Kellan Albright? The blond douche talks a big game, and we moved in the same circles, went to the same parties the times I bothered to attend them, but he always seemedharmless.
Until thisweekend.
“You tell him about Kellan, I’ll tell him I woke up in yourbed.”
I rub my good hand over my jaw. They’re still waiting on ananswer.
“Nothing.”
The headmaster sighs. “Mr. Jamieson, we accommodated your… charge for his final semester. It’s highly unorthodox to admit new students mid-year, particularly for seniors. We can’t let this kind of behavior slide. It’s for Mr. Adams’ benefit, but also for the other students and theirparents.”
“Then suspend him if you needto.”
The headmaster’s brows rise. “Fine. Thursday’s a PA day, but you’re suspended from school for the rest of theweek.”
That’s less than ideal. I’m not a stellar student, which means I’ll need some extra studying time so I don’t fall behind more than I have beforeexams.
I’m going to graduate high school if it kills me. Everyone else in my family did, and if they can, I sure as hellcan.
The parking lot is almost empty at this hour, and Jax doesn’t say a word until he’s at his car and I’m at mybike.
“You’re not here to fuck around. You’re here towork.”
I hate that he’s the one to remind me. “Iknow.”
Most musicians would kill for the chance to work with Jax Jamieson. Every time he picks up his guitar, or lays down a phrase, or picks up the headphones to listen with a critic’s ear, I’mreminded.
Music’s my path forward. It’s how I’m gonna be independent, distance myself from my upbringing and my dad’sreach.
After eighteen years of shitty luck, when I’d practically tossed in my chips and given up for good, life dealt me a straight flush: the biggest rock songwriter and performer of the last two decades not only invited me into his studio—he invited me into hishome.
Jax is more than a boss or a mentor. He’s the father I could’vehad.
Except I couldn’t have. He made sure ofthat.
I shake off the dark thoughts and flex myhand.
His gaze narrows. “You’re a musician. You know better than to fuck up your hands.” Jax prods at my palm, and pain spikes up my arm. “Now you’re home from school, and you can’t even play. Was it worthit?”
I remember the look on Kellan’s face when I slammed my knuckles into his entitledjaw.
“It was my best work allweek.”
I shift over my bike and reach for my helmet, but Jax hasn’tmoved.
“Tyler, I care about your future, but I don’t want this shit happening anywhere near my kid.” I could laugh at the irony. “If anything else happens under my roof, you’re out. Weclear?”
Inod.
The world isn’t a just place. Some people, like Jax, try to make it fair. They’re only soothing their guiltyconsciences.
What about the ones who want to make the worldbetter?
They’re deluded. Admirable, beautiful, anddeluded.
I take the long way home so Jax’s Bentley is parked when I pull into the garage and cut myengine.
I walk around the house and through thegardens.