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Chapter Twelve
Jax
I pace around the hotel room impatiently, twitching as I wait for Baxter fucking Branson to arrive. I called him the morning after he turned up at Raven’s, and I demanded that he meet with me, but allegedly this was the soonest he could. It’s been, what? Four days now? And I’ve not been back to see Raven. I’ve barely even seen the guys. Instead, I’ve spent the time holed up inside my hotel room, trapped inside my head and my own spiralling thoughts.
The others seem a little too happy to forgive and forget where Raven’s concerned. I can’t do that. Maybe it’s because they’re innocent, they can forgive her so easily. Maybe it’s my own guilt with the Lizzie situation…maybe that’s what’s preventing me from accepting her apology. Ha! What apology? She won’t back down. Has barely uttered a word of remorse since we found her, and certainly hadn’t actually said “sorry” to any of us.
No, she doesn’t deserve - or seem to want - forgiveness.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by a singular sharp knock on the door. I open it, and step aside, gesturing wordlessly for Baxter to come in.
“Why am I here?” he asks me warily.
“Because I need your help.”
“Oh.” He looks puzzled by what I’ve just said. “I thought you’d be demanding answers, like you usually do.”
I shake my head. “Of course I want answers, but I don’t think you’re going to give them to me. So let’s draw a line under it and move on.” When Baxter nods his assent, I continue, “I trust you know what happened that night with Raven?”
“Pretty much yeah. She’s talked about it once or twice. I’ve never heard the recording, but I’ve spent enough nights with her to know she’s plagued by nightmares that reveal the truth of what she went through.”
I take a deep breath in through gritted teeth; I want to punch this guy. I’ve never liked him, always found him smarmy as fuck, but now I want to kill him. I hate that he has a relationship with Raven, that he’s been warming her bed for the last however many years. Oh, he might claim that their relationship is casual, but I’ve seen the way they look at and touch each other. Fuck, I’m jealous. Wait, what did he say?
“Nightmares?”
“Oh come on dude, you don’t really buy into all that devil-may-care attitude of hers do you? If you do, you’re more stupid than I thought and I may just lose the last ounce of respect I had for you.”
“I...didn’t think,” I reply. I’m confused, torn. Do I know this woman at all? She said she had no regrets. She killed a friend of mine. She didn’t seem to care. She doesn’t care that she’s put us all through hell the last few years…Yet now Baxter’s saying it’s all an act? That she’s plagued by nightmares and wracked with guilt? I don’t know what to think or who to believe. I feel a migraine coming on and pinch the bridge of my nose in a futile attempt to keep it at bay.
“Every single night, Jax. Phoenix is so used to her mum waking up screaming that she’s always slept through it. I think she’d be unsettled if she didn’t hear Charlotte’s screams. They’re like a fucking lullaby to her.”
“Fuck.” Why is he telling me this? My stomach twists painfully. “And where do you fit in to all this?” I eye him sharply. I’m not buying this redemption act. Baxter fucking Branson is as dark, twisted and fucked up as they come. He makes what Tilly’s done look like child’s play in comparison. There’s no way he reformed to fucking sainthood. Raven’s captivating, but she’s not that good.
“I’ve tried to help her wherever I can.”
I scoff at that. He’s never helped anyone unless there was something in it for him.
“How the hell have you helped her? She lives in a hovel! What the hell happened for the sole heir to the Deighton fortune to be living below the poverty line?”
“That’s not my story to tell,” Baxter states evasively. It immediately gets my back up.
“Then why haven’t you helped her?” I explode in helpless, guilty rage.
“I have. I am. You know what she’s like; how stubborn she is! I do what I can.”
“Like what?” I refuse to back down. I know there’s logic in his words, I just don’t want to accept it.
“I watch her house 24/7. I pay off the bailiffs every time they’re on the doorstep. I top up her utilities just enough to prevent them being cut off…” He pauses for a moment before continuing.
“I subsidise her childminder. Ha! Charlotte thinks the woman took pity on her and only charges her £2.50 an hour, but I pay the rest. She doesn’t know. She’s too proud to accept my help...I pay the babysitter that she thinks works for free because she just loves Phoenix so much. I pay most of the nursery fees.” He takes a deep breath and before I can reply continues again.
“There’s a woman down the street with a kid a few months older than Phoenix. Every month or so I buy a load of new clothes and give them to the neighbour. She washes them and scuffs them up a bit, then passes them to Charlotte as hand-me-downs for Phoenix...I do what I can,” he finishes sadly.
He sounds pained that he can’t do more, and a new-found respect for Baxter Branson blooms in my chest. I understand exactly what he means about Raven being too stubborn to accept help, so I know that he’s doing all he can.
“But why do you bother? I’m not being funny, Branson, but Rebel’s told us all about your antics. Being the nice guy isn’t exactly your style.”
“I know. But I’ve changed. And she literally had no one. What was I supposed to do?”
