Read Online Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) by Stevie J. Cole - Free Book Online Page B

mumbled. “I know it’s hard. Even when you’ve been clean for years, you can’t help but think about it every day, right?”
    Jag said nothing. I feared I’d crossed a line, and grabbed my glass, quickly sucking back the watered down drink. I didn’t want him to think I was judging him. I wasn’t. I just felt like he needed someone to understand him. “We’re all broken,” I sighed.
    “Is that what this is for?” His finger skimmed over the tattoo on my back.
    What does not kill us makes us stronger , I recited the words of my tattoo in my head. I had bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. “No. That’s for my brother, Sean.” I waited a few seconds to force the pain down, then explained, “He OD’d. It’s kinda my tribute to him. That’s what he said all the time. He had the same tattoo with the date he’d gone sober underneath it. He was clean for three years, and all it took was that one time of him slipping back into it—and he was gone.”
    It still pained me to talk about it. Sean had been the most important, most influential person in my life. He had truly been the only person to ever fight for me—until Jag. It didn’t matter to me that Jag may have punched that guy because he was amped up on coke, or that maybe he was just in a bad mood, all that mattered is that for whatever reason, for a fleeting moment, to him I was worth fighting for.
    Jag ran his hand up the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. Really.” That comment was sincere.
    “Thanks. Me too.”
    His phone buzzed and he pulled it out, turning away from me. I knew I should go. I knew I should leave, but something kept me there.
    He slipped his phone back into his pocket and leaned over the bar, his fingers combing throw his unruly hair, his legs shaking uncontrollably.
    He was hurting, and I wanted to know why. Something inside me felt the need to know why he was miserable.
    “So, why are you broken?” I asked.
    His legs stopped bouncing, and he slowly looked up from his bowed head. A subtle smile crept over his face. “Broken? Nah, princess,” he laughed. “I’m a shattered fucking mess.”
    He wasn’t that guy I’d assumed he was. Part of me wasn’t even sure he was real anymore. Without realizing what I was doing, I reached out and stroked my fingers along his jaw. “Yep. You’re real.”
    “Yeah. That I am.”
    “You know, it’s just that I’d always thought you were, you know… Jag Steele . Never really stopped to think that there’s actually someone behind the name, behind that hard-ass exterior of yours. Sometimes the entire celebrity thing makes me forget people like you are real. You’re not some fictional character. That’s all. Just wanted to touch you to make sure.”
    “Nah. I’m real.”
    I felt like he appreciated that I separated him from all that. I don’t know that many people ever did that.
    “So, is Jagger Steele really your name, or is it just a stage name?”
    “What makes you think I would tell you that?” he arched a brow and fell silent.
    Just when I was about to tell him there was no reason to be an ass, he chuckled. “Yeah, it’s my name. My dad had an obsession with The Rolling Stones.”
    Of course that would be his name. Nothing about him was normal, why would he have ever had a normal name? “I see. Destined from birth, huh? You do know that Jag is slang for a stint with drug use, right?”
    “No, never heard that one. That’s interesting, huh? Guess my parents should have thought about that.” His gaze veered down, following his fingertip as it traced along the worn edge of the bar.
    “Yeah,” I sighed and adjusted myself on the stool. “I was hoping you were gonna say your name was something like Bob or Darryl.”
    “No. Nice names and all, but I need something with a little more…”
    “Sex appeal?” I felt myself smile—genuinely smile. It wasn’t often that happened.
    “Yeah. Something like that.” He spun his chair around, planting both his hands