Page 2

ONE

JAXON

Two years later…

Faint tapping pulls me out of my restful sleep.

I try to ignore it, turning this way and that to get comfortable again so I can sink back into sleep.

When the rapping sounds again, I sit upright in bed.

What could that noise be? My head whips toward my window when I hear it again.

A shadowy figure raises its hand and knocks on the glass, making my heart race and my hands shake…

…Until I hear, “Jax, you awake?” in a soft, raspy voice.

The breath I was holding whooshes out of my lungs as I toss my legs over the side of the bed and pad over to the window.

When I pull it up, Wesley smiles at me. A grin tugs at my lips until I see the bruise under his eye. Equal parts anger and sadness clogs my throat as I look at the injury. It’s fresh, not even an hour old. Even the shitty streetlights illuminate it like a beacon .

“Fuck, Wes,” I say, my heart clenching. This is the first time he’s had a bruise on his face. Before he started wearing long-sleeve shirts all the time—even in the warm weather—I would see them covering his arms.

He waves me off like a fucking bruise on his face is nothing and says, “Move. If your mom catches me out here, she’s going to kick my ass.” He chuckles softly, though his eyes implore me to drop it and not bring up the elephant in the room.

Respecting his wishes, I force a laugh and step back so he can climb through my window.

Once he’s inside, he shuts it and comes over to the end of my bed, then flops down beside me. He barely hides a wince. “Did I wake you?” he asks, turning to meet my eyes in the dim room.

“No,” I lie, not wanting him to feel bad.

The look on his face tells me he knows I’m not being truthful but doesn’t call me on it. “I wrote something a few hours ago. Can I use your guitar?”

I want to say yes, that he can play it when he wants but I can’t not say anything about the state of him. Especially because he looks so uncomfortable lying the way he is. I can bet that fucker struck him on his left side hard enough to leave bruises there too.

I sigh and turn to him. “Did he hit you again?”

Wesley’s eyes grow haunted in the minimally illuminated room, his throat bobbing as he struggles to swallow. “Yeah. It wasn’t that bad though.”

“Wesley, I?—”

“Drop it, please,” he says in an exhausted tone. “I came over here to forget, not to talk about that motherfucker.”

I hate this. I hate it so much. I wish I were…bigger. Like tw o, no, three times Wesley’s size so I can beat his mom’s boyfriend’s, Perry’s, ass.

But since he doesn’t want to talk about it, I won’t make him. For now, at least.

I stand and wave for him to come with me.

As quietly as I can, I open my bedroom door and sneak out, heading to our basement. My mom doesn’t mind Wesley coming over, but she would be pissed that he walked here by himself at three in the morning. Not many sixteen-year-olds are out at this hour.

We don’t live in a dangerous area, the crime rate fairly low, but anything could happen. I’d rather she not stress when he’s already here safely.

Our unfinished basement is nothing fancy, but my mom let me bring a couch down here, as well as a television and my video games.

Last year, my parents got me a guitar when I was going through my garage band phase. I haven’t played it much because I’m shit at it, but Wesley is a natural. It’s like he has an ear for music and can replicate what he hears without practice.

Once we’re downstairs, I flop on the couch and point at my guitar. He grabs it and brings it over, then sits on the coffee table while he strums it. “It’s rough,” he says, playing a few more chords, “but…tell me what you think, okay?”

I nod and throw my arm over the back of the couch to appear casual.

But since the moment Wesley started writing songs, I always pretended they were for me.

It’s ridiculous, the hot, broody boy from school interested in someone like me.

Wesley is way out of my league, but I’m not under the delusion that I have a shot with him—being friends with him is more than enough .

Him trusting me with his secrets is more than enough.

He hums for a few chords, closing his eyes as he gets into the music. Then he sings.

God, Wesley has the most rugged but clear voice I’ve heard in my life. A mix between a soul singer and rock star. It washes over me, making tears spark in my eyes, but I push them back as I listen to the words.

As best I can tell, it’s about star-crossed lovers that want to be together so badly, but they’re too different and the world too dark and bleak for them to make it work.

In our next life, we could be more…

So much more than what we are…

So for now, baby, look for me in the stars…

He repeats the last few lines a few more times, then does the same humming thing he did at the beginning of the song.

I’m so mesmerized by his voice and the beautiful words and melody that it takes me a minute to realize the song is over. Then I clap like a weirdo. I stop when Wesley gives me a side smirk and a tipped-up eyebrow.

He leans the guitar against the table on the floor, then comes over to the couch to sit beside me. “You liked it?”

I nod eagerly. “Yeah. A lot. What’s it called?”

“In the Stars. It came to me earlier today after…” His fingers feather over his bruised face. “Anyway, I wrote it down as soon as the melody hit me. You really like it?”

“Have I ever lied to you? ”

Wesley chuckles and catches me off guard by lying his head on my thigh.

He does things like that all the time but only with me.

When we’re with our other friends, he never gets too close with them.

It always gives me mixed signals—is he into me like I’m into him?

—but I wouldn’t trade this closeness for the world.

“Nah, Jax. You’re the only person in the world I trust.”

I’m always shocked when he gets this close to me. He’s not really one for affection. When my mom tries to hug him, he always shies away, like her touch burns. Does he need comfort after being beaten up by Perry?

This isn’t the first time Wesley has come over after he’s been knocked around.

The first time, I tried to tell my mom, but Wesley said it wouldn’t do him any good because the cops wouldn’t do shit.

I begged him to let me tell anyway, but he said no, that if I did, I would be breaking his trust. That was the last thing I wanted, so I’ve been keeping his secret.

But it’s so fucking hard, especially because I don’t like to see him hurt.

Tentatively, I reach out and push his bangs from his forehead. The previous times he’s laid in my lap, I’ve remained still, hoping he wouldn’t move. But tonight, my hands have a mind of their own and wanted to touch the soft hair that always flops into his eyes.

He starts, and I move my hand back, my face burning with embarrassment, but he catches it quickly, looking up at me with his fathomless brown eyes. “No…it’s cool. You…go ahead. You can touch me.”

I give him a small smile and thread my fingers through his hair. Wesley releases a shaky breath and crosses his arms over his chest.

In a quiet voice, he says, “I hate him so fucking much. ”

“I know you do,” I murmur, at a loss for what else to say. I’m a sixteen-year-old kid. I’ve never been in a situation where someone I knew was being abused by an adult. My parents never hit me, and my cousins have never been struck either. I’m in uncharted territory. “Please, Wes. Can I?—”

“No, Jax. No adults. I can handle Perry. I just need to keep out of his way. One day, I’ll get him back.”

I think Wesley could if he wanted to. He’s not huge, but he’s fairly stocky with thick arms. So why isn’t he knocking his mom’s boyfriend the fuck out? The guy isn’t that big, maybe two or three inches taller than Wes and around the same size.

Since I’ve known him, Wesley has been no stranger to fights, getting suspended three times this year alone. I wonder why he doesn’t just kick his ass. But I don’t ask. I don’t want to upset him.

Wesley blows on a long breath. “I can’t wait to leave that house. As soon as I graduate, I’ll take off. Even if it’s just with the clothes on my back. I can’t stay there even a day longer.”

“I’ll help you any way I can. You know that.”

“I know. You always?—”

“Jaxon, Wesley,” my mom says from the top of the stairs, making us both jump. Wesley rolls off my lap and onto the floor with a thump. “Get up here, please.”

I look down at Wesley, wide-eyed. He shrugs, curling his shoulders in on himself as he walks ahead of me upstairs.

When we step into the kitchen, my mom is standing at the counter with a glass of water in hand. “It’s four in the morning. When did you get here, Wesley?”

He shrugs again, ducking his head and turning his face away so she doesn’t see his swollen and bruised eye .

Mom sighs. “If you’re going to sneak out, please call me.

I’d rather be woken up in the middle of the night to come pick you up than something happen to you on the walk over.

” Wesley’s head snaps up, his eyes round and disbelieving as he looks at her.

Then he lowers his head quickly, probably remembering his discolored face.

I’m sure he’s not used to a parent caring.

When we started hanging out and he began to trust me, he opened up about his parents.

He has no idea where his dad is. His mom told Wesley he kicked them out in the middle of the night.

Wesley hasn’t heard from him since he was ten.

After they moved from California to Washington, his mom got into drugs.

She had men in and out of the home, each treating him like shit for no other reason than they could.

He’s come from a fucked-up home, so I’m sure someone being concerned about him is not something he’s used to, even years into our friendship.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say for him. “Sorry to wake you.”

She waves me off. “It’s okay. I don’t have to work tomorrow.” Mom is a hair stylist and makes her own schedule.

After she finishes her water, she says, “Get some sleep, you two. You might be up late, but you’re still going to school.” I groan but don’t complain, even though I’m going to be exhausted for the rest of the day.

“Night, Mom,” I say, grabbing Wesley’s sleeve and pulling him to my room.

“Night, Mrs. Collins.”

“Good night, boys.” We’re a few feet down the hall when Mom says, “Oh, Wesley?” He turns around to look at her, the bruise on his face hidden by the darkness of the hallway.

“That’s a beautiful song. You have a beautiful voice.

I’m willing to bet it’ll take you far. I have faith that one day the whole world will know your name. ”

He mumbles a quick thanks and walks ahead of me to my room. Mom smiles at me and blows a quick kiss before I turn away and follow Wesley, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before a long school day.

I climb into bed beside Wesley, and we both look up at the ceiling, not saying a word. I want to ask if he’s okay, if he wants ice for his face, or if he wants me to just ask my mom if he can come live with us so he can be safe.

But I don’t. I don’t want him to be mad at me by bringing up his home life. He said he came here to forget. I would hate if he stopped coming because I keep pushing.

Pulling in a deep breath, I say in a low voice, “You can have the guitar. If you want it. I’m not playing it.”

“Won’t your dad be pissed?” he asked, though I hear the eagerness in his tone.

I shrug, hoping I sound cool, though I’m sure he would. We’re well-off, but Dad will be pissed I’m giving away a gift I begged him weeks for. “I don’t care if he does. It’s mine. I can do what I want.”

Wesley laughs at my tough-guy act but doesn’t call me on it. “Thanks. Can I…can I leave it here? My…mom…she’d…”

He stops talking and doesn’t fill the silence.

She’d what? I’ve been friends with Wesley for years, and I know next to nothing about his home life, other than the small bits he shared.

I’ve asked to go to his place, but he always tells me no.

The only reason I know where he lives is because my mom dropped him off at home a few times.

I have no idea what his room looks like, what kind of furniture and shit they have, nothing.

Will his mom break it? Will she take it from him? Will she laugh at his dreams of wanting to be a singer ?

I wish I could ask him, I wish I was brave enough to pry into his life, but if I do, I’ll lose the best friend I’ve ever had.

So, I fill the uncomfortable silence once again. “Yeah. Grab it when you want. You can play it here whenever.”

“Thanks, Jax.”

I smile as I stare at the ceiling, glad he came here when he needed a safe place.