He looks at me, argument flaring in his dark chestnut eyes, but instead of continuing the conversation about if I’m his lucky charm or not, he says, “Just to be clear, I think your niceness makes you interesting, not at all boring.”
I consider arguing with him, telling him he’s confusing nice with kind—which is very different. Or at the very least making sure he knows I definitelyamboring, but it seems like he’ll understand that firsthand soon enough. No need to speed up that process.
Instead, I reply, “Well, thank you.” I nod toward his napkin pile. “Are those for the Lupus Foundation thing?”
“No, unfortunately. The chorus of that song is still illuding me. That was…something new,” he says, casually reaching out and flipping the stack over.
“Ah, well, that’s okay,” I say. “Wait, isn’t your song for the benefit due super soon?”
“Some might call it just over a week,” Jaxon says, running his hand through his hair. His fingers leave grooves where they’ve been, making a piece stick up right in the middle.
I resist the urge to fix it for him, and instead ask, “Want to talk about it? It might help.”
Jaxon shakes his head. “That’s not really part of my process.”
“And your process is working so well right now?”
Jaxon laughs. “I see your point.”
I shove the final bite of pizza into my mouth, taking my time chewing as I consider what to ask. I can only assume he got connected to the foundation because of his mom, but I guess maybe I should start with the basics. Ease him into it.
“So, when did you start working with the Lupus Foundation?” I ask.
We order another round of beers and a small chocolate chip cookie pizza for dessert as Jaxon tells me about being twenty-two and on the verge of greatness. How it finally felt like he was becoming who he’d always wanted to be.
“But it felt hollow, you know?” he asks after telling me about playing as the opening act for his first sold-out concert—a rodeo in Wyoming.
I chew my cookie thoughtfully. I don’t really know. I could’ve known…had he told me he’d be playing just a few hours from me, but in the spirit of forgiving and forgetting, I let that thought pass like a tumbleweed on a windy day.
Instead, I ask, “Why do you think you felt that way?”
We’re leaning close together now, our shoulders practically brushing as we angle toward each other. My knee has whacked into Jaxon’s twice now, an unwelcome burst of heat settling in my chest each time.
“Just between us?” Jaxon asks, and I try not to be hurt at the insinuation that I might tell someone else. I kept all Jaxon’s secrets, from the fact that he was keeping a frog in his room at the age of four to his plans for the most epic prom proposal our junior year.
“Of course.”
“It’s so lonely being a musician, especially an opening act. I wasn’t making enough money to bring my team with me as we toured, and at the time, I didn’t have a backup band I workedwith like I do now. So, I’d perform every night and then load up in the tour bus with the main act’s backup band, a group that had been together for years. They were all nice enough, but I wasn’t friends with any of them. I was literally never alone, but I’d never felt so disconnected from the rest of humanity in my life.”
Part of me wants to make a joke about how hard it is to be a superstar, but the truth is, that does sound hard. A level of isolation that I’ve never experienced. Even when Jaxon left, and then I left for college, I still had my family constantly coming to visit or calling me. I had friends at college that I still keep in touch with today.
“I’m sorry, Jaxon,” I say. “I can’t imagine how lonely that would feel.”
He shrugs, taking a drink of his beer. “Anyway, I’d always been a very moderate drinker, rarely went to parties, and one night, instead of turning the band down when they asked me if I wanted to partake in whatever upper they were doing that night, I considered it. I just felt kind of out of my body already, you know? And I could almost see the path that was going to take me down; the afterparties, the women, the drugs and alcohol consumption that every movie shows rock stars imbibing in. It was exactly the kind of man my dad thought I’d turn into if I pursued my music. So, I said no. And then I went and donated basically everything I had in my bank account to the Lupus Foundation.”
“And that made you feel better?” I ask.
“Not necessarily better. But more connected to my mom. And it still does. At the end of each year, I work with my accountant and the foundation to determine what a good amount to donate will be that year, and how the foundation can use it to leverage other funds. I always feel closer to her during that time of year.”
“Your mom would be really proud of you,” I say, reaching out to place a hand on Jaxon’s arm. Ignoring just how solid hisbicep is, I continue, “There aren’t a lot of people who, when offered partying and women, would choose to donate to a charity instead.”
“I know the lifestyle is a huge part of it for a lot of artists, but that’s never been a draw for me. One of the few memories I have of my mom is her singing a lullaby to me. It’s barely even a memory: just her voice softly singing a few lines. Maybe she was putting me to bed or something? I don’t know. But her voice was beautiful. I have no doubt my musical abilities came from her, and I’ve always known I wanted to use the gift she gave me to do something more. I thought being a musician would be enough, but when it wasn’t, I realized there was more I could do.”
“I wish we’d gotten to know her more,” I say.
Jaxon nods, reaching out to write some lyric or another on a new napkin. “I do too.”
Chapter twenty-one
