My Rockstar's Heartstrings: Three Years of Loving You From Afar novel Chapter 9

Kaylee's POV

I couldn't put up much resistance. Mrs. Puth always had contingency plans for everything—whether you cooperated or not, things would unfold according to her design.

Case in point: I'd barely hung up when men in dark suits appeared at my hospital room door.

Within an hour, I was aboard the Puth family's private jet, flying from New York to their estate in Washington.

The sprawling mansion I'd once only glimpsed in lifestyle magazines materialized before me again.

Mrs. Puth sat on a Cassina leather sofa that probably cost more than my yearly rent, her expression glacial:

"Kaylee, you're going to ruin him."

She sized me up: "Are you pregnant?"

My stomach twisted with pain again. Face ashen, I shook my head and told the truth:

"No. Jax and I haven't spoken in years.

"He was visiting Selena on set when he ran into me. He took me to the hospital when I got sick. That's literally it."

Mrs. Puth's perfectly maintained features settled into calculation mode, working through the optimal PR strategy.

"Here's what we're going to do," she finally said. "You'll record a video statement making it crystal clear that you and Jax have absolutely no relationship, nor will you ever..."

"Says who?"

I hadn't spoken—the voice came from the doorway.

Jax shoved the door open and stormed in.

He positioned himself between me and his mother, dropping into the seat across from her: "Who's giving her orders about what to say?"

Mrs. Puth's expression hardened: "Jax, have you seen the Twitter storm? The press is having a field day. Your entire brand will collapse!"

Jax let out a harsh laugh.

"My brand?" he shot back. "Since when did you give a damn about that?

"How many guitars did you have Dad break trying to force me into Wharton? How many demos did you 'accidentally' delete?

"If I hadn't blown up, if I didn't have platinum records and international tours, would you even let me through the front door?"

Mrs. Puth's face went white.

"Mom, what you care about isn't my career—it's your social standing and bragging rights.

"As long as I can play, as long as I can create music, my career is solid. No one can take that from me."

He pulled me to my feet: "We're out of here."

I stumbled as he practically dragged me through the house and into his car.

He didn't start driving. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, barely controlling a tremor.

I knew this sign—he was fighting to keep his emotions in check.

"Jax," I said his name quietly.

"What now?"

"Your mom actually has a point."

"Bullshit."

"Your music is incredible—it deserves an audience," I said. "I heard the new album. It's seriously beautiful work."

Jax's body tensed.

"You listened to it?"