Bittersweet Chronicles: Pax

Bittersweet Chronicles: Pax Read Free

Book: Bittersweet Chronicles: Pax Read Free
Author: Selena Laurence
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this?”
    “First of all, Lagazo has half the police in his pocket, and secondly, if I do happen to find one who doesn’t take bribes from him it’ll only make him more angry. The police can’t protect me twenty-four seven, and that’s what it would take to keep Lagazo from getting me.”
    “What about friends or family?” I ask again.
    She shakes her head. “I’m not going to get anyone else involved in this. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.” She pulls her hand from underneath mine just as her phone chimes. She looks down at the screen then sends a rapid return message. “That’s my roommate, she’s outside in the parking lot. But hey,” she pastes on a bright and unconvincing smile, “thanks again for the help. It was nice to meet you, Pax.”
    “Can I at least have your phone number so I can check on you?” I ask. “I feel like, now that I’ve rescued you, I have responsibility for you or something. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”
      She laughs softly as she stands from her seat. Then she looks down and gives me a sweet smile. “No, the way it works is I have to rescue you back—and I’m going to do that by not giving you my number because being around me is bad for anyone’s health.” Then she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving me with nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume.
    **
    The Pacific Ocean, where I’m from, is so different from this part of the Atlantic. I grew up in Portland, and my folks had a place at Cannon Beach on the Oregon coast where we’d spend summers. The ocean there is gray and a little fierce. Even though the summers were pretty warm, the beaches were rough, brown sand and wild, rocky patches. Here in Alabama, it’s white sand, blue waters, and heat. Lots of heat. Some days, I miss home—the Pacific Ocean, my little sister, Lyric—but I can’t focus on it. It might be a long, long time before I can see it all again, and it’ll eat me alive if I let it.
    After I get back to my townhouse, which is just a half mile up the beach, I shower off and throw on a clean pair of shorts before I go to my patio on the edge of the sand, and get my guitar out. I love the way the smooth wood of the guitar feels on my bare chest. It’s like a woman’s soft hands touching me. It’s soothing and exhilarating all at the same time. I sit thinking about Carly and what her hands would feel like on me, stroking down my abs, wrapping around…I shake myself out of it. Getting a hard-on right now won’t solve anything. I have no idea how I’ll ever see her again, but I can tell already that I’m going to be looking for a way. That car of hers is pretty distinctive, if I have to cruise town all day watching for it I will. I shake my head and mutter, “Stalker,” to myself. But it doesn’t matter, I’m going to do it anyway.
    I have a couple of hours before I have to be at the bar I’m playing in tonight, so I work a little on the song I’ve been writing. I wish so much that I could play it for Uncle Joss and get his take, but I swore to myself that I was going to do this without my family, so my parents aren’t the only ones I have to take out of the equation; it’s Uncle Joss, Mike, Colin—all of them. Even Aunt Mel is off-limits, although I know she’d give her left arm to do my promo photos for my website and gigs.
    I’m a musician, and my family is rock and roll royalty. Sounds like a great combo, right? Yeah—until you spend your every childhood moment being followed, questioned, and compared. When you can’t go to any bar, club, or recording studio in your home state without the manager saying, “Oh, hey, you’re Walsh’s kid, right?”
    My dad and his band mates are Portland legends. They’ve been the rulers of the alt rock scene there for over twenty years—since before I was born. But as much as I admire them, learned from them, and flat-out miss them, their very presence makes it impossible for me to have a career that I

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