Page 4

THREE

JAXON

When I’m sure Wesley is asleep, with soft hands, I pull the blanket down until it pools around his waist. He stirs slightly, making me freeze, but he only turns his head in the other direction, letting out a soft exhale.

After a few beats of tense silence, I reach up and drag his shirt past his ribs. A sharp curse leaves my lips. Boot-shaped bruises cover his torso.

Tears flood my eyes, and it takes effort to push them back, though one manages to escape. How could anyone do this to another person? To a fucking kid?

I’m a shitty friend for not telling someone about this. An adult. Perry could end up killing Wesley. I promised him I wouldn’t tell, and I plan to keep that promise, but I need an insurance policy just in case I get to the point where I can’t.

The last time he came over with his face bruised, I told myself I would make sure if he wanted to come forward, he would have evidence. Since my father is a lawyer—and I want to follow in his footsteps— a plan formulated in my mind, and Wesley being drunk or high works in my favor.

So he can’t stop me .

I wipe the stray tear from my cheek, and as quietly as I can, I open my nightstand drawer and pull out the disposable camera.

I make sure the flash is off but flick on my bedside light so I can have some illumination.

Then I snap as many pictures of Wesley’s battered body as I can.

I take them quickly so I don’t have to look at the angry contusions for too long.

Once I’ve taken photos from all angles, I return the camera to my nightstand drawer.

Then I go to my closet and grab an extra pillow and blanket so I can make a pallet on the floor.

After Perry put his hands on Wesley tonight, I’m sure he won’t want anyone to touch him right now.

Judging from the way he kicked me when I tried to get him comfortable, he has had enough of people pawing at him, even if I was only trying to help.

I relax as much as I can and drop off into an uneasy sleep, waking every hour or so to check on Wesley.

The next morning, I wake before he does and head to the kitchen. I’m not surprised to find my mother in there already. She has her back to me, putting coffee into the coffee maker.

“Is Wesley okay? He had quite a fall in the middle of the night,” she says and peeks over her shoulder at me with a soft but concerned smile.

Wesley is my best friend. I love him more than I thought possible. But I can’t keep my word. Not on this. He’s hurting, and I can do something about it. I can stop it.

I glance down the hall and don’t see Wesley, and my door is shut. “Mom, listen.” I stop talking, a lump lodging in my throat. “I…”

Mom turns around with her eyebrows furrowed, a curious expression on her face.

“Is everything okay?” Tears well in my eyes as I shake my head no.

“Jesus, Jaxon.” She hurries over to me and puts her arm around my shoulder.

She’s a few inches shorter than me, but I feel like a little kid again as she comforts me. “What is it, baby? Let’s sit.”

I nod and she leads me over to the table, where she pulls out a chair for me to all but collapse in. “It’s…”

She sits beside me and takes my hand, wrapping both of hers around it. “You can talk to me about anything. You know that.”

I do. Mom is the only person that knows I’m gay. I told her three years ago, and she hasn’t betrayed my trust by telling even my dad. Dad won’t be a dick about it, but I haven’t found a way to tell him. So I know what I tell her won’t go past here unless I ask her to do something about it.

And I plan to ask her to do something about it.

“Mom…he’s hitting him,” I grit out through a tight throat. The large, purple bruises that dot Wesley’s body flash through my mind, and I wince as if I’m the one that was struck.

More tears trickle down my face as I think about all the bruises I’ve seen on him over the past few months, beating myself up for not telling my mom sooner, for not protecting him more. I could have done something—he wouldn’t be hurting as badly now if I had informed her earlier.

He asked me to keep his confidence, and I would, about anything else, but this is his life. What if Perry kills him the next time? I can’t live with myself if he dies and I held on to a secret that could have saved him.

Shock crosses my mom’s expression, and she grips my hands tighter. “Wesley?” I lower my head and nod. She looks as if she’s going to pass out, putting her hand over her heart. “What? Who? Who’s hitting him?”

I wipe the tears from my face and tell her everything—when I noticed the change in him, when he told me Perry was abusing him, the bruises, his black eye last week.

It feels good to tell someone—someone responsible—but I feel like shit that I’m doing the one thing Wesley asked me not to do.

But I can’t keep it in, not after seeing the state he was in when he climbed through my window.

“Mom, please. He needs help.” I plead with her, hoping she can do something, anything .

But before she can respond, I hear an incredulous scoff. My eyes flick up to Wesley, who’s staring at me with such a look of betrayal that it’s almost palpable. “How could you?”

I’m frozen in place, not knowing what to do or say. I couldn’t keep my word to him when he needed me to the most.

I open and close my mouth, trying to formulate an answer, but no words come out. The hurt flashing in his eyes is enough to keep my ass planted in the chair.

Mom doesn’t have the same issue. She stands and presses her hands to her chest. “Wesley. Please, let me help you.”

He shakes his head, gaze still boring into me as he says, “No one can help me. Not even my mom. I can’t trust anyone. Not anymore.”

I wince and look away from him, losing my battle to hold back tears. My nose stings, and that lump lodges further in my throat, making it hard to breathe.

She doesn’t give up. “That’s not true. You can always trust me. I can help you. We ,” she turns and gestures to me, “can help. If you?—”

Mom steps closer as if to take Wesley into her arms, but he steps out of reach, bumping into the counter. He cries out when his back hits the hard edge of the counter, and he drops down to one knee.

“Wes,” I say, rushing over to him. “Please, I’m sorry. ”

He gazes at me, his shoulders hunched and his body almost curling in on himself. Fuck, he looks wrecked. And it’s all my fault.

I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have waited until he was safe to confide in my mother. I should have kept his secret. I should have been a better friend.

“Jaxon. You…you told. It’s the one thing I asked you not to do.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t?—”

“Yeah, you couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut,” he shoots at me, and I wince away from him, falling onto my butt.

“All I asked you to do…the one thing…you couldn’t…

” He stands up and backs away from me and Mom.

“I’m out of here. Jaxon, we’re done. I can’t be friends with someone I can’t fucking trust.”

“Wesley, wait,” Mom says, but Wes jogs to my room and slams the door. Mom follows, knocking and speaking softly, trying to get him to come out and talk.

I sit on the floor for a few seconds, my breathing shallow and uneven. I knew he would be upset and wouldn’t like that I told, but I didn’t think he’d stop being my friend.

He can’t…I can’t let him leave. Not without…

I hurriedly push myself off the floor and rush down to the basement, almost falling on the last few stairs in my haste. With clumsy fingers, I shoulder the Fender and grab the guitar bag.

I take the stairs to the top two at a time, and I rush out the front door. My mom is still trying to coax Wesley out of the room, but I know he’s not in there. We’ve been friends for years; I know him.

Sure enough, I see him hurrying down the street with his bag slung over his shoulder .

“Wesley, wait!” I yell, praying he will at least hear me out.

He stops walking but doesn’t turn around. His shoulders heave, the rise and fall making my heart clench. I did this to him. I forced him to run away from the only safe place he has. Now he has no one, and that’s on me.

“Please,” I say, taking one step toward him. “Take…take this. It’s yours.” I hold the guitar out to him, hoping he’ll take it. He asked me to keep it, but if he leaves now, I have a feeling he won’t come back to get it. If he’s going to leave me, I want to him to have something to remember me by.

Wesley drops his head, a pained noise leaving his throat. “Why did you do it, Jax?”

Anger bubbles up inside me, catching me by surprise. I’m not mad at him, but I am pissed.

I shoulder the guitar and grab his arm and turn him around. I lift his shirt and point to his bruised body. “That, Wesley! That’s why! I don’t like to see you hurt, dammit.”

He doesn’t try to lower his shirt, nor does he drop his gaze from mine. Those fathomless brown eyes bore into me, and my anger bleeds away.

“I’m sorry, Wesley. I fucked up. I know that, but please, take this.

You can be done being my friend, I won’t stop you, but don’t go without it.

It’s yours. It’s always been…yours.” Just like me.

But I don’t say those words. I simply peel the guitar strap from my shoulder and slide it onto his, glad when he doesn’t try to pull away.

We stare at each other for long seconds, so many emotions crossing Wesley’s face—anger, hurt, fear, regret, then landing on determination.

“That song…it’s for us. Me and you, we’re supposed to meet in the stars.

” With that, he presses his lips firmly against mine.

Hot tears slide down my cheeks, and I don’t know if they’re mine or his .

This will be the only time I kiss him, the only time I taste his love, so I lean into him, a soft sob leaving my lips as I follow his kiss.

I fucked this up so bad. I wish I could take it back, to not say anything, but I’d rather he hate me and be safe than continue to get his ass beat because an abuser can’t keep his hands to himself.

Wesley places his forehead against mine. “You really fucking hurt me, Jax.”

I push words past the boulder in my throat. “I know.”

“I thought I could trust you.”

“Forgive me. Please.” My voice cracks on the last word. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t.” He pulls away and walks backward, adjusting the strap to the guitar. “I don’t think I ever will.” With that, he turns and runs away without looking back.