The Only Song (Only You)

14. Jaxon

Chapter 14

Jaxon

P ain lances up my neck. My right shoulder and wrist aches for ice, a bandage, a massage—anything besides this elevator moving at a glacial pace. How I’m going to rehab this all by myself with one arm, I don’t know, but when the doors open, I grit my teeth and painfully make my way to the hotel room.

To Sadie.

To my truth out in the open.

Fuck, I’m not looking forward to this.

With my injured arm tucked to my side, I nudge the door open. The muscles in my back tense as I creep in quietly, curious if Sadie is already awake, but I’m welcomed by silence.

My intuition tells me she’s not here. That innate sense of mine that searches for her when she’s around. It’s quiet—too quiet—and as I make my way toward the kitchen, I can’t help but peek in through her slightly open door.

The room’s empty.

My shoulders lax a little, but not enough to take away the stabbing pain in my shoulder and wrist. It’s pathetic that I fucked up the way I did.

I’ve kept this injury from everyone except Xander and Mason because gossip is toxic. When you’re the face of classical music, as social media seems to call me, gossip spreads like wildfire. Over the internet. Through text messages. Within the orchestra stands. Doubtful eyes when I get up to perform are the last thing I want to see.

Years alone hasn’t made me very trusting, either. And once Sadie comes back, I’m going to have to trust her. That’s what scares me. I need to believe I can finish this tour. Or I won’t be able to make it. And I’m giving her something that could ruin me.

Maybe she just might.

I’m ninety-nine percent sure that she won’t, but there’s that tiny part of me that knows I’m still not her favorite person.

I ran away six years ago. I was an asshole to her at the start of this tour. I’m keeping another secret under wraps to protect her, but this secret that protects me is about to come out in the open.

My eyes snag on the orange prescription bottle I’ve been avoiding, the muscle relaxers that are the last thing I want to take. My shoulder throbs. I’m nauseous from the pain and my fingers are numb from lack of circulation.

I swipe a water bottle from the fridge and down the pills.

When I sink into the couch, I’m knocked out in minutes.

The featherlight touch of dainty fingers prods on my shoulder, nudging me awake. Even as soft as it is, my injured joint protests and white-hot pain sears my vision. When it momentarily clears, I’m able to make out Sadie before me. Soft red waves. Pink rosy cheeks. Honey-hazel eyes.

She’s stunning.

And I’m crumbling.

“What happened?” Her voice trembles and I hate that I’m the reason for that.

I groan as I sit up from the couch, immediately buckling forward from the pain.

“Jesus, Tanner. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

I just might. My breaths are heavy and while the muscle relaxer dulled the pain while I was asleep, it’s come back tenfold now that I’m awake.

“Bag,” I muster out through shaky breaths.

“What?”

“My bag. Meds.” I try to point with my uninjured hand, but a dizzy spell almost knocks me backwards. My throat is dry, there’s a sheen of sweat on my brow and the muscles in my jaw ache from clenching.

She doesn’t protest, immediately jumping to her feet to scour the room in search of it.

My eyes clench shut and all I can hear is the pads of her footsteps amongst the faint rustling. I know she’s reached the right bag when she goes quiet. The bag unzipping is so loud in the silence, it feels like sharp nails grating on skin. And in this moment, I know—my secret isn’t a secret anymore.

I wonder what it is she sees that makes her breath catch. The rainbow rolls of KT tape? The variations of numbing, menthol, and heat cream? Or the plethora of pill bottles? So many pills.

“Tanner…” she breathes, her sweet voice higher in pitch, worry laced through it.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I whisper, my voice strained. When I open my heavy lids, I’m surprised at her expression. It’s not pity or anger. There’s a tenderness behind those hazels that makes my heart clench.

“You don’t have to stay. I just… need the meds. Don’t want to bother you,” I crunch out. A flash of indignation crosses her features and I know I’ve struck a chord. I didn’t mean to. I really just don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. The last thing I want to be is a bu rden. And I’m feeling like a fucking heavy one right now.

Sadie bites at her bottom lip and even in this state, my eyes snag on them. It’s short-lived as a jolt of pain shoots down my shoulder to my wrist when I try to lean for the bag she’s holding.

“Fuck!”

“Stop moving,” she chides as she crosses the distance to sit beside me and begins to empty out all the contents of my bag on the table. Her thigh rests against my knee and her soft waves brush over my hand when she leans to grab a pill bottle. I’m in the worst of pain, yet heat blooms in a way I haven’t felt in years. Haven’t felt since that night.

“Let me,” she murmurs. “Where does it hurt?”

“Right arm.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

It shouldn’t warm me to see her fuss like this, but it’s almost as if she cares. For me.

“Shoulder. Wrist. Everything,” I grit.

“I heard shoulder and wrist. I’m not sure what I can do about everything, but seeing as you practically have a pharmacy in here, I think I’ll be able to figure it out.”

She sounds so sure. Confident. Fearless. Even without knowing everything that’s going on.

Guilt twists my stomach. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know I don’t, but I am.”

Our voices are barely a whisper. When I turn toward her, I’m so close I can’t help how my eyes dip down again to her lips. “Why?”

She hesitates for a beat, rolling them in a way that shouldn’t be alluring, but I’ll take the distraction from the pain. “You’re hurt. I’m here. Let me help.”

It comes out like a plea, her eyes round and imploring. It cracks a stone in my chest and whatever worry I had in trusting her disintegrates simply from the way she looks at me.

I nod slowly. “Okay.”

She nods back, swallowing thickly, and my eyes fall from her lips to the column of her throat. I jerk my gaze away as she pops the pill bottle open, then takes my palm softly in hers to place the pills down gently.

Heat surges to my fingertips. They were numb a second ago and when she lets go, they feel icy again.

“I’ll get you some water.” Avoiding my gaze, she brushes by me, rose and vanilla floating in the air. When she returns, she twists open the bottle cap, kneeling to offer me the water bottle, and my heart tugs. She could’ve stretched her arm out and made me reach. She could’ve thrown it at me and said “catch!” She could’ve not stayed here at all. And yet she’s here, making this as easy for me as possible.

My throat constricts and all at once, I feel the years of loneliness out on the road by myself with no family, no close friends, no partner.

Flying solo because that’s what I am.

A soloist.

I swallow the pills, drinking only as much as I can before nausea threatens to kick it up my throat again. When my head dips back down, she takes the bottle from me gently, twists the cap back on and places it on the table.

“Do I get to find out what happened now?” she asks tentatively, but her eyes are sure. She wants to know, even if she’s afraid to ask. She always was so brave. She is brave.

“Yes, but…” I hate to ask her for more, but I know any more movement will have me close to hurling again. The words keep catching in my throat. I’m not used to being taken care of.

“What is it?” She scans over the litany of products she piled out from my bag, already searching for what might help.

“Ice.”

“Okay, um—” she flusters, her nose scrunching in that adorable way when she’s trying to figure something out.

“Freezer.”

“Right. Freezer. Okay.” She jumps to her feet and within seconds is bounding back with the ice pack I’d left in there.

I groan as I sit up, our knees bump together on the couch, and where I expect her to just hand it to me, her fingers hover over the tip of my shoulder as if scanning for the pain. I wince when she gently prods the injured joint. She releases her fingers immediately, then places the ice pack over the thin material of my shirt.

When she looks at me, my breath catches. The room falls away and the pain with it. We sit there for who knows how long, simply staring at each other, her hand holding the ice to my shoulder as I will my singing blood to settle within me. It’s not easy, though, not when she’s this close. I told her to leave, but she stayed. It’s as much an aphrodisiac as her hands on me.

She clears her throat finally, dropping her eyes to where her other hand barely presses the front of my shoulder, gesturing for me to sit back to hold the ice in place.

I can’t help but drag my eyes all over her. Plump lips, a warmer red from biting down with worry. Ruby red tresses pulled back with her signature black bow. Creamy white skin against my tan as her fingers now trail over my injured wrist.

“There’s only one ice pack,” she says, turning away toward the table.

“It’s fine. I’ll deal with my wrist later.”

But she spins back around with a tube in her hand and my brows knit in confusion. With featherlight fingertips she lifts my right wrist onto her thigh as she pops open the bottle, warming the ointment between her palms and all I can do is watch in awe. She smooths gentle circles over the tight joint, then her thumbs press at the pressure point on my forearm just below the elbow crease. It releases the locked muscle in a way that’s so relieving, my eyes flutter close.

“Your fingers are so cold,” she murmurs.

I hum in response as she swipes her thumb over my pulse. It must be pounding based on the sound in my ears. I don’t know whether she’s leeching the pain off me or if it’s just the cream. Probably the cream.

“You can relax.” She sounds almost breathless. Fuck, I am.

A groan slips from my mouth as she continues to massage the menthol cream over my skin. Even with the chill, I’m all heat now. I like her hands on me. I’d like them to be all over me. Wrapped over my dick, maybe.

As if able to read my thoughts, she quips. “Not that much, Tanner. It’s not that type of massage.”

I snort. Laughter shakes my shoulders even as I hiss from the pain, cringing inwardly, hoping my cock isn’t the reason she made that comment since I can feel it swelling in my pants.

That’s what I get for thinking about getting a hand job from her.

“Don’t make me laugh, please,” I breathe.

She chuckles softly, whispering a soft “sorry” and when I peek at her face through hooded lids, she’s smiling. A worried smile, but a smile nonetheless.

This is why I hate telling people. Xander is on my ass already and Mason makes it his mission to remind me this tour is a bad idea. But Sadie doesn’t complain. She fills me with a warmth I don’t know how to name.

Once the cream is rubbed in, her fingers linger over my wrist. “You almost gave me a heart attack when I came in.”

I nod tightly, knowing this is about the time I should tell her what the fuck is going on. She deserves that for taking care of me. I turn my cheek to face her, looking into those deep hazels as I muster up the courage to tell her my secret.

“I was diagnosed with RSI last year.” It comes out strained, but her fingers only find my palm, her thumb drawing a circle in it.

“That’s why you have all this?” She tilts her head to all the crap laid out behind her.

I nod slowly. “But no one knows. No one on the tour at least.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ll tell me to stop playing.”

A flash of surprise crosses her honey-hazel eyes and the sunset dipping in the window glints gold off her ruby hair. I want to run my fingers through it.

She swallows thickly. The column of her throat working as she blinks rapidly. “If it hurts this much, why don’t you stop?”

I sit up then and pull the ice pack off my shoulder with my uninjured hand. The muscle is numb for now, like my response. “I don’t have anything else in my life besides music. ”

She scoffs. “Tanner, that isn’t a reason to run yourself into the ground. What even happened today? Were you practicing?”

I look at her, annoyed. “No. I… hurt myself at the gym.”

She shakes her head disappointed, white teeth biting down on the plump lip I can’t keep my eyes off of.

I reach for menthol cream, but Sadie swipes it out from me.

“Hey!” I jolt.

She shoots me a glare. “I said, I’m here. Let me help. What do you need?”

I glare at her back. But there are no knives, only frustration. Reluctantly, I bite out, “My shoulder.”

“Okay. Turn around.” She twirls a finger in the air.

This girl surprises me with every beat. Just when you think you’ve figured out her rhythm, it changes.

I hesitate as my fingers pause at the hem of my shirt.

“I can handle you, Jaxon. Please.”

Those words from her lips. My name. It shoots sparks all over my body, to my fingertips, to my toes, to my cock and as electrifying as it is, it’s soothing. It’s all it takes for me to crumble to whatever she wants.

“I… I need help lifting my shirt.”

She pauses, the air tight between us, then tosses the bottle to the side. I try not to jump as her fingers brush over mine, pulling it off the hem and replacing it with hers. She’s so close to my hard length, I’m momentarily thankful for wearing loose sweats. But aside from how much I love having her this close to me, when my shirt lifts, I feel vulnerable.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I whisper again.

“It’s not my secret to tell,” she whispers back. There’s a hint of frustration still in her tone, but she doesn’t fight me on it.

“Thank you.”

She tugs my shirt off gently and her eyes heat, rosy cheeks turning fire engine red as she swallows.

“I need space.” My chest sinks, thinking she doesn’t want to help anymore, then she adds. “On the couch.”

Oh, right. Geez, when did I get so clingy? I shift on the couch so she can sit behind me, facing out to the waning sunset through the balcony doors.

I hear the sound of cream squeezing from the bottle, her hands rubbing together before she hesitates.

“Let me guess. It hurts everywhere?” She rasps.

My dick twitches at the thought of her hands everywhere on me. I bite out, breathlessly, “Yeah, everywhere.”

She grumbles softly, her fingers prodding gently in search of the bunched up strained muscle. I hiss, tensing once she finds it.

“You’ve really fucked this muscle up,” she murmurs, placing her hands at the base of my neck, then pulling down to the tip of my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I rasp. Unable to keep my voice even now that her hands are rubbing over more of my skin. “Almost dropping the bar at the gym didn’t help.”

Her fingers freeze a moment, shocked, but she doesn’t say anything as she glides through the taut muscle, rolling over the tendons, her touch so gentle it doesn’t even hurt.

The sunset disappears as my eyes flutter close and I let myself lean back into her touch. I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt relief like this. Mason’s massages never felt this good, that’s for sure. Nor a professional one. Whatever she’s doing, it feels different. She soothes all the pain from rehearsals, performances, the gym. She presses and slides, her breath light against my skin as she works up my spine, under the curve of my shoulder blade, over my mid-back to the top of my shoulder.

When her thumbs smooth a line from the base of my neck to the end of my hair, I groan, sinking into her touch.

“Your neck is tight, too,” she sighs, switching bottles. The heat from this cream has already subsided and I smell the minty menthol of the next bottle.

“Probably from my fucked up shoulder,” I murmur as her fingers touch my skin again. My body lights up like the menthol on my skin. I might be relaxed, but my hard length says otherwise.

“Probably,” she whispers back, fingers working hard to relieve the tense muscle.

I wonder if this is what I’ve missed from keeping it to myself. Trusting no one to help me. Too afraid to lose my career. I never gave myself a chance to be cared for. Yet, Sadie’s showing all the ways things could be if I weren’t so hell bent on being alone.

She’s not afraid. She soothes me. She takes care of me.And the menthol on my skin isn’t cold enough to freeze my body from wanting more of her.

But I gave all that up six years ago.

When her fingers lift from my skin, I suppress a shiver at the sudden coldness. I know it’s not from the cream and I bite my cheek to keep from asking her for more. She’s done enough for me already.

“Are you able to put your shirt back on?” she asks, sliding off the couch like she needs to put as much space between us as possible.

I test my right arm, too embarrassed to ask for more help, but my face must’ve said it all as Sadie’s already bunching the shirt up to its sleeves.

“Open up.” She stands between my knees, my face just under her breasts, the curve of them all too distracting. “Tanner, put your shirt on.”

My cheeks flush. Caught.

Carefully, I lift my right arm, but Sadie does the legwork to brush the fabric up to my shoulder so I don’t have to.

“Drop your arm,” she says, leaning in to bring the neck hole over my head. Her scent overwhelms me, so sweet I can almost taste it. I bite my tongue to keep from wanting to lick her skin because why do I have all these sudden cravings now?

When she pulls the shirt down, it feels like I’m coming up from underwater, panting from holding my breath in my chest. It rushes out as my other arm loops into the last hole and I pull my shirt halfway down.

Sadie’s eyes flash away from me instantly as she starts heading towards her room.

“I’ll be right back,” she calls softly and I’m left still catching my breath.

When she comes back out, she’s dressed in silk black pajamas. Thin spaghetti straps barely concealing the swell of her breasts and the shorts show so much of her milky skin, it’s a feast for my eyes.

She clears her throat. “Are you going back to sleep now?”

She’s feasting on me as well as I see her eyes glaze over my exposed abs, the V there that leads to my pants where I hope she doesn’t see the slight swell. When our gazes finally clash, I wonder if she sees as much heat in my eyes as I do hers.

This is dangerous for us.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just going to sleep on the floor. I can put a blanket down.”

“Excuse me?” She looks at me aghast, like I said something offensive.

“I heard it’s good for your back. To be honest, this couch is part of the reason my shoulder’s fucked up. I’m sure the floor will straighten me back up.”

“You’ re kidding,” she deadpans, glaring at me.

I shake my head, unsure what she’s upset at. It’s not like we’re going to share the bed or anything.

“Tanner. You’re not sleeping on the floor with a fucked up shoulder and if the couch isn’t comfortable, then?—”

Her words cut off as she groans in frustration. Instead of finishing her sentence, she storms off into the bedroom with the door wide open.

Still confused, I kneel to the ground, slowly splaying out on the blanket I laid out, careful not to aggravate my injured but well-nursed shoulder.

I hear another frustrated groan and I can’t help my small smile at all her different noises. But her next words are what makes my heart stop because she can’t be serious.

“Tanner, get off the floor and get the fuck in here,” she hisses from the bedroom.

I roll my lips, staring up at the ceiling to try to will myself to not see her red hair on white sheets. Soft skin in black silk pajamas. Plump, pink lips.

My cock strains against my pants.

With a raspy voice, I call out. “You really want to share the bed with me, Sass?”