Page 28 of Count On Me

JAXSON

The baseline to some song is bouncing off the walls in my apartment. I check the lock on the door again, making sure no wannabe WAGs ‘accidentally’ stumble into my place like they did the last time Jordan had a house party. As I wait for Lockheart to text me that he’s home so I can get the hell out of here, I stare down at my phone and look at the picture of Edie for what must be the millionth time since she sent it to me twenty minutes ago.

Fuck she looks good. Too good to be out with the likes of some douche called Tom. The image of her grinding her perfect ass on him flashes in front of my eyes, and I groan loudly and dig my fingers into my eye sockets trying to erase the image.

I need to get the fuck out of here. I need a distraction of epic proportions. And while the booze next door would do a bang-up job of that, I don’t want to fight off bimbos while I’m pining over Edie.

Grabbing my duffel, I take a look around my empty apartment. It’s never felt like home here, but lately, it’s feeling less and less inviting. I let my gaze fall on the mantle andGramps’s watch, quickly head over, grab it and place it in my bag. I don’t know why I need it, but tonight I want it close to me.

Sunglasses and a baseball cap in place to try to slip through the crowds unnoticed, I open my front door. The smell of pizza, alcohol, and cheap perfume invades my nostrils and I recoil a little. I dip my head low and pull my cap down as I sneak to the elevator, tapping my hand on my thigh as I wait for the doors to open.

When they do, I’m greeted with a loud squeal. “OH. EM. GEE. It’s Jaxson Brady. I love you Jaxson Brady. My dad is a huge fan and we were so happy when Marcello got injured. Are you not coming to the party?” She pouts her overinflated lips at me and I sidestep her as she reaches out to stroke my arm. I slip past her and silently watch as the doors close on her confused face.

I don’t want to talk to women like that. The ones who use my whole name and see me as a claim to fame. A kiss and tell story would be all over the papers if I went anywhere near her, and I don’t want any more shit from Coach. Or to give Edie another reason to pull away from me. I already feel like I'm losing her a little bit to this Tom dude.

As the elevator doors open, I’m greeted by another set of curious eyes, but this time there isn’t a pouty lip in sight. “Hey Paddy, what's up?” I offer my hand to our building's concierge and he shakes it with a grimace on his face.

“I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid, Mr. Brady. The electronic door isn’t working, so you won’t be able to get your car out of here until they fix it. Maintenance is on it though.” He offers me an apologetic shrug, and even though I’m pissed, I don’t show him. Because Paddy is the nicest guy on this planet.

“Okay, um, I can’t stay here tonight, Paddy. Anyway you can get me a car?”

He grins at me like he knew exactly what I was going to ask. “I already ordered a few in case any of you needed to go out tonight. I’ll call through to one now. Thank you for being so understanding, Mr. Brady.”

“Yo, Padster, I thought we talked about the whole Mr. Brady thing,” I tell him through a grin.

“Right, sorry, sir. Sorry, Jaxson.” He chuckles and I shake his hand once more.

Dipping my cap in appreciation, I hike my duffel onto my shoulder and head for the main reception door. I spot the driver of my car and head in that direction, rolling my eyes behind my glasses when two wannabe WAGs giggle loudly as I hold the building door open for them.

“Thanks. You not coming to party?” they ask me as I slip through the door and into my waiting car. I don’t even answer them. Just lay my head back against the seat and blow out a sigh of relief. Surely, I’ve avoided the shit show that normally follows after one of Jordan’s parties…

“Brady, you wanna tell me what the fuck this is? I tell you not to go out, so you bring the party to you? I should fucking bench you for this shit!” As I step into the locker room with Lockheart next me, Coach’s screaming hits me straight in the face.

“Coach, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I try to reason with him, but he throws a newspaper at me. I’m slightly shocked, not that he’s throwing stuff at me because that's a Coach trait, but that they actually still make newspapers. I thought everyone just read those online.

I pick it up and read the headline: BRADY’S BUNCH—Jaxson Brady entertains the ladies at his exclusive penthouse apartment’

Attached is a picture of me, baseball cap and sunglasses to match, opening the glass doors of the reception area to those two women.

“Shit, Coach, it isn't what it looks like. I wasn’t the one having the party. I was leaving and they were coming in,” I try to tell him, but he cuts me off.

“Do you think I was born yesterday? I should fucking suspend you just for trying to pull a fast one on me.”

I give up. There's no point in trying to argue with him. I can’t say Hawaii to him and have him believe me like I can with Edie. And he’s already made his mind up about me, anyway.

“Coach, he wasn’t there.” Lockheart’s voice comes from behind me, defending me, but Coach just scoffs.

“So that isn’t him in the picture? I expected more from you, Lockheart,” Coach bites out, and I hear Lockheart growl behind me.

“With all due respect, Coach, you’re in the wrong here,” he says through gritted teeth, and the rest of the team that was gathered in the locker room gasps. “That is Brady in the picture, but if you look closely, you’ll see he has a holdall in the other hand. Because he was leaving his building to stay at mine last night. Those girls were nothing to do with him. The underground parking lot was broken so he couldn’t get his car out and had to leave through the main entrance. This time, he’s telling the truth.” I look back at my friend and dip my chin at him in appreciation.

“So who’s party was it then?” Coach asks begrudgingly.

“Mine, Coach. I invited a few ladies over to mine. Brady wasn’t there.” Jordan spits his words out behind Lockheart. He must have arrived just in time towalk into the shitshow that’sbecome my life. He shoots daggers at me as I look over my shoulder, but before I can question it Coach’s bark rings out loudly in the room.

“In my office, now! Brady, good job.”

That’s about as close to an apology as you get from Coach, so I’ll take it. I walk over to the bench, drop my bag on the floor, and sit down heavily. I drop my head into my hands as Lockhert slaps me on the back.

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