Sky laughed and pointed at the screen. "You look like you're about to give that microphone a blowjob."

I whipped my head around to look at Jax, expecting to see him scowling with irritation. Instead, Jax just grinned. "Nah, that's not my style."

I managed a small smile. A real one, this time. But I was also burning to talk to Jax alone, to see how he was doing. Unfortunately, the band looked comfortably camped out, watching the footage.

"We're just lucky they filmed this before you went and got your head bashed in," Kev observed. "That wouldn't have looked so good."

Jax just shrugged and we all kept watching the TV. After about ten minutes though, he pressed pause. "You guys don't have to keep watching if you don't want to." He turned to Sky. "Didn't you say you wanted to hit the beach?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I could finish watching it later. I want to soak up as much sun as I can while I'm here. Anyone with me?"

"Me," Kev said, a grin lighting up his boyish face. "I could use some waves."

Chewie stood up too and stuck his drumstick in his back pocket. "Yeah, and I could check out the babes. I like me some California girls." He began humming the Beach Boys song under his breath.

Sky turned to me and Jax. "What about you two?"

Jax shook his head. "No, I want to finish watching this."

"And I'm still tired from last night," I chimed in, relieved that Jax had found a way for us to be alone.

The band horsed around as they got their swim stuff together, with Chewie taking the time to rip another couple massive hits on the bong. Then they left the bus, earnestly and loudly debating whether to hit Venice Beach or Santa Monica.

It was just the two of us now.

I curled my legs up on the couch and shifted around to look carefully at Jax. He'd set the ice pack down, and the lightheartedness in his face had switched to concern.

He touched my cheek, his eyes resting on the scrape I'd gotten last night. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with urgency. "I was so messed up last night, I didn't even check you out."

"I'm fine," I protested as Jax picked up my hand and looked at it closely. "I want to ask about you."

"This is a burn," he said, ignoring my words and pointing to the small red spot where the molotov cocktail had singed my skin. He got up and grabbed the first aid kit from the table.

"It's nothing," I said, knowing that my minor scrapes and bruises were nothing to fuss about. But Jax just opened the kit anyway and took out a small bandage. His brow furrowed as he secured it over my tiny burn.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked when he finished, his eyes filled with concern.

My heart swelled with a sudden rush of affection. How could he be so hurt himself, and still worry over me?

"I'm fine," I insisted gently. "But what about you? Should we call the doctor?"

A flash of emotion clouded his face, but then it was gone. "I'm fine too. Actually, I feel a lot better."

I peered at him, wanting to take his word for it, but the memory of his gigantic bruise left me still doubtful. "Are you sure about that? Last night—" I cut myself off, not wanting to force Jax to relive the memories.

"I'm sure," he replied, his voice firm. I knew that tone. When he sounded like that, there was no arguing with him. I would have to respect that he knew his own body—if he said he was fine, then it must really not be as bad as it looked.

He picked up the remote and turned the TV back on. We sat in silence. After a minute, I glanced at his face. Now that he'd stopped worrying about me, his expression was almost cheerful again as he watched the concert footage. I wanted to ask him more, to find out how he was really feeling about what had happened to him last night, but something in his face made me hesitate. It seemed like he was determined to not let the trauma of last night upset him. But how could he not be upset, when his own dad . . . I shuddered.

An image of Chewie bashing on the drums zoomed up on the TV. Jax stared at the screen intently, then jotted some words down in the notebook that he had balanced on the armrest of the couch.

"What are you writing?" I asked, wanting to say something, get him talking to me. Maybe I could find out something that way.

He finished scribbling his sentence, picked up the remote, and paused the TV. Excitement made his eyes glitter. "The filmmaker wants us to review the raw footage from last night, tell her what we love and hate. If I get this done quick she can start editing, blast out a film, and we capitalize on the goodwill from this tour."

He sounded so happy. "Oh," I said, "That's good for you guys then. Is it a lot of work?"

He grabbed my legs and swung them in his lap. "No, or I'd ask the rest of the band to help. But I got this."

He smiled at me, and began rubbing my bare feet. His strong hands squeezed my arches, and my toes curled with pleasure. He was being so sweet, so positive—I guess of all the ways I might have thought he'd be acting this morning, happy was the last that came to mind. But here he was, right before my eyes, smiling at me.

"It's nice to see you in a great mood today," I said carefully.

He nodded as he massaged each of my toes, one by one. "It's all coming together. With the band, with you—" he broke off to give me another kiss. "You know you're a kickass, beautiful girlfriend."

I hesitated for a moment before squeezing him back affectionately. Still no mention of Darrel, of any of it—maybe it was just too hard to talk about.

I ran a finger through his hair and tugged at the ends. "You sound like you've got it made." My voice was gently inquiring.

"Uh huh. Especially after I play the show tonight. It's gonna be wild."

"Oh." I blinked rapidly. That was right. They had one more show at the Roman.

Somehow, it didn't seem right that he would go on stage, not after all he'd been through. What if he made himself worse, by spending the massive amount of energy he needed to perform? And no matter what he said, he had to be in pain.

"For some reason I thought that might get rescheduled," I said, keeping my voice light.

Jax stopped rubbing my left foot and raised his eyebrows. "What? It's been sold out for I don't know how long."

"But theoretically it could be done though, right?" I asked. "No one loses out. The tickets just get automatically transferred to the new date."

"Yeah, and everyone's disappointed."

"But it happens all the time. I can't tell you how many shows I've had rescheduled on me."

He snorted and resumed his caresses, this time focusing on my calves. His inky hair partially hid his face, but I could see his lips curved wryly. "C'mon, I bet you weren't too thrilled when they did that."

"Yeah," I admitted, "But I'm just saying it could be done. With probably just a few phone calls."

He tucked his hair behind an ear and gave me a stubborn look. "You make it sound easy, but I don't think that's how it works."

I bit my lip. Even if he was well enough not to go the hospital, he still might not be ready for any taxing physical stuff. An image of Jax's violent beating flashed through my mind, and I repressed a shiver at the memory.