Burn Into Me (Into Me Series Book Two)

Chapter Six - Sticks

Jet's POV

I twirl my drumstick in my left hand as I scroll through my phone with my right. Jackson is out practicing with the hockey team right now, which means I get the house to myself, which means I get to fuck around on my drums as much as I want. Jackson doesn't care if I play when he's home, actually, he loves sneaking down here into the basement and watching me play, but I feel bad when I do because I'm so loud.

I finally find the album I want, the one I could play blindfolded with earplugs in and chopsticks instead of drumsticks: "Take This To Your Grave" by Fall Out Boy.

I turn on my in-ears and shove them in, making sure they're connected to the Bluetooth on my phone. I get my feet situated on the pedals and take in a deep breath. As I let it out, my gaze falls onto my snare drum where my "Don't suck!" Post-It still rests from Owen. I smile, thinking of how fucking happy I was then.

In love with my best guy friend from childhood, little responsibilities, enough friends' houses to crash at to avoid going home to sleep, and the whole fucking world in front of me.

Jackson makes me feel like that. Like I'm fucking worth it. Like I can do anything. Like there are no limits to my potential. Like the whole fucking world is in front of me.

I hit play on my phone, tossing it onto the floor as the beginning of "Tell That Mick That He Just Made My List of Things To Do Today" fills my ears. I close my eyes and lose myself in the genius that is Andy Hurley's drumming. This song is committed to muscle memory, like riding a bike. I belt out the lyrics with Patrick, letting myself get completely lost in the music.

Don't get me wrong, I love playing with my band, but getting to do a play-through of one of my favorite albums of all time start to finish without restarting because someone wasn't ready or stopping to make a note adjustment makes me feel fucking high.

"Dead On Arrival" starts and I take a millisecond of a break to pull my hair up into a bun, sweat forming on my back. I let the emotions of the day flow through my spine and then down my arms and legs, releasing them with every hit of the drum or press of the paddles. I beat the shit out of the drums so I don't beat the shit out of other humans. I let my mind wander as my arms and legs flip into autopilot.

Of course, I immediately think of Jackson a few days ago...

I was in the last two hours of the 16-hour shift I picked up. I was charge and head trauma nurse, as per usual. The day had completely whipped my ass and I was just looking forward to crawling into bed with Jackson and passing the fuck out. Avi and I had been tag-teaming patients all day together, getting people transferred or discharged to keep the flow of patients steady.

The music ends as the next song starts. "Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy" begins as I rip off my crop top, leaving me in my spandex booty shorts and sports bra as sweat drips down my body.

I was leaning up against the nurses' station talking to Avi about his kids. He had that proud dad smile on his face as he told me about his little girl learning how to ride her bike over the weekend. He made a joke about kids and bikes that made me laugh. Then his face fell and he pointed behind me.

"Is that Jackson?" he had asked me.

I glanced over my shoulder quickly to where Avi was pointing. The sight before me made me damn near shit a brick. Jackson walked leisurely toward me, a young kid asleep with his head on his shoulder being held up by Jackson's hip and arms. It looked like the kid was holding on to him for dear life. He had his Kevlar and tactical belt on, along with his cargo pants, combat boots, and a plain black T-shirt that highlighted every muscle that bulged underneath it.