxon and I know. We live and breathe challenging each other. Yet, right now, he looks at me with a strange softness that makes me wonder.

Jaxon Tanner, the Concertmaster of a world-renowned orchestra in New York whose salary, from what I snooped in a violin magazine, is six-hundred thousand dollars. Who is on this tour with me as the star because his reputation deemed him so. I would’ve expected nothing less but for all this to fly up to his head, or to his dick, and to give zero fucks about me.

Yet we’re inches apart, divided only by the armrest I’m gripping too tightly and if we weren’t already feeling airtight from the plane cabin, I’d say the oxygen levels just dropped a hundredfold now with the way Jaxon is staring at me.He’s awe-inspiring, handsome, and?—

“How long have you had that violin case?” He asks abruptly.

It stumps my thoughts. “What?”

“That big black box you carry around. Is that the same one since college?”

I blink. Several times, wondering how my violin case is coming up in conversation, surprised he remembers it from college.

“Yes. It’s the same one. I?—”

“You should get a WAM case,” he states like it’s easy.

I scoff, leaning back towards the far side armrest, trying to put as much space between us as possible, which is, frankly, only about a foot apart.

“Do you know how expensive and exclusive those are?” I ask, nudging his foot in challenge.

“Of course I do. I own five.” He nudges back.

I roll my eyes dramatically. Of course he does. “Did you pay a single dime for them?”

“Are you suggesting I stole them?”

“Guilty, until proven innocent.”

“That’s not how the phrase goes.” The corner of his lip tilts upwards and my heart dips.

“I’m gonna need to see your receipts.”

“I didn’t realize my in-flight entertainment was actually an interrogation.”

“Did you just call me entertainment?”

Jaxon’s lips widen into a grin and he turns to face me square, his knee bumping mine.

“You always entertain me, Sass.”

It shouldn’t make my cheeks flush. His eyes shouldn’t burn the way they do and make my stomach flip traitorously and yet...

My thoughts crumble as the plane dips so low I grip the seatbelt to ensure I’m still in my seat. I tighten it as we level out, panting heavily.

There’s still a little over an hour left. Okay, maybe I’ll try those deep breathing exercises Sloane always talks about.

Close your eyes. Breathe in for four… hold for seven… shit, it’s really hard to hold my breath for seven seconds…

“Are you… holding your breath?” Jaxon asks from my left. I wave a hand dismissively in his direction to shhh . When I lose my count on the exhale, I give up.

“Well, I’m not anymore,” I grumble. “I’m trying to do deep breathing exercises. It’s supposed to calm me down. ”

“Do you need a paper bag?” His brow furrows, as if he’s worried for me, but I’m probably imagining it.

“I said I’m deep breathing, not hyperventilating, Tanner.”

“Hate to break it to you, Sass, but it kinda looks like you’re hyperventilating.”

Fuck. Am I? I can’t even tell.

I shake my head and try to focus on breathing again, counting loudly in my head, but his voice cuts me off mid-count again.

“Seriously, are you okay?” he asks, tone laced with concern.

“Fine!” I squeak the same time the plane jerks upward and shudders down, my voice several octaves too high.

“I don’t think the armrest is fine.”

I drag out my exhale. He’s right about the armrest, and I’m definitely not fine. “Okay. Please don’t make fun of me.”

His eyes darken as he shakes his head slowly. “I’m not making fun of you.”

I’ve never heard his voice so low. I feel it ripple down my spine, the low hum of it, its deep timbre making my chest flutter. When our eyes lock, I’m taken aback. It’s like sinking into a deep well. The Jaxon before me is miles different from the Jaxon I know, but a part of me doesn’t trust it. Not yet.

“I’m afraid of flying,” I admit. “Well, not all flying, just… turbulence. I hate turbulence. ”

Understanding dawns on his face as he nods slowly. Suddenly, he turns away, leaning in his seat to grab his backpack and I feel cold now without the heat of his gaze, an emptiness in my chest that I don’t understand. I shake my head. It’s probably nothing.

Jaxon deposits his book in the main pocket and exchanges it for a small object he wraps in his fist.

“What are you doing?” I ask, warily.

“Here.” He flicks the white case open and offers me an earbud.

I gawk at it. “Are you—are you wanting to listen to music? Together? Are we about to do the joint headphones thing?”

“Well, these are AirPods, so I guess, joint… pods?”

I laugh. “Okay, nope. I’m not ruining one eardrum. We’re doing this another way.”

“Must you always be so difficult?” He slides a bud in each ear as I pin him with a glare, reaching into my own bag to pull out my wireless Bose over-ear headphones.

“Oh. So, you have five-hundred-dollar headphones but not a five-hundred dollar violin case?”

“Do not judge me. This was a gift and those cases are not five hundred dollars and you know it.” They’re like a thousand dollars. Each. But I don’t need to remind him of that when he has five . I glare at him and his laugh takes me by surprise. It splits his serious expression apart, his smile reaching his eyes, warm as a summer's day. I realize I’ve never seen it before .

Jaxon is the epitome of professionalism. In college, he was well-loved and respected, but even then, he always had a serious tone towards all his actions. Deliberate. Calculated. Practiced. But the way he feels beside me feels almost… relaxed and free.

It can’t be from me.

I’ve always loved to challenge him, but then I think back to how much I’d want a solo. The only way I can get that chance is if Jaxon and I aren’t trying to shove each other out of our seats and get along. His laugh dissolves into a chuckle and I think maybe, just maybe, I can convince him into accepting a truce or a deal.

Either way, right now, he’s winning. If his goal was to distract me from the turbulence, his smile is doing exactly that.

We spend the remainder of the flight going through Jaxon’s playlist.

“I can’t believe I’m listening to a playlist of your own solos. I knew you were obnoxious, Tanner, but this tops the cake.”

His chuckle is low as he leans forward to stretch his upper body. His tight button-up flexes over his chest in a way that makes me wonder how it stays buttoned up at all. He twists his back to the window, and the fabric stretches over ropes of muscle I can see through his white shirt. When he shifts back in his seat, his knee comfortably rests against mine. “Just trying to help you out here, Sass. Maybe I’m not who you think I am.”

I dip my chin to hide the way my cheeks blush with a small smile.

Admittedly, the music we’re listening to is helping and his performances are phenomenal.

He’s at the height of his career. Something lonely in me wishes to have accomplished as much as he has. Instead, I try to ignore the fact that I was hired on last-minute by Troubadour Orchestra. Choosing to focus on being lucky enough to be added to the tour and especially lucky to be in the front stand.

I can’t say that a tiny part of me still doesn’t have doubts. The little devil on my shoulder whispering unsought reminders that I didn’t make the first pick.

Jaxon eyes me gently, his fingers turning his AirPods case over and over absentmindedly. We grow quiet, listening to a Largo , letting the slow beats lengthen our breaths. Then his elbow nudges me gently. I expect to see a smirk or that playfully competitive fire behind his eyes when he wants to challenge me. I’m stilled at the endless depth and calm in his dark irises, a sea I feel willing to float in.

“What’s the most underrated movement in The Planets ?” he asks.

“ Venus ,” I respond immediately. Jaxon’s already shaking his head and I’m biting back a smile. “Of course, you don’t agree. What’s your pick?”

“ Neptune. ”

“Hm. I could see that.” He looks at me expectantly, so I pick up the game and choose another famous piece. “Most underrated movement in the Four Seasons. Go.”

“ Autumn .”

My smile unfurls. I guess we might have some things in common after all.

“Most underrated violin position?” he asks next.

“What?”

“What position do you like to play in?”

“That’s a weird question, Tanner.”

He snorts. “How else would you like me to say it?”

“I don’t know. It just sounds like you’re asking someone for their most underrated sex position. Like are you asking me how I like to sit in my chair?—”

“With your legs open.”

I bite my lip to keep from grinning and stare at the ceiling of the plane. I think I see his eyes drop a second to where my teeth sink in, but I’m probably imagining it.

“You’ve kicked me enough times, Sass, that I don’t need to ask you how you like to sit in your chair.”

“Fair. So, are you asking me if I like third or fourth or fifth position?”

“Yes, what violin string position is your most underrated,” he states, resting his head back on his seat. “And don’t say first. Everyone knows first is the easiest, but it’s never the favorite.”

It’s a true statement. First is never the favorite.

I take a deep breath while I think. It’s an oddly specific question only a violinist would know and when I glance back at him, the familiar flare in his eyes is back. Coupled with our conversation, it feels lethal, like I might just get trapped under his spell.

“Third,” I say. “My favorite position is third, but I think fifth is the most underrated.” Jaxon’s knee presses into mine and I press back, but neither of us says anything about it. “What about you?”

“Third. But fifth is the most underrated,” he repeats with that smirk I can’t figure out if I hate or love as his eyes trace all over my face. We study each other as if it’s the first time we’re ever meeting each other. As if we hadn’t been each other’s rival for four years in college. As if we’re just now bridging the gap from what split us apart six years ago.

“I guess, for once, we agree on something, Tanner.”

I trace the smooth plane of his cheek to the arch of his hair over his brow and when I settle on his eyes, they’re molten. I swallow, looking away.

“If you were to start all over again, what instrument would you play?” he whispers, his voice like a caress over my skin.

“I don’t know about an instrument, but I always wished I could sing. Seems only my shower head gets exclusive VIP concerts.”

He laughs and it warms my chest. “How horrendous are they? The concerts?”

“I’m sure my neighbors hate me, but I don’t drive enough for car karaoke. Your turn.”

“I wouldn’t change instruments.”

“Why not?”

“Cause then I wouldn’t have met you.”

My lips part in surprise, but when I turn to face him, he’s looking away. In the open window, we can see the Chicago lights twinkle as the sun sets on the horizon. Before I can respond, the captain’s voice crackles over the speaker, concluding our conversation.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We will be landing in Chicago in about fifteen minutes. Please return to your seats and prepare for landing.”

“Let’s get ready,” Jaxon says. He’s already packing before I can even process the music has stopped playing and our conversation is over.

I’m left with an empty feeling in my chest.

I fold up my headphones and we tuck our bags beneath the seats in front of us.

“Tanner.” The question I’d been wanting to ask is at the edge of my lips. But more questions are flying through my mind now. Just ask, Sadie . “I want to make you a deal.”

He turns to me now. “What kind of deal?”

“I know we can get competitive and… we have to work together for the next three months, so…”

“Sass. Just tell me.”

I bite at my bottom lip before I spill. “I won’t be a pain in your ass, if you won’t be in mine. We keep things strictly professional and I promise to be the best stand partner you could ever ask for. I won’t fight with you on anything. I’ll do whatever you say.”

His brow arches, his knee absentmindedly pressing into mine again as if challenging the deal already.

“And what is it that you’d like in return, Sass?” He catches on quick.

“One solo. If we make it through the first two cities without any issues. I’d like a solo in New York.”

Jaxon’s face is completely unreadable. I can’t tell what type of reaction my proposal has garnered and when the plane begins its descent, the sudden weightless feeling catches me off guard. I inhale sharply, gripping the armrest as my body tenses. Take-off is usually much easier for me to tolerate than landing.

Landing terrifies me.

There’s no more music to distract me. My breaths are sharp and shallow in the quiet, and Jaxon still hasn’t responded. I focus on counting my breaths again for the sake of it. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You can do it, Sadie.

The plane outright shakes as we descend through the stormy cloud cover over Chicago. At the next dip, my heart lurches into my throat and I hope the whimper I hear isn’t from me. I can’t help but think the deal I proposed to Jaxon is null. He’s said nothing, and it makes me want to take all my words back. How embarrassing to ask the top violinist in the U.S., or the world even, for a solo. I’ve come off so desperate, and who was I kidding? Jaxon was never going to accept.

I’m mid- way through starting a new breath cycle when I feel long fingers, prying my death grip off the armrest and closing my hand into a fist. A large palm wraps over my knuckles, skin soft and warm, making my stomach dip the same way as the plane through turbulence.

I expect to flinch, to jerk away, to say what are you doing? But I don’t, because something about Jaxon’s hand wrapped over mine has me feeling strangely… comforted.

Our backs press hard into our chairs as the plane lands on the tarmac and slows to taxi into our gate.

I look towards Jaxon, but he’s looking out the window, clearly avoiding my gaze, hand still over mine.

The plane stops. I hear the seatbelt sign chime and the light flick off. The faint murmurs from passengers around us start to fill the cabin as a flight attendant walks by asking for trash.

Jaxon’s up before I know it, his hand slipping away as smoothly as it came, as if it were never wrapped over mine to begin with and I’m left staring at his back as he walks down the aisle without saying another word to me.