"And that will be the end of it?"
"I would assume so. And don't you think it's strange that Ms. Robbins is threatened by two people taking an interest in her grandfather? We've been out there three times in the last two weeks because he was alone and in poor health. Isn't he the most important person in this equation? Doesn't Walter have the right to decide what he wants to do? He's not mentally incapacitated. He's left on his own, so she must think he can take care of himself."
"All right." Monica put up her hand, cutting her off. "I've heard enough. You can keep your promise to Mr. Cobb, but I would advise you to end the relationship after this bookstore trip. I don't want to see one of my best medics put on probation or dragged through an investigation, regardless of whether what you're doing is against regulations. You also know that budget cuts are coming, and everything and everyone is under scrutiny right now."
"I understand. Thanks."
Monica shook her head, conflict in her eyes. "Don't make me sorry, Kaia."
"I'll try not to."
Jax spent most of Monday holed up in his apartment, thinking that's where he should stay for the foreseeable future. The owner of the bookstore had given him a second look, as if she was trying to figure out where she knew him from. He'd probably been lucky to have had a few months of quiet isolation with no one recognizing him, but he'd known it would end, and that time seemed to be coming sooner rather than later.
He wasn't ready. But when would he be ready?
Restless frustration and stifling heat sent him out of his apartment around nine o'clock that night. And for some reason, he took his guitar with him. It wasn't the first time he'd taken it, but the first time he wasn't sure he could stop himself from playing.
He headed through the parking lot and across a wide cement path to the sandy beach. He walked out a dozen or more yards and sat down on an outcropping of rocks. He was a good twenty yards from the tide coming in, but the rhythmic crash of the waves and the cool ocean breeze made him feel better than he had in hours.
As he pulled the guitar into a familiar position, his fingers lightly grazing the strings, he felt a stirring desire to play, something he hadn't felt in months. In fact, he'd thought about selling his guitars more than once, but he'd never been able to go that far.
Music had been so many things to him in his life: escape, passion, and also pain. It had run through him like the blood in his veins. When he'd seen that old, dusty piano in the bookstore, he'd flashed on an image of what it must have looked like in that smoky nightclub. He could almost hear the music it would have played, and see the man or woman at the keyboard, maybe the singer at the nearby microphone. And one of those singers would have been Reina.
He shook his head, wondering why those images were so entrenched in his mind. But there was something about Walter's longing to reconnect with his past that was making him feel the same way.
And this time when his fingers grazed the strings, a note came out: one, then two, then three… He couldn't stop himself as the music flowed from his head and his heart to his fingers, familiar melodies that he'd composed what felt like a million years ago.
The sound created a cocoon of familiarity and isolation. Here on this deserted beach, he could be who he used to be, and no one would hear him, no one would see him, no one would put the news on the Internet. He could just be…
After a long day of calls in the sweltering heat, Kaia was happy to get home before ten o'clock. When she got out of the car, she paused at the sound of music. At first, she thought it was coming from somewhere in the building, but then she realized it was coming from the darkened beach.
Usually, the beach was deserted on weeknights. Curiosity drew her through the parking lot and across the path, and that's when she saw the man with the guitar sitting on the rocks. He was facing the ocean, and the music mingled with the crash of the waves, and yet also rose above it.
She knew who was playing even before she took a step forward. It suddenly all made sense. Walter's comment about Jax's calloused fingers. Jax's reverent look at the piano had shown a yearning that she hadn't understood. But she was getting it now, even though she still didn't understand who he was or why he was hiding. What she did know was that he was good, really good.
As she slipped off her shoes to walk through the sand, she wondered if he sang, too. But at this moment, the only music was coming from his guitar. Clearly, he loved to play. Which made his odd reaction about shutting down the radio even more confusing. His love-hate relationship with music must have to do with his past.
She wasn't a huge music fan. She liked to listen to different genres, to sing and dance to whatever was popular, but she didn't know many artists by name.
It seemed unlikely that Jax was famous. If he were, wouldn't someone at Ocean Shores have recognized him?
But Ellen had thought his face was familiar, even though she'd had no reaction to his name.
Which meant Jax Ridley wasn't his real name. Another fact that clicked into place. It was why she couldn't find him on the internet.
Who was he? And what would he do now if she approached him, if she caught him in what was probably meant to be a private moment?
That question gave her pause. She stopped walking, wondering if she had the right to intrude. The music felt as turbulent as the nearby sea, and it was coming from Jax, maybe reflecting his feelings as well. She wished he'd open up to her. Maybe she could help him. Or maybe people were right, she needed to stop meddling in other people's lives and worry about her own.
On that note, she turned around and hurried back to the building, the sound of Jax's music ringing through her ears every step of the way. And when she got back to the parking lot, she took one last look at him. He was still playing, still staring out at the ocean. He didn't know she'd found out at least one of his secrets, and that was okay. Because she didn't want to force him into telling her something; she wanted him to trust her enough to do that on his own.
Jax didn't know how long he played, but finally he ran out of steam and took his fingers off the strings, feeling the tingle of nerves that had been woken up after a very long time. As the tide came in and the wind picked up, he felt cool for the first time all day. Hopefully, the windows he'd left open in his apartment would pick up some of this breeze and take away the blistering heat. While there was an air-conditioning unit in the bedroom, it barely worked, and the living room windows faced the interior courtyard, allowing for little air to circulate.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Clay's number ran across the screen. "What do you want now?" he asked.
"I'm surprised you answered. I was about to leave another lengthy voicemail pleading with you to tell me what you thought about my email."
"I haven't read it yet."
