Page 11 of Love is a Drum Beat
She eyed her drum set across the room. It had been more than a month since she could sit on that stool, and her fingers itched to hit something. Drumming was how Jo released her anxieties, her rage. It tempered her, allowing her more control over her emotions.
She tapped out a beat on the arm of the couch, but it wasn’t the same. Frustration warred in her. With a growl, she forced herself to stand and march toward the drums. She sat on the stool that now seemed much smaller and less stable than it had before. Picking up her drumsticks, she leaned forward as far as her belly let her. It wasn’t close enough, so she stretched out her arms to start the song.
Nothing had ever come so naturally to Jo as the beat of a drum. She wasn’t good at anything else, but this… this she could do.
She tried to reach the cymbals but overextended herself and lost her balance, falling sideways off the stool. Her arms flailed, trying to catch her. When her shoulder slammed into the ground, pain rocketed up her arm.
“Ow.” She tried to push herself up, but it was no use. There had to be some sad sort of irony in Jo falling and not getting up. Tears gathered in her eyes, but not from the pain. There was no one coming to help her, no one in this city who even cared. The one person Jo let herself rely on was an ocean away. The father of her baby was more worried about bad press than her.
She was deeply and utterly alone.
Jo wiped at her face. She’d been through too many hardships in her life to break down over a fall.
But it wasn’t about the fall.
Her chest shook as a sob escaped.
A knock on the door had her head jerking up. “God, is that you?” She meant it as a joke, sort of. She lifted her voice. “If you think I’m getting up to open that door, you’re an idiot.” She didn’t know who it was, but she didn’t care. “If you’re a burglar, I can’t stop you. But if you’re not, the door is unlocked. Come in and help me.”
The building was more secure than any place she’d lived, so whoever was on the other side of the door made it past security. The door opened. Jo’s gaze fell on the nerdy, all-white tennis shoes before traveling up dad jeans and a light green polo shirt to land on a familiar face.
Dax lurched forward when he saw her.
“I changed my mind,” she groaned. “You can go. I’ll get up on my own.”
“Jo.” Dax’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”
She couldn’t turn him away with the genuine look of concern on his face. “What does it look like?”
He grabbed her arm. “Let’s get you up.”
Jo didn’t know where this version of Dax came from, the in-charge, caring one. She let him help her to her feet and lead her over to the couch. She sank onto it with a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here, Dax?” She pushed down her embarrassment.
He didn’t sit. Instead, he turned away to survey her apartment. What was he thinking? It wasn’t near as nice as his house, but then, she made a fraction of what he did. Why did she care what he saw?
“I like your place.”
She laughed at that. “Sure you do.”
He pulled at his collar, a nervous tick he had.
“Dax.” She didn’t have patience for his nervousness. “Why are you here?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Y-you…” He sucked in a breath. “I thought you might need me.”
4
Dax
“I thought you might need me.”
Man, he was an idiot. The emotions flashing across Jo’s face ranged from indignation to pity. Pity for him? Because he was delusional enough to think someone as strong as her needed him?
Jo sucked in a steadying breath as if it was the only thing keeping the biting words at bay. What was it about this girl that turned him back into the teenage boy with too much acne and nerdy glasses?
Even as a teen, people loved his music, but they never loved him. Not really. Most didn’t understand him. It wasn’t until Melanie forced him into Rockstars Anonymous that he made friends in this business.
And Jo… he imagined her as a teenager. Rebellious. Confident. The kind of girl who always got what she wanted.
