by S. Ann Cole
I rolled my eyes. “JK can kiss my ass.”
Brow arched, Saskia dared through a smirk, “Why don’t you tell him that when he gets back?”
“Whenever I have a death wish, sure.”
JK was cool, but he also didn’t mess around. He believed there was a time and place for everything, and one ought to know when and what place was appropriate for what. To stay on his good side, having the ability to gauge his moods was necessary, and trust me, that was no easy feat.
With how negligent I’d been for the past three weeks, so far, he’s been unusually tolerable. Obviously his patience with me was running thin now. Family was something he took seriously, and as far as he was concerned, Jacob and I were family.
In fact, Jacob called him Da Da. JK was present at every single doctor’s appointment leading up to my due date. He’d altruistically helped nurturing Jacob from the time of his birth. He’d turned down clients and canceled appointments to be a temporary father.
So there in Jacob’s life, that it had been no big deal for him to pick up the slack when I checked out after seeing the report on Davian.
Earlier I was angry at Saskia for flipping me off the couch, but now I understood why she did it: she knew, like everyone else knew, that whenever JK got serious, he was a juggernaut.
No way in hell would I be telling him to “kiss my ass” when he got home.
“Arghhhhh!” Saskia suddenly convulsed, her body lurching forward, and I screamed when she nearly landed chest down on the knife in her hand. She narrowly missed it, as the knife flew from her hand and skidded across the island toward me.
Hopping off the barstool, I rushed around the island to her aid.
It was happening again. The intense stomach pains right before she lost the baby.
This was her third pregnancy. Her first was a couple months before mine. She wasn’t ready for it, and threw around the idea of an abortion a couple times, which led up to some dirty, ugly fights with her husband. Weeks later it was stomach pains, then bleeding, then miscarriage.
JK was devastated. He took it out on Saskia. Blamed her. Said she lost it because she never wanted it in the first place. They were separated for all of two months before they realized they couldn’t live without each other and he moved back in.
To make it up to him, she went off birth control. So the second time—when I was around six months in with Jacob—wasn’t an accident. She’d planned it, wanted it, was excited. But the results were same as the first: crippling stomach pain for days. Then bleeding. Then miscarriage.
Doctors found no problems. One hundred percent salubrious. Said it was all green for her to try again.
This time she was all of four months ahead, no scares, so all had seemed well.
Until now…
Saskia howled out again in pain, doubling over. Wrapping my arms around her, I slowly sank with her to the floor, as her whole being shook, sobs bursting from her throat, echoing loud and piercing throughout the house. “No! No! He’ll leave…” She wound up tight as it seemed another blast of pain lanced through her. “He’ll leave me…no-uh-uh-ooo…He’ll leave me this time.”
All I could do was hold her. When these intense pains hit her that’s all one could do until it subsided. The doctor had recommended she curl up in a fetus position until it passed.
“He loves you, Kia,” I told the top of her head. “He won’t leave.”
“I can’t lose him, Ally,” she cried. “If I lose this baby, I lose him for good. I just know it.”
Just before she got pregnant this third time, she confided in me that she thought the reason JK loved and cared for Jacob so hard was because he’d somehow subconsciously replaced the miscarried babies with Jacob. He’d used Jacob to fill a void.
She feared the moment Davian found out about Jacob and claimed him, JK would fall apart, because all along he’d been using someone else’s child as a Band-Aid.
“Kia, listen to me,” I whispered, hugging her tighter, closer. “You won’t lose JK, okay? And you won’t lose this baby. Lest I climb a ladder up to heaven and have it out with God in person.”
She cried harder.
The love of my life was sound asleep in my arms. Chubby arms and legs curled into me, cheek smushed against my right breast, mouth agape.
Jacob was the spitting image of his father. Same wondrous blue eyes, thick brown hair. The older he grew, the more obvious it would become to the people around us whose child he was.
Of course, I would have to come clean with Davian one day, but definitely not anytime soon, considering he was busy doing the happily-ever-after dance with another woman. Maybe when Jacob was old enough to start asking questions about his father I’ll include Davian. But for now, he was my pride and joy.
Although I’ve been a shitty mother over the past couple of weeks, that was provisional. Jacob was who I used to fill every gaping hole in my life, to ease every pain. He was my sweetest mistake, my most fortunate accident.
“You let her flip a couch?!”
Jacob flinched in his sleep at the booming explosion, and I winced, both from JK’s outraged voice and from Jacob waking. It took cruising to heaven on a magic carpet and back to get this little boy to fall asleep.
“JK, calm down.” My voice was carefully quiet as I raised my head to look at him. Tall and beautiful, glowering down at me. “I didn’t—”
“Care to keep an eye on her ‘cause you’re too busy bein’ self-centered?” he asked, being a dick as usual. “And what was she doing holding a knife? Where the hell was Sylvie?”
We were at a private hospital. When the pain hadn’t passed like it usually did, I’d panicked and rushed Kia to her doctor. JK met up with us there, handed me Jacob, and they’d been with Doctor Berkley for the last hour.
“I don’t know,” I said tiredly. “Kia’s stubborn and does whatever she wants.”
“That’s not how it works, Alina!” he barked at me.
This time Jacob woke up with a tiny jerk, not crying, just looking confused. Like his mother, Jacob wasn’t a crier. Didn’t even breastfeed. It had been hell with him as a newborn.
My eyes darted around the waiting room, and thankfully there weren’t a lot of people around.
“What do you want from me, JK?” I asked him, rocking Jacob with the aim of getting him back to sleep. “How could I have known she was going to flip the couch? And should I know why she was dicing fruits instead of Sylvie? I was dealing with my own shit, alright?”
His gold eyes flashed, narrowed, then his arms flung out from his sides in surrender. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry for expectin’ anything at all from you, Alina. Go on. Carry on carin’ about you and you alone.” He dipped into his jeans pocket for his cell. “Will just call Manda to move back in at least until Sassy gives birth.”
“Why?”
“’Cause right now Sassy needs someone around who loves her enough to taste her food for poison before lettin’ her eat it.”
Well, that didn’t hurt at all.
“Good luck with that,” I hissed without thinking. “I’m sure Manda’s happy living her own life in L.A with Zane than to come running to wait at Kia’s beck and call.”
JK shook his head at me, as if he couldn’t believe I said that. I couldn’t either. But he was trying to make it seem like he couldn’t trust me in the house with his wife, and that vexed me.
In a surprisingly gentle voice, he said, “She’ll come. That’s how it is when you really love someone. You put their life ahead of yours. No matter the cost.”
“So basically you’re saying—”
“I trust Manda with my wife. She’s there, I can leave the house with a peace of mind knowin’ Sassy won’t even be brushin’ her own hair.”
Breaking eye contact, because I knew he was right, I dropped my gaze. Amanda was Saskia’s best friend who would, literally not metaphorically, dive on top of a bomb for her.
JK turned and st
rode off, but halfway down the hall, he made a U-turn and came back to sit beside me.
“Go away.”
“Not tryna hurt you, Ally. Just think you got some issues you need to sort through,” he said quietly. “You haven’t dealt with your parents’ death, and you haven’t dealt with Davi’s absence.” He held up a hand as I started to interject. “Your attitude over the past couple of weeks is not you dealin’ with your shit, Ally. That’s just the sound of you breakin’. You used Davi to patch the crack made by your parents’ death, then you used Jacob to patch the one made by Davi. Now those cracks are splitting wider and wider, and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble to pieces if you don’t stop pretendin’ to be tough and deal with your pain.”
Jacob was crying. Why was he crying? He never cries.
Then I realized his bright blue eyes were dry, and he was merely staring up at me, googoogaga-ing. Wanting to know what was wrong with his mommy. Because the tears on his face weren’t his. They were mine. My liquid pain falling down to his soft, delicate, innocent face.
Salty liquid that hadn’t wet my eyes in years. JK was right. I was breaking. With each day that dragged by, I could feel myself getting weaker and weaker.
JK was quiet for a long time. Seeing me cry was probably the biggest shocker of his day. “Think you need to start by tryna live a little. Yeah? You haven’t left the house unless it’s absolutely necessary since Davi. You have no friends, and you don’t pay attention to anything or anyone but Jacob. Only twenty-one, Ally. Can’t live like this.”
Tilting my head, I glanced over at him through the blur of tears. “What? You want me to move out?”
He shook his head no. “Lion’s been blowin’ up both me and Sassy’s phone to get to you. Has something lined up and wanna cash in on that deal you made with him.”
Slumping back in the chair, I sighed. I’d known it was only a matter of time. No stone went unturned with Lion T’mar.
Back when I found out I was preggers, I’d gleefully given him that update, thinking it would get me out of the deal. For sure, he couldn’t still want me to model after having a baby, could he?
Wrong. Three months after giving birth to Jacob, a personal trainer showed up on our doorstep. A trainer assigned by Lion, with the sole purpose of getting me back in shape and eating healthy.
The trainer was a fat and muscle murderer. In less than six months, I was in far better shape than I was before Jacob. Couple months after that, he flew in with a team, and I spent an entire week in a studio playing dress-up and posing for flashing cameras to make up a portfolio.
Fortunately, I never heard much from Lion after that. Now he was back knocking.
My mother was stunning with six Ns. Dad used to worship her, neighbors used to envy her, and I used to be in awe, she was so striking.
Only thing I got from Dad was height and strong will. Other than that, I was practically a clone of Mom: silky long dark hair and lashes that looked fake, obsidian-colored eyes, rose-colored lips and high cheek bones. I had a mirror; I knew what I looked like. Still, I couldn’t fathom why Lion thought I could become some renowned model.
“Can’t you talk to him and get me out of that contract?”
“I could,” JK said, nodding, “but I won’t.”
Even with tears in my eyes, I gave him an evil glare.
“Listen, I know you don’t need the income or even care to be a model, but I honestly think it’s the best thing for you right now.”
“You want me to leave my son to go pose half-naked in L.A?” I said, incredulous.
“Change of scenery.” He shrugged. “A chance for you to live a little, meet some friends, be a twenty-one year old. Do something other than stay cooped up in the house and fuss over Jacob. L.A’s good for it.”
“I-I can’t. Jacob—”
“I’ll take care of Jacob until you get back.”
Despite the slobbery mess my face was, I smirked at him. “Oh, you’d just love that, wouldn’t you?”
That infamous disarming crooked grin slid onto his face. “What can I say? Love the little guy.”
He did. He really did love Jacob. I never expected JK of all people to be so involved in Jacob’s life. But he was always there. Disappeared with him for hours sometimes. We got into arguments all the time about him stealing Jacob and leaving with him when no one was looking. I’d walk into his studio and find him instructing a class with Jacob on his side or in a baby rocking chair parked next to him, feet kicking as he babbled spit bubbles.
Having Jacob all to himself now? What joys for him.
“Leaving my son behind is a big deal, JK.”
“Nope,” he said, getting up, “making a deal with Lion’s a big deal. One I ain’t helpin’ you out of.”
Another teary evil glare directed at him, but he just shrugged and leaned down to steal Jacob from my arms. Ignoring my protests, he started back to the doctor’s room, stopping briefly to say, “You didn’t ask, but, yeah, she’s okay. The baby’s okay. We’re okay.”
Then he was gone. With my son. He’d had him all day, I had him for only an hour, and he was gone with him again.
I could hear Jacob’s voice echoing down the hall “dada…daaaadaaaa…dada!”
For a long while I just sat there, staring down at the tattoo on my wrist, not knowing what to do with myself, and too ashamed to go check on Saskia.
I tried a coffee from the waiting room coffee machine and spat it right back in the cup the thing was so disgusting. I needed, really needed, a good cup. My spirit was dying.
My cell buzzed in my pocket:
XX: Seriously, what did I do wrong? I miss talking to you…
Ignoring the text, I headed out to the parking lot, I found Nick, JK’s driver, and Thomas, Saskia’s driver, looking as worried as they did both times Saskia miscarried.
“The baby’s okay,” I announced before either of them could annoy me with questions. To Thomas, “Can you take me to Starbucks? The coffee inside sucks and if I don’t get a cup of Frappuccino right now, I’m gonna peel my skin off.”
Thomas gave Nick a chin-lift then opened the car door for me to get in. As he drove out of the hospital he asked, “Mind me asking how you’re doing, Alina? You don’t look like yourself.”
“Like I said, I need coffee.”
Knowing when to back off as always, Thomas killed his curiosity and silently drove me to my favorite Starbucks in Union Square, located on the fourth floor inside Macy’s, with its lovely view.
With the sun losing its strength, the clouds were a beautiful reflection of pale yellow and orange, shifting against the fading blue expanse of sky.
All the baristas at this particular Starbucks knew me well because of my link to Saskia and JK, so I never joined the long lines. Whenever I walked in all I had to do was find a seat and they’d come to me with my Frappuccino.
That’s exactly what I was doing, sitting by the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out across at Saks Fifth Avenue and Tiffany & Co., when someone draped in a black hoodie with a ball cap underneath claimed the seat across from me.
I hadn’t planned on acknowledging the person, because I got harried all the time by both men and women alike about my “features”. Usually I ignored them until they scooped up their dignity and left me alone.
But this person, this particular person brought an energy-sucking heat with them. A defying heat. A heat that changed the direction of the winds, the temperature of the room, the beat of one’s heart. A heat that wiped all your thoughts and forced you to acknowledge.
So, I looked. Not because I wanted to, but because my instincts, my stubborn will and nasty attitude was undermined and vetoed by the person’s heat.
It took a second, but when I narrowed my gaze and recognized the steel-gray eyes staring back at me under that ball-cap and black hoodie, I emitted a tiny gasp.
One long, calloused finger slowly pressed to those famous red lips as they
protruded out to convey “shh”.
I nodded my understanding. If anyone in the building recognized the face under the ball-cap and hoodie, it would be pandemonium in Union Square.
Sitting across from me, sucking all the air from out of the room with an intense and undeniable magnetism, was Xavier Xander. Guitarist for the reigning number one rock band in the world, Ninety Miles.
Before now, we’d never actually met face to face, and it was lost on me how he was even here.
A couple months back when I was out grocery shopping with Saskia, paparazzi snapped a bunch of pictures of us and blasted them all over the internet, because, well, superstar Saskia Day was grocery shopping.
Xavier happened to see those pictures and developed a rather futile and unhealthy interest in the “sexy raven beside Saskia Day”. Although he wasn’t supposed to, due to their band-mate’s beef with JK, he’d reached out to Saskia and begged her to hook us up.
Of course, Saskia was afraid of JK flying off the handle, so she outright refused. Xavier, however, was like a dog with a bone. He threatened to show up on her doorstep with Tex and create a scene enough to attract paparazzi to splash all kind of rumors over the news.
Saskia, frustrated and annoyed, gave him my digits so I could get rid of him myself.
In our first text exchange, I told him I was a new mother, fresh out of labor, hence a very slack, cold vagina—hoping that would scare him off.
All it did was make him even more interested. When he asked about the father, I told him he died fighting in the war in Iraq. This horrid lie was an even brighter green light for him. No matter how bizarre the stories I made up about myself, it didn’t deter him.
Soon it became fun, a pastime, and I began texting him for the heck of it. Before I knew it, five months had passed and we were still “text dating”.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t fathom how something as innocent as text dating could lead to him sitting across from me right now.
“Nice to see you’re not dead,” he said, voice rich and thick and deep. The bass of his inflect traveled to my stomach, my organs dancing to the treble.
