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  Or, on the other hand, therapy could be working perfectly and Jax might be a changed man in a few weeks or months. I sighed, my eyes drifting off over the horizon. Without communication, no couple could last. He wasn't letting me in, and if our relationship had started to seem like it was on the rocks, maybe it was because he wanted it that way.

  I knew in my gut that something was wrong with Jax, but I didn't know how to help him heal. Soon, there would be no time left for me to even try.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A LOSS

  The next few days were nerve-wracking. Jax went off on rides for hours at a time, not telling me where he was going or when he'd be back. It reminded me of when he'd disappeared and almost missed the show at the Roman. He'd told me later that he'd been thinking about Darrel, and that he had taken that long ride to clear his mind of the terrible memories.

  But that was before he'd seen Darrel again. Somehow I knew this time was different. Jax was different, after what had happened with his dad. And it seemed to me like what he was dealing with had a far stronger grip on him than it ever had before.

  This morning, he'd rode away again.

  I sat in our bed, idly watching Die Hard for the fiftieth time, but even though it was my favorite movie my heart wasn't in it. Jax had been gone for hours now, taking off this morning on his bike. He hadn't said a word to me, he'd just left.

  A knock came on the door to Jax's room. It opened, and Sky poked her head in. "Hey. Sorry to interrupt."

  I grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "No problem, I'm just killing time until Jax gets here. What's up?"

  She frowned. "That's what I wanted to ask you. Did he tell you when he'll be back?"

  I just shook my head.

  "Hmm." Sky's brow furrowed. "Well, we all have a meeting with Reed up at the house right now. About the Anarchy Fest. We're going to leave a day early to get some extra practice in on the actual stage. And we've got to go over our set list before then, obviously."

  "When he gets here, I can tell him that's where you guys are," I offered.

  Sky sighed and looked at her watch. "Thanks, Riley. I know I should just trust him to come through, but it's been hard lately."

  "He'll be here," I said, injecting false confidence into my voice. He hadn't skipped a practice or meeting since missing the sound check at the Roman, but he'd been acting so erratic lately, anything was possible.

  Sky gave me a weak smile and closed the door. I heard stamping and the pneumatic whoosh of the door opening as the band left the bus. Sighing, I turned Die Hard back on, but I quickly found myself lost in my own thoughts.

  After the discussion I'd had with Sky about Jax's risky behaviors, I'd watched him after every mysterious bike ride for a sign of that same "high" look. While I didn't know exactly why it appeared, I knew it was a look he only got after he'd done something incredibly dangerous. It should have comforted me when he came back looking and acting like himself, but why then did I still feel worried?

  A slam came from outside, followed by voices. One belonged to Jax. The sound brought a relieved smile to my face. Good. He'd come through after all.

  Leaning forward, I lifted the window shade to peek out. What I saw made my happiness vanish.

  Jax stood in the driveway, handing a wad of bills to the driver of a yellow cab. His bike was nowhere in sight.

  Where was it? My heart beat faster. Had Jax been in an accident? If so, why wasn't he at the hospital?

  I quickly got up and went downstairs, reaching the first floor just as Jax climbed onto the bus.

  My eyes swept over him. His eyebrow rose with its characteristic swagger, and I realized with relief that he looked positively perfect. His clothes weren't ripped or torn, he wasn't limping, and no scrapes or bruises were in sight. There hadn't been an accident—motorcycle crashes didn't leave room for looking like a male model afterward.

  Which, of course, left the question of exactly what he'd done with his bike.

  "Hi, baby," Jax said, his face drawn into a frown as he reached toward me, pulling me in for a big hug that lasted longer than I expected.

  I snuggled into his embrace, but his expression troubled me. My question came out muffled against his chest. "Was there an accident?"

  Jax sighed. "No. No accident. Everything's going to be okay."

  I looked up, confused. "Well, where's the bike? I saw you leaving on it."

  Jax put his hands on my shoulders and gently disengaged from my arms. He took a step back from me, his face still sad. "It's gone."

  My mouth fell open. "What . . . why? How?"

  Jax's eyes became distant. "I sold it. It was time."

  I couldn't believe the words coming out of Jax's mouth. "But you loved that bike."

  Jax's lips tightened, and his face went hard. "Doctor's orders. I don't want to talk about it."

  Avoiding my gaze, he turned away from me and quickly went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and gazed at its contents.

  I stared at his back, my heart numb. The bike had been his lifeline, his release. What in the world could the therapist have said to get him to sell it?

  I opened my mouth to ask, but Jax interrupted me.

  "Hey, want anything for lunch?" He held up some sliced turkey. "I'm making a sandwich." His voice sounded normal, and his outward expression had softened.

  But somewhere deep in his eyes, I read his meaning loud and clear: no more questions.

  "Uh, no," I said, bewildered. My mind grasped for something else to say. "But there's a meeting going on at the house with Reed. The band wants you to drop in."

  Jax slapped some turkey on two pieces of bread. "Okay. I'll just bring this over."

  I watched as he finished making his sandwich, my mind racing with unasked questions. I'd been uncomfortable when Jax took risks on his bike, but I never in a million years would ask him to sell it. So why would the therapist? I really wanted to know more, but I recognized that look I'd seen in his eyes. I'd felt the same way when I went through therapy. Even a well-meaning person's questions somehow found a way to irritate raw wounds.

  Jax gave me a kiss on the cheek and left the bus. I sank slowly down on the couch. I knew that I should be pleased that Jax had started taking therapy seriously, if it'd stop his risk taking. But selling his bike? How could that make him happy? It seemed like going from one extreme to the other, all at once.

  I stared off into the distance, frowning. From his gloomy face, I could tell that at least for the moment, Jax wasn't happy about losing his bike at all. But what could I do? I had no choice but to go along with it, even if it felt all wrong.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ANARCHY

  Two days later found us in Ventura for the Anarchy Fest, about an hour away from LA, and I for one was glad for the change. For me and for Jax. Something was going on with him that I didn't understand.

  At first, I thought his gloominess was just about the bike. But after coming home from his last therapy session, he seemed even more withdrawn than ever, like something was eating him up inside. And it hurt me to watch him suffering, knowing that I couldn't do anything to help.

  That's why I hoped the change in venue would be good for him—without his bike, playing music was his only refuge. And he'd be playing for more people at Anarchy Fest than at any other place on the tour. Not all of them would be fans—this festival was too big for that—but the band hoped to make a lot of converts.

  And I was excited to see them play again, too. Yet when Jax said this morning that he wanted to go out with a bang for this last show, a strange uneasiness settled over me. His eyes had looked so dark and intense as he said those words—making them almost sound like a farewell.

  Now, in the growing dusk of early evening, I stood waiting for the show to start. A thick, skunky smoke settled over my head in hazy clouds.

  I eyeballed the guy to my right: in his late thirties, sunglasses, vintage T-shirt. He could have been Chewie's older, more tripped-out brother.
A joint the size of a stogie perched between his lips.

  If I didn't want to get a contact high, I needed to move. But looking around at the drifting smoke over the Anarchy Fest crowd, I could see it would be pointless. Everyone seemed to be either getting high or already there.

  I shook my head. Whatever. Half the people at outdoor festivals came for the music. The other half came for the party. And that's why I'd joined the crowd this evening, instead of watching the Hitchcocks play from backstage like usual. I'd spent so long torturing myself about Jax that the last thing I wanted to do was spend my last night on the tour watching from backstage. At least out with the pulsing, frantic crowd, I could lose myself.

  But as I looked at the belligerent, sweaty faces surrounding the stage, I wondered if I'd made the right choice.

  People pressed all around me, their faces sweaty and flushed. A lot of them scowled, and a discontented murmur grew louder and louder as we waited for the band to take the stage. I'd seen shows with bad crowd vibes before. It was going to take a hell of a show to bring these audience members out of their angry funk.

  A girl on my right wearing only flimsy sandals hopped from one foot to another. "God, is this band going to be late too?"

  "Why not?" the guy next to her muttered. "Everyone else has."

  The girl grimaced. "This festival sucks. I waited for like two hours to use the port-a-potty, and missed seeing the Death Eagles. Now I'm waiting around for these dicks."

  "Yeah, it better be worth it," the guy replied, his face darkening. "I've had enough of this bullshit."

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and booed. The girl quickly copied him, and the ugly sound grew as people near us joined in.

  I glanced around, dismayed. By now I'd seen my fair share of Hitchcocks shows, and every time the crowds had been ecstatic. This one was anything but. Was Jax's performance going to be enough to change their minds?

  I shook my head, trying to clear the negative thoughts from my mind. I didn't want to worry about the show, I wanted to enjoy it. I pushed through the crowd towards the stage, hoping I'd stumble across some real Hitchcocks fans. This was my last chance to see Jax in concert, and I wanted to make it worth remembering. At the very least, I wanted to keep from wondering what was going to happen when it was all over.

  I squirmed into a gap between two skinny college guys, trying to force myself through. One of them snarled, and gave me a shove.

  Arms flailing, my face pressed into the stinky leather jacket of the guy standing in front of them.

  Big and bald, he looked down at me from his massive height, his eyebrows drawn together in a furrow. I pushed myself back and froze as I realized who I bumped into. The guy was a biker.

  My heart thumped in my chest.

  The biker started to turn around towards me.

  Jesus, what is he going to do to me?

  His dark eyes met mine, sending a chill up my spine.

  Then suddenly, his eyes softened and he flashed me a warm, friendly smile. He was missing a front tooth.

  "You all right, little lady?" he asked, his voice sincere.

  I nodded, eyes wide, then quickly glanced at his jacket's insignia. A snarling lion. Not the Reapers' skeleton, thank god.

  I sighed and gave him a weak smile back as my heartbeat returned to normal. "Thanks, I'm fine. Just trying to get closer to the stage."

  The biker's smile grew wider. "I can help with that." Putting his hand on my shoulder, he threw back his head and bellowed, "Coming through!"

  People looked up, startled, then blanched at the sight of my new giant biker friend and moved out of the way. It wasn't much, but it was enough to propel me a few yards closer.

  "Thanks," I yelled, as the crowd swallowed me up. I caught a glimpse of his grin before he disappeared from my sight. I shook my head. That'll teach me to make a snap judgment.

  I scanned the new faces around me, hoping to see some of Jax's fanbase. Come on. I don't even care if it's a bunch of super bimbos. I just want some company. Instead, I just saw frowns. The booing that had started farther back now swelled up to the front, and the people around me eagerly took up the complaint.

  I brought my fingers up to my temples. The noise was starting to get to me. I'd wanted a distraction but not like this.

  A spotlight suddenly snapped on in the middle of the dark stage.

  My heart surged as the band strode to their places and picked up their instruments. Maybe now the crowd would shut up. They were about to get rocked.

  Jax, alone in a pool of purple light, strummed the first notes of "Train Wreck."

  The booing quieted, but in the void I heard a strident male voice shouting, "You suck!"

  Jax flipped him off, then quickly brought his hand back to his guitar as he bashed out another chord. The crowd roared. All around me, people muttered and scowled, and lots of middle fingers jabbed into the air, returning Jax's sentiment.

  Spotlights went up on Chewie, Sky, and Kev as they thundered into the song, their instruments meshing with Jax's to create a chaotic beat.

  But my eyes stayed locked on Jax. I'd never seen him like this before.

  His lip curled as he slung out the lyrics, and his voice soared over the crowd, whipping them up into a frenzy that was half excitement, half hate. He made vicious thrusts with his guitar, crunching out the chords with a scowl of his own on his face.

  All around me, people jumped up and down, their hands in the air, their faces angry. I jumped up and down too, unable to stop myself from being swept up in the crowd's energy. It was like a runaway train—now that the crowd was worked up, there was no stopping them.

  Jax fell to his knees, his mouth pulled into a snarl, his fingers whipping a blistering solo out of his guitar. His eyes were defiant as the notes screamed higher and higher.

  The sound was hot enough to make my mind melt, but a guy next to me glared at Jax and howled, "Fuck you!"

  Sweat poured off Jax's face as he got to his feet. Squeezing his eyes shut, he unleashed a roar of obscenities into the mic, his face contorted.

  Chewie, Kev, and Sky exchanged puzzled looks, but continued playing. Then Jax swung into the final chorus, each word sharp and biting, seeming like a dagger aimed at the audience.

  This is freaking amazing! My chest heaved as I danced up and down. If that didn't blow everyone's minds, nothing would.

  But as the song screeched to a climactic finish, even more cat-calls and jeers filled the air.

  I looked around, uneasy. Even though some people were clapping with excitement, the majority of the folks around me still wore frowns on their faces.

  Jax wiped sweat off his forehead and grabbed the mic. "So this is Ventura, huh? It fucking sucks!"

  The crowd howled in anger. As the band steered into their second song, a mosh pit started in front of the stage, with people kicking and flailing punches as they shoved each other around.

  Even though they were far off, the violence rippled out into the rest of the crowd. People were being stepped on and shoved. A guy's bony elbow hit me on the back of the head. I glared at him, rubbing the sore spot, but he danced on, a one-man mosh pit of his own.

  A shout grabbed my attention. A long-haired shirtless guy was trying to haul himself up onto the stage. He got one knee up, then paused to shake his fist. His angry eyes were locked on Jax.

  My eyes widened. What the hell?

  Yellow shirted security men swarmed. Yanking him up onstage, they hustled the guy off to the right and out of sight, with his heels dragging the whole way.

  My heart thudded in my chest. This was getting really bad.

  As the band continued to play, the mosh pit swarmed the stage. Now I could see lots of yellow shirts on the ground, mixing with the moshers. Security was busy busting heads. I wanted to move back, but the crowd behind me was too packed. I gulped. Wasn't this the way riots started?

  A strange scent hit my nose and I sniffed the air. The acrid smell made my heart seize. It wasn't ganja.
r />   It was wood smoke.

  Sky's voice screamed out from onstage, clashing with the music of the guitars and drums.

  Then I saw it. Fire laced the stage wall on the left, high above the band. The drums faltered and stopped. Chewie stood up, pointing and shouting.

  A collective gasp went up from the crowd. All around me, people darted scared looks at each other.

  But I couldn't take my eyes away. The fire moved fast, tearing at the wall. Flames licked at the ceiling.

  The security team became frantic, yelling at the crowd as they motioned everyone back. I caught a glimpse of Sky's frightened face as Chewie hauled her offstage, Kev right behind them.

  Tendrils of fire now twined over half the roof. The crowd surged, and a wave of people shoved into me. I stumbled. Yells and shouts filled my ears.

  Then the haunting sound of a lone guitar carried over all the chaos.

  My breath caught as I got squeezed in a thick clot of people struggling to flee. I craned my neck, struggling to catch sight of the stage again. A head shifted out of the way, and I saw him.

  Jax. Standing alone, guitar in hand, sending note after wailing note into the atmosphere. Above, fire raged.

  I screamed.

  The tide of people swept me along, forcing me away from the stage. Tortured guitar notes hung in the air.

  My stomach twisted in agony. What the hell was going on with him?

  "Jax!" I yelled, waving my arms frantically. "You have to get away!"

  Chapter Sixteen

  LOSING IT

  Jax

  Ten Days Ago

  The nightmares had to stop. That shit had been eating away at me for so long, but after the night I had taken Riley to my old house, they had gotten worse.

  A lot worse.

  Earlier in the morning, I'd woken up on the deck chair with Riley only to see flames flickering on the ground. Heat singed my arms. Even worse, I'd seen Darrel, lurking in the bushes. The shock and terror didn't last long—just a few seconds—but it was enough. Six in the goddamn morning. I wasn't sleeping after that.