Their show in Colorado was the first of three opening for a band called Racer, a rowdy, alt-country rock band with fans that put Tamarin Rodeo’s to shame. They didn’t seem inclined to spray anyone with their PBRs, though, so there was that. The guys were all nice, and they’d played with Victoria Vincent before, making Sawyer feel a bit out of place since everyone knew each other.
The other thing that made her uncomfortable happened after they’d met up for sound check in Denver. Sawyer was always shy around people she didn’t know, and it was clear that Jax and Vix knew each other—very well.
“I always think they should do a duet.” Connor came over to where she was tuning her fiddle. He nodded over at Vix and Jax. “Their voices sound really good together.”
“And their names rhyme,” Kit pointed out. He frowned. “Kinda. I guess it’d have to be Jax and Vax, or Jix and Vix.”
“And Jax’s bi too, I think,” Jeff added, messing with his guitar. “They’ve hooked up,” he told Sawyer. “In case you didn’t know.”
Sawyer had no idea what to say to that. Instead, she studied Jax Elliott—whose given name was Jackson—from across the room. He wasn’t very tall—maybe five eight—and was lean, with close-cropped hair that appeared to be either brown or dark blond, and was wearing jeans, boots, and a white T-shirt. He admittedly had a sexy voice, all gravelly and rough. Sawyer had thought he had a cold when they first were introduced, but it turned out that was how he talked. She’d enjoyed listening to Racer at sound check, up until she found out Jax had slept with her—her Vix.
Sawyer knew it wasn’t fair to think about Vix as “her” anything. This was a summer tour. She was here to clear her mind, play some music, and have some amazing sex with a talented and beautiful girl. She was not here to be possessive or clingy. No. She and Vix were friends, they were having sex, and this was all going to be over in August. Right.
For some reason, Sawyer found herself, after sound check, thinking about that song of Vix’s with the lyrics and no music. She pulled her violin out and started playing in the deserted greenroom, messing around with the soft echoes of a melody she could hear in her head. She was tense and the violin sounded it, the notes sharper than she intended. Frowning, she took a deep, cleansing breath and played a few notes of Bach’s “Chaconne” to calm down.
“Woah. Vix said you were from Juilliard, and damn. You’re good.”
She opened her eyes, all her calm shaken away by the sight of Jax Elliott standing in the doorway to the greenroom. He was leaning against the door, tattooed arms crossed—he had more tattoos than anyone Sawyer had ever seen, his knuckles were tattooed—and smiling at her. A nice smile too.
“Thanks.” She knew she was being ridiculous. Jax seemed like a good guy; there was no reason she should be acting like this. “I’m starting to get a little out of practice playing Bach, though.”
“Hey, I get that. I forget the lyrics to my own songs,” Jax joked. “You enjoying the life of a barely paid touring musician?”
“Actually, yeah. It’s a lot better than the life of a stressed-out Juilliard senior.” The second she said it, she was embarrassed at how it might sound—like this was a cakewalk, not a serious pursuit like her music. While Sawyer was certain that no one in her class could handle this for a week, much less all the time. She wondered what it said about her that she was going to miss showering in truck stops. Try as she might, Sawyer couldn’t quite ignore the dates on the calendar and how they were inching closer to their last show in Memphis.
Jax didn’t seem to think anything of her comment, though. He shook his head and gave his gruff laugh. “I bet. Well, it’s great to meet you. Glad that you were able to join Vix on her tour.”
“Ah—yeah, good to meet you too,” she said, and stood up. “Vix says you guys are one of her favorite bands.”
“Does she? Aww. That’s nice. Me and Vix go way back.” Jax’s smile was open and friendly. “How’d you end up on tour with her band, anyhow? I didn’t think Vix played many shows at Juilliard.”
“I— We went to high school together,” Sawyer said. “I saw the ad for a fiddle player and thought it would, um, be a good thing to do.” That sounded stupid. Was she going to spend her life sounding stupid around cool people?
“Are you—”
“Jax, stop hitting on my fiddle player.” Vix strolled in, sunglasses pushed up on her head. She held up a bag. “Sawyer, you want to help me dye my hair? I found a place with some Manic Panic. It looks so sad right now.”
Sawyer nodded, irrationally happy at the invite. “Sure.”
“I could help.” Jax leered. “Both of you. I’m happy to lend a hand.”
“Uh-huh.” Vix sounded amused, not angry like the night the guy had suggested a threesome in Virginia. “Thanks, but we got it. Go write a song or three,” she joked.
“Oh! That reminds me,” said Jax. “Guess whose band is gonna have one of their songs on a television show?”
Vix clapped a hand over her mouth, then said, “Is it . . . Ink River?” She laughed when Jax scowled at her. “Kidding, kidding. Even though you’d totally be okay with that.” She glanced over at Sawyer and held her hand up to her mouth, pretend-whispering, “Jax is a huge Noah Greer fanboy.”
“He’s an amazing songwriter!” Jax protested. “Come on, you have to give him that. Sawyer, you’ve got my back on this one, don’t you?”
Sawyer cleared her throat, embarrassed. “I . . . ah. I’m not sure who that is.”
“You knew Uncle Tupelo and Wilco, but not Ink River?”
“If it’s music from the last three years, I’ve been under a school-shaped rock,” Sawyer reminded Vix. “My dad’s the one who got me into Uncle Tupelo and Wilco, though.”
“That makes me feel old as hell,” said Jax, shaking his head.
Vix hit Jax lightly in the arm. “Because you are. Anyway, Sawyer, Ink River is a band, and their lead singer, Noah Greer, is a musical genius but a huge brat.” Vix rolled her eyes. “At the Americana Music Fest last year, I went up to say hi to him, right? He took one look at me and said, ‘The Miley Cyrus concert is next week.’”
“God, yeah, I heard he’s a dick.” Jax winced. “He’s still really fucking good at writing songs, though.”
“I know. You love him. That’s why I went up to say hi: I was gonna get you an autograph.”
“I don’t want an autograph,” Jax muttered, but he looked like maybe he did. “Anyway, you’re totally ignoring my news about my song.”
“Oh, it was your song?” Vix batted her eyelashes. “Right, right. A theme song! That’s awesome, which one is it?”
“Guess,” said Jax.
Sawyer listened to them banter, feeling more and more like a third wheel. She told herself it was only because they didn’t usually spend this much time with other bands when they played together, not because of the easy camaraderie between Vix and Jax.
“It’s ‘The Ballad of Whiskey Jack,’” Jax said. “The one off our last album. Remember, I told you it was based on that story about a bank robber who got drunk and lost twenty bucks while robbing a bank in the middle of the afternoon?”
Vix started singing something that was, ostensibly, the song. “I know all your songs by heart, idiot.”
Sawyer fought an urge to pick up her bow and drag it down the strings. What was the matter with her? She didn’t feel jealous as much as she felt ignored. Or, no, it wasn’t that. She felt . . . left out. Excluded by this reminder that this was not her life, and wouldn’t be. That this was a transient experience, and it would, at some point, end. She had felt like such a part of Victoria Vincent, a real band member. For the first time, she felt like exactly what she was—a fiddle player hired to fill in for a few months in the summer.
“I really need to dye my hair, so we’ll catch up later?” Vix asked, giving Jax a hug. Jax said something into Vix’s ear and Vix laughed. She shook her head. “I’ll think about it.”
“See you, Sawyer,” Jax said, giving her not a hug, but a friendly wave.
Why that made her feel out of sorts, Sawyer didn’t know. She didn’t want a hug! “Yeah, I— Nice to meet you, Jax.”
When he was gone, Vix shook her head fondly. “He’s great, isn’t he? Their band is so good. I can’t wait for you to hear them! This is, like, not only a show I get to play but a concert I love to attend, so that’s awesome.” She paused. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sawyer assured her. She did feel better, now that . . . what? Now that she had Vix’s attention, or now that Jax was gone and she didn’t feel like an outsider anymore? She stowed her violin. “He seems nice.”
“Right? And that voice.” She gave a little shiver. “I know dudes aren’t your thing, but gah.” She smiled at Sawyer and lifted the bag again. “So, hair? I wonder if we could make out in the bathroom? I bet we could.”
“We’ll never know unless we try,” said Sawyer, feeling her spirits lift. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. She reminded herself about living in the moment, and went to help Vix dye her hair an unnatural shade of purple in the venue’s bathroom.
Thanks to a great crowd and the usual magical elixir of performing—especially performing with Vix—Sawyer felt a lot better after the show that night in Denver. She also did enjoy watching Racer perform, happy that she missed getting sprayed with beer this time. Sawyer couldn’t lie and say that Jax didn’t have a sexy voice and some great songs. In fact, she liked “Embers of Ashes” so much that she messed around with a version on the fiddle and played it for Jax, which he loved. He was hard to dislike, really, and he disappeared about ten minutes after she played his song for him with a couple of girls. Sawyer and Vix snuck off and made out in the van, which was great, and then they had another eight-hour drive to Salt Lake City.
They were two hours out from the venue when Kit turned around and said to Vix, “You didn’t hook up with Jax on my seat or anything, right?”
“What? No, but why would you care?” Vix looked up from her phone.
“I know you’ve done it before, is all.” Kit pointed at her. “A guy should know these things about his seat.”
“You’re such a dork, Kit.” Vix said it fondly, flipped Kit off, and went back to her phone.
Sawyer bit the inside of her cheek. She’d worked out that her initial discomfort with Racer was simply how left out she’d felt, and now that she’d met everyone and they were so friendly, she didn’t expect to feel so out of sorts about Jax and Vix having hooked up. Or maybe that wasn’t quite fair. She was mostly out of sorts about the idea that they’d do it again.
Which, Sawyer reminded herself for the thousandth time, was stupid. She had no claim over Vix’s time; they were friends who were fooling around, that was it. Summer vacation, summer fling. Right.
“Did you think Jax was hot?” Kit asked her. “I mean, people usually do.”
Dear God, they were so gossipy. Sawyer wasn’t sure what to say. “He was a nice guy, sure. Cool voice. Good songs.” That was nice and truthful, and hopefully avoidant.
“Man, girls always want to bang him,” said Jeff. “I should learn how to sing.”
“Or suck dick,” said Vix, giggling.
“I tried it! That one time!” Jeff protested. “It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t my thing. Anyway, Sawyer, if you didn’t want to bang him, you’d be the only girl ever.”
“Do people actually say bang anymore, because I don’t think they do,” said Connor.
“I’m a lesbian,” Sawyer announced. What the hell. “So no, not really.”
“Vix is, like, half a lesbian and she’s fucked him,” Kit pointed out, as if that were reasonable.
“Not here to play Who Has Vix Fucked,” Vix spoke up. “And being bisexual doesn’t work like that. God, I’m gonna get Mary to give you a lecture. Racer’s merch girl,” Vix said to Sawyer. “She has, like, books on gender equality at Racer’s merch table.”
“She’s a lesbian,” Kit said. “Right?”
Vix looked annoyed. “No, she’s straight. She’s also a lot smarter about this stuff than you are.”
Sawyer wasn’t sure why, but she felt an inexplicable disappointment at her announcement not making any kind of stir among the band. She hated how she was feeling, twisted in knots about too many things that shouldn’t be worrying her, with no idea how to feel better about it.
Sawyer tried to take a nap, but her brain was whirling and she couldn’t fall asleep. So instead she dragged out a piece of paper and wrote some notes on it, still thinking about the melody for Vix’s song. The one about rebelling and no one hearing you. The melody in her head was louder, but she wasn’t sure that was necessarily a good thing or not. She wasn’t interested in spending the entire summer listening to the sounds of her own angst.
When it was Vix’s turn to drive, Sawyer pretended to be asleep in her seat in the back. For the first time, she wasn’t beside Vix as she drove through the night.