by Lisa Gillis
As if he hadn’t heard, he resumed the inquisition. “Why did you write that stuff down?”
Giving up, she cast her game piece to the sofa table and considered her words.
“Olivia said I could have taken what you said all wrong. That I would see things more clearly if I wrote them down.”
Relaxing his posture, Jack bent to rest his arms on his knees and focused on the floor. When he turned his attention to her, his eyes were soft, and his words were gentle.
“And did you?”
The gulp in her throat threatened to choke out her breath. She was no longer certain Jack had spoken of full custody in that horrible argument. Exactly what he was speaking of, she could only guess. And guessing only made her hope. And hopes had a way of being dashed.
“I think I jumped to conclusions.”
“I know you did.”
CHAPTER 26
PRACTICALLY VAULTING THE arm of the couch in one of those stage moves that she recognized from watching videos of Jackal, Jack crossed the room to the kitchen bar and returned directly back with the envelope in question. Holding the note visible to both of them, he silently read her handwriting:
‘I’ve missed five years of his life. And they were hard years for him–’
‘You are a good mother.’
“Pretty sure right here I said ‘the best.’” Pointing at that particular part, he tipped a smile.
‘I know my life is not the life for him. I would stop touring. Am probably about to do that anyway. Changes in my band. Many meetings.’
‘Don’t want six states between me and Tristan. Don’t know what to do.’
‘So much time wasted. I want it all.’
At last, he spoke again. “The important part is the last part.”
Her nerves were so coiled that a loud buzz had begun in her ears like when pregnancy had caused spells of high blood pressure.
“I was trying to tell you that I’ve become greedy with this whole father thing.”
For a few silent seconds, his gaze rested on the paper and then it fell on her face. The eyes she looked into were as dark and sweet as the chocolate she always mentally likened them to, and when he spoke, they glistened,
“I was trying to say that I want our son. And his mother too.”
Her mind went into motion processing faster than the processor of the laptop on the desk, which caught her panicked gaze. At last, she was brave enough to return her look to Jack’s eyes.
“When I met you, when we–”
When Jack paused here unable to find what he thought were the right words for their fevered liaison in a tour bus bunk, she felt the familiar warmth that even after all of these years flooded her senses when she let herself go there.
“Mariss, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But, my band was taking off like crazy. Then, every time I would be so insane that I was going to come see you or do something about what I was feeling, something would happen that kept me busy, kept me too tired to think. And you would go to the back of my mind where it was easier to deal with.”
The paper fell to the table as he stood and paced a few steps.
“Then after a few months, I was nuts with wanting to see you. I had thought a lot of the what ifs, if only you were close enough to date, but you weren’t and beyond that...” In an unconscious action, he picked up a photo of Tristan and smiled before returning it to the shelf. “Then I ended up asking you to come out.” Loosely he referred to LA. “I didn’t even know I was going to ask you. It just came out.”
Her mind went back to that night, with remembrance of how surprised she had been and insight that although he had been just as surprised by the invitation, he had also felt the connection enough to think of her often.
Jack’s eyes held unwaveringly on her face. “I thought you felt the same way, and a part of me didn’t care if you did. Because if you didn’t, I thought I could talk you into seeing me just because of who I was. Then I could trip you, make you fall for me.”
Hearing this sentence made her wonder if he even realized he spoke in verses of his songs sometimes.
“But you dissed me hard.” A wry grimace played on his lips. “I never got over you. That you wouldn’t come.”
“You know now why I didn’t though...”
Nodding, he tried to explain, and his words came in short sentences. “I built this big thing in my head of us together after I saw you at the hospital and for the last couple of weeks now. I think I love you. I know I love you. And the other day, I was on my knees about to pop the question.”
Already following his random pacing and trying to follow his random words, she watched transfixed by the emotion feeding the fervor in his words.
“What?” The word was a surprised whisper when he fell silent, and she blinked needing the assurance that she had not fallen into one of her fantasies.
Crossing over, he returned, sinking to the sofa.
“I was. Remember I knelt beside you? And, I don’t know how it got so screwed up. What did happen in the screw up is I came to my senses. I know that was an impulse thing.”
Before she could fully feel hurt from that last statement, he explained, “I do want to marry you. But I know we need to work out a relationship between us before. We need to stop doing things backwards.”
“I’ve done the same thing.” The confession spilled out, and now she was the one staring at the floor as she thought over her words. “For so many years. Felt fated to you somehow. Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep at night, I would imagine us as a family. I felt like I knew you before you even came to the hospital that day.”
Having confessed her fantasies, she went on to divulge her humiliation. “And then, that day on the phone that you disconnected our call, I didn’t know that guy. You were not who I thought you were. After that, I guess in the back of my head I was always afraid that guy would show himself again.”
Her gaze searchingly sought his, and before she could speak again, he did.
“I don’t know why I say the shit I do sometimes. I don’t know that guy either. Unfortunately, I have to live with his screw ups.” Playing in her hair, he softly said, “I don’t want you to be one of those things I screwed up.”
“I’m not. I’m one of those things I screwed up.”
“You’re not. You’re not, Mariss.”
Her heart pounded as always when his head closed the space to hers. The kiss was tender and sweet, and before it could fuse into fire, he pulled slightly back but maintained contact with his fingertips massaging the back of her neck.
“I had this plan kind of. But tell me what you think, okay?”
Warily, her shields went up against this plan since he had used almost the same words in the exercise room concerning Tristan’s custody.
“I need to be in LA for another six months at least. At max, a year. But I don’t want to be away from you guys anymore. The week I left the hospital seemed like a year. Can you and Tristan move to LA? And then after that, we can move back somewhere closer to here if you want.”
A surge of emotions and questions shocked through her. “Are you still asking me to marry you?” The query was bold, but she was tired of the confusion.
He had trust issues. She had avoidance issues. Issues she wanted to be done with.
“I’m asking if you want to get married one day. Because I know I want to marry you soon. But we need to build a relationship. And, your proposal should be spectacular. So this is not it.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed at the absurdity. But the solemn, loving look in those dark eyes, as well as the devout expression made his non-proposal work.
“Are you laughing because you’re happy? Or because I’m a stupid jackas–”
“Jack! Don’t ruin this by cursing. I will always look back on this as my real proposal.”
“Not after you experience the real proposal.” The promise was accompanied by that lift of his dark brows and the smirky expression she knew so well and loved–
the look she always wanted to kiss off his face...
And she did.
“So?”
Her back was on the sofa, and he came up from that epic kiss long enough to toss that one syllable word and punctuate it with another touch of his lips to hers.
“So what?”
It wasn’t coy. She had no idea what he was going on about. While waiting for her answer, he propped on his forearms and unwittingly pulled one of Tristan’s shirts from inside the sofa. Throwing it aside, he placed his lips just beneath her ear.
“Are you guys coming back with me to LA Friday?”
“Friday?”
Pushing up enough to stare into her face again, he searched her eyes and she pushed his hair from her eyes.
“I have this thing I have to go to. Album drop party. But if you can’t go, I can take the ‘lingerina’– “
The wrestling match ended with him finding the second of Tristan’s shirts in the couch and playfully using it as a chokehold.
“Okay. Yes. I’m there.” Making a production of coughing out the answer, she grabbed the shirt when he released it from her neck and slapped at him with it. “Thought these things took background checks. Can you get a background check in a day?”
“I could if I really wanted. But, I don’t have to. It’s already done.”
“You snooped me?”
This felt like more of a violation than internet stalking on a gossip site. A background check involved credit and finances. Still, she should have expected it would happen after calling up out of nowhere claiming to be the mother of his son. She learned different with his next words.
“I had my lawyer put it in motion the other day and put a rush on it. So that you could start going to stuff with me.”
Right there and then, her heart exploded with love, and she pulled him down expressing it in one passionate kiss. Even while they had been fighting, not speaking, he had seen the problem as temporary. He had still seen a future with her.
She could never get enough of just kissing him; could never imagine a day even years down the road, that she would not want her lips to his, the tease of their tongues.
But she didn’t mind when his attention strayed lower.
Her fingers clenched in his hair as he divided that attention equally, unequally, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was each swirl of his tongue or tug of his teeth felt more fiery than the previous.
Her shirt bunched beneath her arms, her bra hung unclipped, and her jeans vee’d open, but she stopped the hook of his hands at the waistband.
“We’re parents not hook ups...”
It didn’t make sense. She was trying to say that Tristan was stealthier than usual these days now that he did not lean on his crutches as much. However, she was incapable of a sensible sentence with him doing that...proving with a finger that clothes were no barrier...
Lifting his head enough that she could see the smirk she loved, he reworded, “We are parent’s hooking up.” With that, she was pulled to her feet, and when her strides were not fast enough, scooped into his arms and carried to the bedroom.
Bridal style.
CHAPTER 27
CHICKEN GUMBO. THIS was his new favorite food. Jack’s first taste of the dish had been on a night that was as rotten in his memories as it was epic.
The night Marissa went on a date after all he could think about, on the preceding flight over then the drive over, was kissing her crazy. The same night he had contentedly played karaoke, chutes and ladders, and read books to his son for almost six straight hours.
“Jack?” The bitch in his memories and love of his present reality drew him out of the reverie.
Looking up from his place on the couch, Jack saw that she held two hangers. Unconsciously, his mind fit first the loose dress, as he remembered it from the last wear, to her form. In the sunlight, during an ice cream run, he had watched it become see through enough to show a shadow of her legs as she walked. The next choice was a pair of pants he had yet to see her wear– capris if he remembered the term right– and a matching black top. Black was so hot on her.
“Which one?” she urgently prompted with a darting look to the clock over the den television.
Taking in the wet uncombed hair already beginning to wave around her anxious face, and the lightly tanned limbs not covered by the fluff of a towel that wrapped the really good parts of her body, he felt a grin twitch.
That’s not all that twitched.
His feet fell from the sofa table to the floor, the rest of him intent on a bathroom bang. Five minutes. Surely, she would be agreeable. Maybe he could make a deal. His mind ran through the possible sensuous bribes...and doing so was doing things...
“So, which one?” Mariss pressed. The outfits were still under her consideration. When Jack didn’t directly reply, her look swung away from the hangers toward him, until something detoured her eyes, and they narrowed. “Are you eating the gumbo already?”
Her annoyance was fleeting, because in that same second, her gaze slid to his face where it froze, perfectly reading his naughty thoughts. The return yearn was clear in the dilation darkening her eyes. Her lips looked slightly swollen from much kissing...and stuff, in the last couple of days, and they parted open as if already anticipating the things he desired, she desired.
This was all happening in the span of several seconds, but unfortunately, in that same duration, the two other occupants of the house crashed the party. Just in the last day or so, Tristan was down to one crutch and traveled at a faster rate of walking. Bally padded a length ahead, and the clip of her paws hit the den just before their son did.
“I can’t find my shirt!”
Reluctantly, Jack pulled his focus from Mariss but his heart immediately lifted upon seeing his son’s face. “What’s up buddy?”
“I can’t find my shirt.” Annoyance steeped the little guy’s words. Jack was quickly learning that Tristan didn’t like repeating or explaining his dialogue, and he controlled a smile. His mother would freak when she discovered this trait. In that way, Tristan took after his sister, Meg.
“Which shirt?” Jack prompted.
“The red guitar. It was on my dresser, and now it’s not.”
“Tristan, sweetheart, I washed it,” Mariss interjected.
“Can you get it for me?”
“It hasn’t been dried yet,” Mariss again. Wariness tinged her words.
“Why did you do that? I wanted to wear it,” Tristan whined, and the sound was extremely uncharacteristic of what Jack knew of his son’s personality so far. Marissa, however, did not seem surprised, and this odd mood swing possibly explained her cautionary tone. Jack wondered if their son had ever thrown down in a full-blown tantrum like Meg’s kids.
“Sweetheart,” Mariss gently addressed him. “You can’t keep taking it from the dirty laundry. It has to be washed sometimes.”
“Please get it Momma.” A shimmer of tears now accompanied the whimper, but Marissa’s visual attention was back on the hangers in her hand.
“Tristan, it’s wet–” Her tone was a shade different, slipping into a no-nonsense zone.
Straightening from the couch, Jack hastily intercepted, swinging their son into his arms before he could reply with another whine. Tristan was definitely looking disappointed enough to cry. “Let’s go check out the situation.”
“Jack, it’s wet in the washer...”
Curving a reassuring smile, he sent Marissa a significant ‘I got this’ lift of his eyebrows, and headed into the laundry room. Setting Tristan on top of the washer, Jack pulled it open and began digging around in the mass of wet clothing. Spotting the bright red shirt, he handed it off to the little boy. Next, he emptied the dryer of all except one of the shirts in the dry load, tossed the red shirt in, and set the timer.
“Okay, let’s go pick something else out to wear while it dries.”
Stopping to scoop his crutch from the floor, Jack carried Tristan into his room and began the unnerving task of finding som
ething he would actually wear for this dinner tonight.
Maybe in the little boy’s mind, somehow, he knew how momentous the night was. As well as the grandparents he knew and loved, he would also be meeting Jack’s parents– grandparents he had never known existed until the previous day.
Over the last day and a half, the plans had come about.
Marissa and Tristan were flying with him back to LA for a few weeks, then on tour with him, and finally they would all come back, pack the necessities from the house, and close it up enough to leave it for several months.
Since Marissa’s parents were driving her crazy to meet him, and his parents were having a conniption to meet her and Tristan, they had decided to do both at once.
Not only did one family get-together solve the time factor, but also Jack was in a better comfort zone with his parents around, and the same applied to Marissa when it came to meeting their respective future in-laws.
His mother wanted to fly everyone to Dallas, to their family home. Jack knew her ulterior motive was that his sister, Meg, might join if everyone gathered in Dallas. However, Marissa explained that her parents would be uncomfortable with that arraignment and proposed that everyone come here.
HERE. Here, to this house.
Then, on top of that, Marissa nixed the plans to eat out, deciding to do the cooking herself. Once he thought about it, Jack was sure this plan was for Tristan’s sake.
The doorbell rang as soon as Tristan poked his head through the compromise car tee shirt. Jack promised to let him change into the guitar shirt as soon as it dried.
“Jack!” Marissa’s voice came from her bedroom and drifted down the hallway. “Can you? Please?”
With an affirmative reply, he stopped before the front entrance. Through the peephole, he beheld the couple who had been at the hospital that first fateful morning. Stealthy jumping away from the door, he sprinted to her bedroom and was brought up short by her appearance.
Hot.
She had chosen the dress. Somehow, in the quarter of an hour since he last saw her, she had applied light makeup, and her hair had dried to a just damp state.
