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[ J A X ' S P O V ]
I have the same nightmare again.
I don't even think it's a nightmare anymore-I've grown so used to it that I just think of it now as a flashback. A memory in my life. A memory that I very much want to suppress. But my mind is never in sync with my heart-whatever I will it to do, it just shoves a middle finger at my face and say 'fuck you' before doing the exact opposite of what I want.
Even Jax Deneris fucking hates Jax Deneris.
Mind fuck right there.
I get out of bed, throwing my covers away and head to the bathroom to clean up. For some weird reason, I keep hearing this muffled noise-click, click, click, click-and it just keeps repeating over and over, echoing my ears. I try not to think too much of it as I slip into a black T-shirt and jeans, then head downstairs for some breakfast.
My eyes quickly glaze over the place where I stood last night with Blaire. A smile threatens to tug on my lips as our conversation replays in my head. I had been so sure that she hated my guts after the observation she made about me looking at her with pity. I don't deny that I did-it was purely instinct. I didn't think she would be offended by it. But the way she looked when she caught me staring at her like that...
I wanted to burn in my own fire.
Because she looked absolutely devastated.
I can tell she's from a different world than me. I came from a privileged life, even though my household is a little bit fucked up. But I had everything I wanted. I didn't need to worry about money.
I live life in the moment.
This girl... this girl didn't have a choice.
I don't know what happened to her but I know it must have been bad. So bad that she can't handle someone looking at her with pity. Because she has gotten a lot of those kind of looks before.
I've been trained to recognize pain. I saw it in Sienna... and now I saw it in Blaire. It consumes you, feed on you, until there's nothing left inside of you. You're left with a hard shell, an unbreakable exterior, a shelf to hold yourself because there's barely anything left to keep you from falling apart.
Blaire has walls. Impenetrable walls.
But last night, I think I made progress. Just a little bit. I caught her lurking in the shadows when I was having some alone time with my Corona, and when I called her out, I expected her to retreat. To leave.
But she didn't. She joined me. And the conversation that followed after was... decent, to say to the least. There wasn't angry banter or teasing involved. I didn't really want to fuck her-okay, I always want to fuck her, but in that moment, my lust for her was overpowered by my need to just... talk to her.
I don't think that has ever happened in a long time.
I catch myself smiling at the thought of it and I quickly wipe the look off my face. Fuck. This is madness. This is not me. I don't have decent conversations with girls. I manipulate them, tease them, fuck them-a couple of times if they're lucky enough, and then when I'm done with them, I leave. Simple rules to live by.
But I think I may have just broken that rule. For Blaire.
I don't stop walking until I reach the end of the staircase. The clicking noises get louder and I wince, the horrible sound piercing my ears, scratching my ear drums. I spot Blaire by the grand doors, her back towards me. Her dark hair flows down her shoulders in waves upon waves, like the flames of a fire, never once keeping still. I stop at my tracks and watch her like the fucking creep I am because curiosity has gotten the better of me and I've never seen her like this before.
Watching her while she isn't snapping something bitchy at me is actually quite nice. She shrugs her shoulders and breathes in, like she's trying to calm herself down. As if she senses my presence, she whips her head back and her pupils dilate, shock glinting in her eyes.
"Morning, darling," I drawl.
"Shit," Blaire curses.
"A good guess, but I'm actually Jax," I tell her. "We eating breakfast or what?"
She stands still, her two feet frozen to the ground. "You mean... you haven't seen it?"
I arch my eyebrows in confusion. "See what?"
"Nothing!" She says quickly. "Let's have breakfast! I'll make you a sandwich! For real this time. How does that sound?"
She glides through the living room at full speed and tugs on my arm, ushering me straight to the kitchen. There's something about her... something quite off about this...
I pry my arm away from her almost immediately, as if her touched scorched my skin. "What are you hiding?"
She cast me the loveliest of her smiles-no doubt a fake one. It doesn't look quite right on her face. It looks forced. "What are you talking about, Jackson? I'm hiding nothing. You want peanut butter or Nutella?"
"Both," I tell her and she quickly gets to work. "No, seriously. You're acting weird. You're being nice to me."
"I can't be nice to you?" She tilts her head sideways like she doesn't know what I'm talking about. Bullshit. She's fucking hiding something and I intend to know what it is. "I thought we had a mutual thing going on... you know? After last night?"
"Fuck last night," I snap at her, slamming my hands down on the kitchen counter. She doesn't flinch though. She stops spreading the Nutella unto the toast and blinks at me dumbly. Damn, she's a hella good actress. I wonder what other talents she has... with that body... or/and that mouth of hers... fuck. Now's not a good time to fucking fantasize her. Not when she's straight up lying to me. "Blaire, what is going on?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says innocently, batting her eyelashes.
"Don't lie to me, Blaire." I seethe, my features turning cold. I lean over the counter, arms crossed, my eyes focused on hers, as if I could pry out all the answers just from one look.
She pouts her lips, her demeanor fraying, but she doesn't give in to me. She just avoids my eyes and continues to spread Nutella on the toast.
I growl, teeth showing, and she isn't affected by it one bit. She's playing innocent and if I weren't so angry right now, I would find it fucking hot.
I hear the clicking noise again and I know it isn't just a coincidence. I start assessing the situation-Blaire had just been standing in front of the door when I saw her. Her shoulders were tensed and her face was filled with horror when she saw what was outside-
I leap off the seat and dash to the front door.
"No!" Blaire yells, running after me. She gains speed on me and wraps her hand around mine to keep me at bay, but I pull away from her and continue to make my way through the living room. "No, Jax! Stop! You don't want to know what's out there-"
My hand reaches for the doorknob and she attempts to pry me away from the door yet again, this time, locking her arms around mine so she's holding me back. But I'm stronger and I weasel my way out of her grasp, one hand extended so much that my veins feel like they're about to pop out of my damn skin. I'm so close, but not close enough, since Blaire is putting all her energy into holding me back.
"Jax!" she grunts, her hold on me tightening. She's trying to walk backwards, me along with her, but I'm too strong and I keep moving forward instead of backwards. I can tell she's getting super frustrated with the fact that I weigh almost a eighty pounds heavier than her, which means she knows I'm winning and she's not going to hold me off for much longer.
"Come on!" I'm even more determined as fuck now and I heave myself a little further, so much so that she loses grip of me by a fraction of a second and my hand closes around the doorknob to twist it
The force of the door swinging back almost knocks the breath out of me and me as well as Blaire along with it. Blaire loses her balance and falls flat on the floor, and I would reach for her to help her out but I'm too distracted by the dozens of cameras shoved at my face and the constant flashes that blind me.
"Mr. Deneris! How does it feel to have a father who's a celebrity?"
"Jax, why did you leave Boston? Is it because you want to spend time with your dad?"
"It was rumored that you are involved in several illegal fighting competitions back in Boston. Care to clarify if it's true?"
More questions slam into me, making my damn head spin. Blaire is already on the move, pulling me back from the swarm of reporters that intend to make me their meal today. Their hands grab for me, as well as their cameras, trying to capture every moment.
"Mr. Deneris!"
"Jax!"
"Is it true that you're a fighting sensation?"
"Are you going to follow your father's footsteps now that you're here in LA?"
"Are you staying here for good?"
Holy fuck. These people won't fucking stop with the questions. I feel like I'm a deer caught in the headlights-there's no turning back from these motherfuckers.
"Get out of here, ya filty animals!" Blaire screams, baring her teeth.
She looks vicious, ready to pounce on whoever dares come close to me. It does keep the reporters at bay, but not enough to give me enough breathing space. I push a reporter away who shoves a camera in my face and I try to weave my way out of the growing crowd. But I'm caged in. Reporters come from all directions, sealing my fate. I'm so fucking over this and it hasn't even been a minute. I can't breathe and I already feel claustrophobic with the dozens of people at my face right now.
Fuck. I don't do good in tiny spaces.
My eyes scan the crowd for Blaire but I can't find her. Her mess of a hair is nowhere to be seen. Motherfucker! I just lost her to those damn predators!
"Blaire!" I yell. Where the fuck is she?
More shit are shoved straight at my face. Rage simmers in my veins and I'm half tempted to show these bastards who the real Jax Deneris is. The Jax Deneris that conquered the ring all too many times. The Jax Deneris that can throw a punch faster and harder than any other person in the world.
When another flash goes off right in front of my very eyes, I'm about to explode. I clench my fist and I'm about to teach that fucker a lesson when I hear Blaire's voice.
"I'm here!" she croaks out. My eyes dart to her hand that's extended towards me, her fingers wiggling. Without any hesitation, I grab her hand and I let her pull me away from the commotion. The force of her pull is huge for a girl and I'm taken aback by her strength.
"In here!" She barks at me.
I finally catch a glimpse of her face-her pissed off, snarling face. She enforces another tug so I'm back inside the house-my sanctuary. I weep out of relief when I'm back inside. The reporters are still swarming, some of them with every intention to enter the mansion if necessary but Blaire crushes all their hopes and dreams by giving them a piece of her mind.
"Stay back or I'll call the fucking police!" She screams. "Back off from the property, people! We can sue all your damn asses if you cross our property again!"
That got everyone backing away from the mansion.
"Good fucking choice!" She yells, satisfied. "Peace out, fuckers!"
And she slams the door in their faces.
Fuck, that move immediately shot a surge of adrenaline through my dick. I'm so turned on by Blaire right now and she doesn't even know it.
She stares at me, breathing hard, her hands on her hips. She assess me quickly, her grey eyes calculating. When she sees that I'm alright, she sags in relief. "Thank god you're back in one piece."
"Fuck!" I let out an angry curse. My heart is slamming against my rib cage, threatening to tear me open. I have never felt so much panic seize me in my entire life. I let out a whole orchestra full of curse words and I don't care if Blaire cringes at the use of my foul language. I deserve to be pissed off right now.
I thrust my finger towards her chest and glare at her. "This is all your fault, Blaire."
"I told you not to go outside!" she fires back. "You should have listened to me!"
"Well, you should have told me what was out there! I was curious! I need to know what the hell was out there!" I counter fiercely.
"And look where that got you!" she yells. "Now, the whole world knows Baxton Deneris's son is in LA. The paparazzi is going to have a field day with this. They know you're here. And they won't stop pestering, Jackson."
"Stop. Calling. Me. Jackson." I seethe. "And stop trying to blame the damn thing on me! You're acting like it's not your fault that the press is out there gunning for my ass!"
"So I might have led that police officer straight to our house!" She throws her hands up in an exaggerated manner, looking exasperated as hell. "How the hell would I know he was going to open his damn mouth and tell the press that you were here?"
"You didn't think about the consequences!" I spit at her. "You didn't think, for one second that my location would be compromised. Fuck, Blaire. You weren't the only one who had shit to lose! Now, because of your actions last night, I'm going to be stuck with the paparazzi on my trail 24-7 for my entire stay here. And that ain't fucking good, Blaire. They're gonna be digging and when they do, they will use all the ugly shit that I've done against me."
"What am I supposed to do, huh?" Blaire folds her arms and stares at me blankly. "I'm sorry but I didn't ask for any of this too."
I rake my fingers through my hair out of frustration. I take deep, even breaths to calm myself down, but has very little effect.
What am I going to do now? My life here in LA for the next three months is going to living hell. I'm going to be hounded by paparazzi everywhere I go.
I don't know how Baxton does it. I really don't.
"I'm sorry I led that officer to the house," she says quietly. Almost as if she were apologetic. "I didn't know he was going to tell on you. I'm sorry."
Almost as soon as she said that, the rage simmering in my body dissipates. I blink at her, utterly confused at the effect of her words on me.
"But as much as I want to undo everything, I can't." She folds her arms across her chest and tilts her heads sideways, turning her cheek so it brushes against her shoulders. She seems embarrassed, shy, retreating from me. She shows me a different face-a face capable of feeling something other than annoyance and irritation. "I'm sorry, Jackson. There's nothing else we can do. We just got to figure out how to adjust to your new found fame."
"Yeah, and how the hell do I do that?" I snap at her.
She holds her phone towards me and says, "Call your father. He'll know what to do."
☸☸☸☸☸☸
My father decides to pay a visit to the mansion in the afternoon, when some of the paparazzi have already given up in pestering me for answers. Some of them have decided to take Blaire's threat really seriously so instead of them lingering outside the house, they're camped out on the street overlooking it, waiting for a chance to pounce in case I come out again.
The minute Baxton appears with two of his personal bodyguards, the paparazzi take action. They sprint from all corners, making a tight ring around him, shoving cameras and recorders at his face. I peer outside the window, watching the scene as it unfolds in front of me.
I roll my eyes when my dad raises his hand, as if he has some sort of power over them. He flashes a few smiles here and there-some cocky, some genuine-and I know that he enjoys his fame. I do too but only in the underground, where people are chanting my name and screaming for me to beat my opponent into bloody pulp. When I'm in that ring, I'm in an illusion. It's not real. I'm merely in a sick, twisted version of my own fantasy.
But this... this is reality. I will have to put up with this everyday for the next few months.
And I don't need these nosy motherfuckers in my god damned business. I don't need them prying into my life, digging up anything dirty they can find of me. I don't need them constantly trailing after me, asking me questions I don't want to answer.
When my dad finally reaches the door, I quickly open it to let him and his bodyguards through and then slamming it shut so the paparazzi can't get through. Baxton's eyes scan the mansion, then his gaze falls upon me.
"Well," my father starts off, "you look like shit."
Blaire snorts.
"I wish I didn't have a famous son of a bitch as a father," I glare at him. "This-" I point to the window, "-is the result of it."
My father shrugs. "I didn't ask for this either."
"Can't you just... file lawsuits against them?" I ask him.
"You can't sue every single tabloid news company out there." He laughs. "It doesn't work like that. When you're a celebrity, you just have to be prepared for all of this."
"But I'm not a celebrity," I hiss. "I came here to escape the shit that I left behind in Boston. And now I have to put up with more shit? You promised-"
"I didn't promise anything," my father glares at me sternly. "I didn't promise that you weren't going to get hounded my paparazzi. I'm actually quite surprised that it took them this long to find you."
"I told him to be careful," Blaire says, leaning against the wall, her hips cocked sideways. She clicks her tongue, glancing briefly at me. "For the past couple of days, it has been peaceful."
My father now turns his full attention to Blaire. "Then, what changed?"
Blaire clamps her mouth shut. She looks pleadingly at me, begging me with her eyes not to tell Baxton what happened.
"Doesn't matter," I shrug. "The point is, they're out there. And they're out for my blood."
"No shit. You're my son," Baxton scoffs. "And well, you're... actually easy on the eyes. Quite good-looking. You'll get a lot of panties in a twist, that's for sure. It's great for tabloids-the woman dig that shit. You'll be the highlight of the summer, Jackson. The guy that everyone wants."
A groan rumbles from my throat. "Fuck."
"I think you might even get more press than me," Baxton says. "Which means, you're going to need protection."
For a minute there, I thought I may have heard wrongly.
Me? Needing protection?
My father is definitely on drugs right now.
"I'm sorry. I think I may have heard you wrongly. Did you just say that I need protection?" I let out a low laugh. It's funny-it really is. "Shit, dad. I don't know if you've heard but I can handle myself pretty damn fucking well considering the fact that I fight-"
He waves me off, cutting my words. "Yeah, yeah. I know all about that. And I don't care if you think you can handle yourself. You need protection. Real protection. Someone who can handle the paparazzi. Someone who can defend you at all costs, no matter the consequences. Someone who will be by your side for the next three months and can handle your bullshit."
I just blink at him.
He continues on. "You're a tough one, Jackson. Nobody is going to like working with you. Your attitude is going to get you no where and I need someone who will protect you without actually wanting to strangle you half the time."
"Well, then you're out of luck. Because whoever's going to be my bodyguard, I'll make sure his life is a living fucking hell." A sinister smile crawls on my face.
Baxton shakes his head, then his eyes fixate on Blaire, who's growing uninterested by the minute. He walks over to her and she looks up slightly, confusion written all over her face.
"I saw you just now on television," my father says. "You handled yourself pretty well out there."
"I just didn't want your son to get fucked over by the media, Mr. Deneris," she replies quietly. "You were determined, though. Really determined to get him out of there," a soft smile grows on his face. Blaire smiles too, but it wavers, like she doesn't know what she's supposed to be smiling about. "You were good."
Oh shit.
Fuck.
I know what my father's doing.
"Um, thanks?" She says, unsure.
"Your mother used to own a shooting range right?" He asks.
"Yeah," Blaire answers. "I've been shooting since I was six."
"So you're good with a gun too," Baxton says, smugly. He looks at the floor then back at her.
"Baxton," I glare at my dad, a warning. He just turns to me, smirking.
"You're not doing anything during the summer, right, Blaire?" He asks, no longer glancing at Blaire's direction.
"No." I see her shake her head. I think she has already caught on about what is happening. "Baxton, I don't think- "
"Then, it's settled!" My dad clasps his hands together merrily, not giving any chance for either of us to protest. "Blaire's going to be your new bodyguard!"
☸☸☸☸☸☸
A/N: Finally! Shit finally gets interesting!
So how are we doing on JAIRE? It seems back to square one. Le sobs.
Tell me what do you think of this chapter in the comments below! I'd love to hear your thoughts!
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Love, Claudia.