Chapter Six - The Sound of Distant Music
1383 Words
The bass thumped faintly through the compound walls, vibrating up through the floor like a heartbeat he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Jax sat behind his desk, lights dimmed, a bottle of bourbon within reach but untouched. A folder of reports lay open, but he hadn’t turned a page in twenty minutes. Instead, he sat in silence, shadows moving across his face from the single lamp overhead.
He could hear laughter outside. Music. Voices rising, people living.
Dani said they needed this. She wasn’t wrong.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t need reminders of the last time they had a party this loud. Of Taylor’s laugh echoing in the courtyard, champagne glass in hand, stealing glances at Ghost across the crowd until both of them pulled him into their own world.
That night ended in the kind of tangled, breathless intimacy Jax never imagined he’d share with anyone—let alone both of them.
It had been fire and trust and ownership. And it had been theirs.
Now he sat alone in the same office where Ghost used to breeze in with a smart-ass grin and Taylor used to curl up on his couch like it belonged to her. The silence in here had weight. Like memory.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
A knock came at the door. Then a voice.
“You planning to sit in the dark all night, or you gonna come let people know the King’s still breathing?”
Dani.
He didn’t answer.
“Suit yourself,” she said through the door. “But you should know… your girl’s here.”
The words hung.
His girl.
Not Taylor.
But Dani knew exactly what she was doing.
Jax leaned back in his chair, jaw tight.
Distant music, louder now. A laugh that wasn’t Taylor’s—but was soft and warm all the same.
He closed his eyes, the weight of the past pressing into his spine.
He wasn’t ready.
But maybe… maybe it was time.
Jax stepped into the hallway, rolling his shoulders once like he had to shake off the dust of memory before stepping out into something that smelled like life again.
The thrum of the party hit harder now. Someone had cranked the speakers up, and there was the low burn of whiskey in the air, mixed with grilled food and perfume and smoke. Familiar. Easy. But it felt like putting on someone else’s jacket—just a bit too tight in the shoulders.
He descended the stairs slowly, eyes scanning the crowd gathered in the common area and courtyard.
He found her easily.
Lark.
She wasn’t the center of the party. Not like Taylor had been. Taylor could hold the entire room with a glance. She knew she was a storm walking on heels, and she used that power with purpose. When she danced, it wasn’t just to the beat—it was like the music bowed to her.
But Lark… Lark stood near the outer ring of a group, a glass in hand, listening more than talking. That long pale blue dress of hers was replaced with dark jeans and a cropped leather jacket, her blonde hair tucked back loosely but still soft around her face. She smiled when people spoke to her—warmly. No smirk. No tease. Nothing inviting trouble.
Safe.
Sweet.
Jax folded his arms, leaning against the wall just inside the shadows of the hallway. Watching her. Reading her.
She laughed at something someone said—one of the younger guys—and it hit him that she’d been getting attention all night. But she wasn’t playing anyone. That was the difference. Lark wasn’t trying to captivate the room.
She wasn’t trying to captivate him, either.
But he could still feel her glancing toward the stairs.
Like she was waiting for him to show.
He didn’t move.
Because that spark? That fire-in-his-veins heat? It wasn’t there. Not like it had been with Taylor.
And maybe that was good.
Taylor had been lightning. Ghost had been fire. That kind of burn left scars.
But what the hell was he supposed to do with safe?
He wasn’t ready for anything serious. And something told him Lark would want that. She seemed like the kind of girl who thought slow kisses meant something and Sunday mornings came with promises. That wasn’t him. Not anymore.
Still… she looked up then. Met his eyes across the crowd.
And smiled.
Not coy. Not demanding.
Just seeing him.
He didn’t smile back.
But he pushed off the wall.
Jax moved through the crowd with the same ease he handled everything—shoulders squared, gaze sharp, unreadable. People made room when he passed. Not out of fear, but because the man wore command like a second skin.
He was heading for Kellan—had something to run by him—but she caught him first.
“Hey.”
Lark’s voice was soft but clear. She stood in front of him before he could dodge, her glass hanging loose in her hand, ice clinking against it. She tilted her head slightly, blonde hair falling over one shoulder. “Didn’t think I’d see you out here tonight.”
Jax didn’t stop walking until she shifted to stand in front of him, blocking his path.
He exhaled slowly. “Didn’t plan to be.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Then she smiled—not flirty, not pushy, just… open. “I’m glad you did.”
He nodded once, brief. Then, without dressing it up, he said what needed saying.
“I’m not looking for anything, Lark. Not right now. Not serious. That’s not where my head is.”
The words came out low and firm, but not unkind. He didn’t owe her anything—but he still gave her honesty.
Lark’s expression didn’t fall. Not exactly. But he saw the flicker of understanding behind her eyes. She took a sip from her drink, then nodded.
“I figured,” she said. “You walk like a man carrying ghosts.”
That earned a flicker in his jaw.
“I’m not here to chase you down, Jax. I just… liked talking to you. And I thought maybe—someday—if you ever needed something that wasn’t heavy…” She shrugged. “You’d know where to find me.”
That was it.
No dramatic plea. No tension.
Just truth.
He respected that.
“Appreciate the clarity,” he muttered.
She stepped aside, letting him pass. And this time, he didn’t hesitate.
But as he moved toward Kellan, he glanced over his shoulder once. Just once.
And saw her smile again—this time just for herself, not for him.
That night, Jax didn’t drink. Didn’t linger.
He just took stock.
Of what he’d lost.
And of what he still had.
Jax found Kellan near the back patio, posted up with a bottle of something strong and two glasses. The air had cooled, music drifting softer out here than inside the walls.
Kellan lifted his chin as Jax approached, unspeaking, but already pouring a second glass.
“Figured you’d come up for air,” Kellan said. “That crowd’s got too many eyes, not enough loyalty.”
Jax smirked faintly and took the offered glass. “You’re not wrong.”
They drank in companionable silence. Nothing pressed. Just the stillness of two men who knew the value of it.
Kellan eventually set his glass down and leaned back against the wall, eyes cutting sideways toward Jax.
“You know,” he said, “moving on doesn’t mean you’re forgetting them.”
Jax didn’t respond right away.
Kellan continued, voice low and sure. “You honor people by how you live after them, not by stopping time.”
That hit somewhere deep—below the surface tension Jax kept locked up like it could drown him.
He looked down at the amber in his glass, jaw working once before he tipped it back and drank.
“Yeah,” Jax muttered. “Maybe.”
Kellan didn’t push further.
Didn’t need to.
They just stood there for a while—two men forged in different fires, both learning how to carry the weight.
And for the first time in a long time, Jax didn’t feel like he was doing it completely alone.
- Writer
