He shook his head in bemusement, feeling like every time he talked to her, he ended up feeling like she'd somehow gotten something out of him he hadn't wanted to give, whether it was information or a smile. He threw his laundry into the empty washer and started it. Then he left the room, not at all surprised to see an impromptu party around the pool. There seemed to be one every other day.
Kaia was in the middle of things with Lexie, an attractive brunette who helped Josie run the building and was also a photographer, and Emmalyn, a sweet blonde elementary school teacher who was apparently getting married to a former military pilot, who was now doing search and rescue. It was amazing how much he had learned from just leaving his windows open or walking through the courtyard.
"Jax," Josie said, waving to him from her card game.
He frowned, wishing he could ignore her, but she was the one person he couldn't just walk away from, not after what she was doing for him.
"We could use a fourth," she said. "Do you play gin rummy?"
"Sorry, I don't," he said automatically.
"Well, if you change your mind, you're welcome to join us."
"Appreciate that." He hurried across the courtyard and into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. But with his windows open, he could still hear the party, and for the first time in a long time, it felt more appealing than repulsive. But he couldn't join in. It would just lead to questions he didn't want to answer, to speculation and curiosity, maybe renewed media attention. He didn't want any of that.
But as he looked around his too-quiet apartment, he wasn't sure he wanted this much silence either. There was a lot of life happening right outside his door. How long would he be able to stay on the inside? Especially when so many people were trying to pull him out.
As his phone vibrated again, he picked it up and shut it off. Maybe he couldn't avoid his neighbors, but he could avoid the people from his past, and he was going to do that until, hopefully, they gave up.
Chapter Three
Later that afternoon, with his laundry done and the heat rising in his sweltering apartment, Jax decided to brave the courtyard once more and get outside. The crowd around the pool had lessened, and he didn't see Kaia on her usual lounger. Maybe she'd had enough of the heat and the sun, too.
Hopping into his car, he drove down the coastal highway with his air-conditioning blasting. Driving had always been an escape. He'd grown up with nothing, trapped in a small rural town in Nebraska. But when he turned sixteen, and his grandfather let him drive his old truck, he'd gotten his first taste of freedom. Real freedom had come with grief a few years later, when he'd been left with nothing but that truck. But it had taken him out of town and into a life that had had a lot of twists and turns, and they didn't seem to be over yet.
As his gas gauge went down, he returned to Oceanside, parking near one of his favorite places—the music store. He'd met the owner a few weeks ago. Colin Dunsmuir was a fifty-year-old, heavily tatted, former British drummer. Colin had recognized him almost immediately, but when he'd asked him not to say anything, Colin had quickly agreed. He'd had his own run-ins with the press, and he didn't care much about Jax's reasons for wanting to use another name.
They'd bonded quickly, and when Colin had asked him if he knew much about restoring old guitars, that bond had only gotten stronger, because his grandfather had spent hours teaching him to do just that. Colin sold instruments on one side of the store and old records on the other. But in the back room, he restored used instruments so he could donate them to kids who wanted to learn to play but didn't have money to buy anything. Colin had put out a call to his customers for donations, so he might as well check to see if he had any guitars to hand over today.
When he entered the store, there were a few people browsing, and Colin's nephew was at the register. He tipped his head toward the back room, so he went down the hallway and found Colin working on a drum kit.
"How's it going?" he asked. "Do you have another guitar for me?"
"Coming in on Monday," Colin said. "Guy went out of town and forgot to drop it off."
"No problem. I can come back."
"Everything good?" Colin asked, his British accent still coloring his voice.
"Fine," he said, smiling to himself. Maybe he needed to mix up his adjectives. "What are you working on?"
As Colin launched into an explanation, he found his attention wandering; not that he didn't appreciate drums, but he'd always been more fascinated by string instruments. When Colin wound down, he said, "Good luck with all that. I'll text you on Monday and see if you need my help."
At Colin's nod, he left the back room and returned to the store. He was about to leave when he saw an older man shuffling toward the back of the records section. It was Walter Cobb from last night. He couldn't help but move in his direction.
Walter stopped at the jazz section, riffling through the records, as he muttered something under his breath. And then he lifted his head and caught him staring. He squinted his eyes. "Do I know you?"
"We met last night," he replied. "Jax Ridley. You walked in front of my car. You're Walter Cobb, right?"
"Yes. And I think you were going too fast."
He didn't even try to defend himself. "You like jazz?" he asked, tipping his head toward the record in his hand. "Wayne Shorter is one of my favorites. The way he played the sax was out of this world."
"Do you know jazz?"
"I do. Who's your favorite? Coltrane? Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock?"
"Reina Chapman."
