by Neal, Xavier
Day 22 in Georgia
“There ya go. To the left,” Pa instructs Jazz who is giggling while staring at her feet. “What kinda lady doesn't know how to 2 step? What has my Rascal been teachin' ya?”
“Other things,” I reply from the couch causing Jazz to miss a step crushing his toes.
“Ou...” Pa grumbles and breaks their hands.
“Sorry,” she sheepishly apologizes. “I'm usually a really fast learner.”
“Don't you fret sugar.” He waves a hand at her before a startling cough comes from him. “I need a minute anyway. A little winded.”
“You okay Pa?” I ask as he flops in his old recliner, the cough still there but faint now.
“I'm fine,” he insists. “You're getting' as bad Ma. It's nothin' a little whiskey can't burn away.”
Before I can make an argument back, Jazz's phone begins to vibrate across the table. Quickly she snatches it up and excuses herself out of the living room. Upon her exit comes Barkley who flops down beside Pa, head on his feet.
“Is it just me or is that dog getting more attached to you?”
“He's a good boy.” Pa pats his head. “And that's a good woman.”
“I know, Pa.”
“Two left feet,” he proceeds. “Still a good woman. Make sure you take good care of her even when you two return to duty.”
“I will...” I slouch down in my seat. Not sure how that's gonna fly over with The Director, but that's a bridge I'll light on fire when I have too. Leaving my brothers on the team or being with the only woman made for me isn't a choice I'll take lightly. Good thing is no matter which I have to choose, the other will understand and make do. Most likely Jazz will either put in a transfer or just leave what happens in the dark there while being professional in the light. I could live like that. There are worse ways.
Jazz saunters back in and I give her a head tilt. “Everything good?”
“Um...” Her voice trails off for a second. She gives Pa a brief look and then lets her green eyes settle back on me. Tilting her face she nods to me. “It really is...”
“The phone call?”
“Nothing to report.” She flops down beside me, tossing her legs into my lap.
Still cautious I ask in Welsh, “Rydych yn siwr?”
“Yes,” she sternly answers.
“Choisir une langue que je ne suis pas familier avec? Pas intelligent.” Pa grabs his whiskey glass from beside him to take a sip.
“You speak French?” Jazz says surprised. “How did I miss that?”
He has a sip, “I speak more than French sugar.”
Baffled she looks at me. “The Lord family has always had a rather open door policy. Pa and Grandpa, his father, have housed many immigrants. Whether they were seeking refuge or simply passing through, it was rare they were turned away.”
“Tunnels under this house helped with the underground rail road too sugar. My family comes from a long line of helpin' others. Not judging by looks or background.”
“Rarity in the south,” Jazz comments.
“No sugar. That's a rarity everywhere,” his correction has her smiling again. “That's how I was raised and despite the way Jonny acts now, he wasn't raised that way. I've also made a heavy effort to change his boy's ways, but that's fallin' on deaf ears. But Rascal...Rascal has that rarity in him.”
“So that's why Lordy's so welcoming to everyone?”
Pa nods and I add, “It's also why learning other languages was easier for me than anything else. Growing up I met some of Pa's guests and picked up a few things. When they would write him letters, most of the time it was in another language and as he read it, he explained the words. During the summers when it was too hot to do anything I'd read back through them to keep the skills sharp.”
“Wow,” she says clearly bewildered. “You really are full of surprises aren't you?”
Pa leans back, his favorite glass resting on his knee. “Een wijs man is goed afgerond, openhartig, en kent de echte macht is niet alleen in kennis, maar in begrip.”
“My Dutch is a little rusty,” Jazz sighs looking at me for translation.
“He said, 'A wise man is well rounded, open hearted, and knows the real power is found not only in knowledge but in understanding.'.”
“Brilliant,” Jazz compliments, her fingers folding with mine. “Simply brilliant. How'd you get this way?”
With a grin he winks. “Peaches.”
“His answer for everything.” I roll my eyes.
“It's the perfect answer, Rascal.” They laugh and I shake my head. “Jazz, you close to your family or a runaway like my grandson?”
“I'm an only child. Not close to my parents. My grandparents are dead on both sides. Both of my parents are only children as well.”
“Well the way you and Rascal keep makin' noise, I feel that tradition might end with you.” The words are meant in a playful way but causes a change in Jazz's breathing. She loosens her fingers from mine.
Knowing the answer, she pretends not too. “What about you? Only child?”
He nods. “My twin died two days after he was born. Hit my parents so hard they didn't want any more children. Mary Belle was an only child too. Her mom had many miscarriages. The two of us rolled the dice many times and only got Jonny. Lord always has a plan with life I suppose...”
Once upon a time I would've been prepared to argue why that wasn't true until I was blue in the face. Throw down the list of trials and tribulations I faced. Demand an explanation for the spit in my eye and piss in my cereal, but now, I'm starting to think Pa's right. Just like he always is.
Day 27 in Georgia
“What do you mean you can't bake?” Ma fusses at Jazz while I stir the ingredients in the bowl faster to hide my laughter. “God gave you two hands. You can bake.”
Not true. Not everyone can bake and contrary to her belief you can't turn everyone into a baker. Sure, I can make a mean peach pie, but that shit took years to accomplish and many lessons that ended with a pop on the head with a wooden spoon. I hate wooden spoons.
“I really can't,” Jazz insists. “I am not the baker in the bunch.”
“My best friend Grim.” I pop into the conversation. “His wife is a baker. Gave her your cobbler recipe--”
“You did what?” She drops the knife she was using to cut up vegetables for the salad. Seeing the sheer panic in my eyes she snaps, “Jody Eugene Lord, that girl better be family! That recipe--”
“I know! I know!” I squeak in return. “She is! They are! I mean Grim's like a brother to me.”
“That's not sayin' much.” She picks her knife back up. “Your brothers treat you like old corn stuck in their back teeth.”
“Grim and Glove treat him like brothers should.” Jazz backs me with a crooked smile. “They're good men too.”
“You whip them into shape, don't you?” She gives Jazz a knowing look. “Keep them in line?”
“Kinda my job.”
“And my job is to prove to you, you can bake. Now Rascal,” Ma turns around to face me. “Take your girl out to your favorite peach tree and pick a few for the crumble bars we're makin' for dessert.” Jazz's mouth drops to argue when Ma points at her. “You're learnin' to bake 'em sugar. Don't make me get the spoon...”
Putting the bowl down, I wipe my hands on a towel. With a kiss on the cheek I assure her, “No need for the spoon Ma. We'll grab a few good ones and be back soon...”
With a sigh she shrugs, “Take your time. Do it right.”
I drop a whisper in Jazz's ear as I pass, “Oh I plan to...”
Quickly she turns to follow me out the back door onto the porch, her line of thoughts as clear as my own. Swooping up a basket to carry the peaches back in, I grab a hold of her hand and drag her off the direction we need to go. Along the way she laughs lightly, stops to teasingly kiss me while rubbing herself against me, before pushing me to keep going to our destination. I love this side of her. This side no one sees. This side I didn't even know
really existed before a few weeks ago. That bullshit saying about the soft side of a person being sexy is fucking true. In her case? Really fucking true.
I steer us left, drop the basket and start backing her up against the tree. “All that talk about peaches got me hungry for something else darlin'.”
Excitedly Jazz grins back. “Oh yeah? What's that?”
“The only thing in the world that tastes better,” I answer arms landing on each side of her, trapping her in. My lips drop to the side of her neck having a small bite. “You.”
She moans and pushes her tits against me, my hand not being able to resist the invitation to slide under her tank top. Another perk of being out here. No buttons ups and business suits. All easy access clothes. All the time. Gently, I tweak her nipple over her bra resulting in a very loud mewl. I'm still learning how intense she likes it. Jazz's mouth turns in search of mine while my hand roughly works her jean skirt up in search of a haven to bury itself in. At the same moment my tongue touches her, two of my fingers mimic the action inside of her, hitting two hot spots at once that damn near light the tree on fire. Unsure of what else to do, her frenetic hands clutch onto my t-shirt as she rocks against my already moving fingers, desperation to come as beautiful as the clear sky day. Our movements continue, escalating an orgasm out of her that's fast and hard. The impact of her screams echo through my entire body to the point, I can't get my jeans down fast enough. Through the grace of God, I get my cock free, her thong gone, and her legs spread to welcome me to my territory. Mine. The only man to walk this planet that will ever touch this paradise. That thought alone is enough to make me bust a nut, but the way Jazz keeps crying out like a starving person that just can't be satisfied is what has my cock swelling at a painful velocity. Her head falls to my shoulder as I heave myself inside her. My groans are so deep and barbarous that if I wasn't balls deep in my girl, I wouldn't believe they were leaking out of me. Thrust after thrust comes from me until I can feel Jazz's body ready to wave it's white flag of juicy surrender. As it does, as it demands that I take it away and enslave it, I let myself do just that when I let go inside of her.
Struggling to catch our breaths, we stay still, awkwardly embraced while the air buzzes around us. On a deep exhale, Jazz lifts her head at the same time I let her leg down. “Please tell me sex is always that good.”
“Have I disappointed you yet darlin'?” the question brings color to her cheeks as she playfully pushes at my chest.
“Don't get cocky.”
“I'm pretty sure you like me like that. Unless those screams meant something else.”
Slowly she shakes her head. “Lordy...”
I playfully chuckle, swiftly kiss her lips, and sigh, “All yours darlin'.”
“Mmm...” she replies, running a hand down my face.
After another chaste kiss, I wiggle my dick back into my pants. “We should probably grab those peaches. Ever picked 'em before?”
“No,” she answers grabbing her underwear from the ground and stuffing them in her pocket.
The idea she won't be wearing any panties for the rest of the afternoon has my dick twitching to resurrect itself. Trying to push the thought out of the forefront of my mind I ask, “Have you picked anything before?”
“Besides you three?” I shoot her a sarcastic smirk. “No. Not necessarily a nature person.”
“Out here, it's hard not to be.” Jazz's face turns to me to witness my scouting of the tree begin. “Pa used to love to go fishin' and huntin' with the very stern rule, if you kill it, you eat it. Gotta say. Squirrel is not my favorite.”
She gags. “Acquired taste I'm assuming?”
Yanking a couple of perfect peaches I put them in the basket. “When Pa had to work, Ma taught me a lot about spotting the right fruit for pickin' and when they were both too busy, I found myself up a lot of trees or restin' under them. That's the thing about nature. Doesn't judge you because your family is wealthy or your parents hate you. Only thing it cares about is if you know how to survive in it.”
With a smile she grabs a peach and holds it out for me to inspect. After passing my approval she adds, “Like being a Marine. Nothing matters but your ability to get the job done and how well you do it.”
“Yeah.” Looking away I agree, “Guess so.”
The two of us grab a few more and start heading back towards the house.
“When I have kids someday, one of the first things they're going to learn is how to pick a peach.”
“Really?” Jazz's eyebrows scrunch. “Peach picking with dad 1-0-1.”
“What did Pa say the secret to a happy marriage was? Peaches and laughter. Gotta start the kids off right.”
She shakes her head and carefully says, “Lordy...you do know the likeliness of being a family, the kind you dream of, isn't favorable considering what you do right? Statistically speaking your fatality rate is higher than the average military unit. By at least 80 percent.”
Wrapping an arm around her shoulder I don't let her practical talk bother me. “If you don't want kids just say that.”
“I don't,” she states firmly. Slightly surprised by the answer, she stops us from moving any further. “In fact...I...I can't have kids, Lordy.” When I raise my eyebrows to answer she sighs, “One of the final things I did when Shepard asked me to join the team was have that problem resolved by having metal coils placed inside my tubes.”
A sharp pain thrums through my chest. I try to push past it. I try to remain calm. “How could you do that?”
“Children complicate things. Everything in fact. Just like relationships--”
“Now, I'm a complication darlin'?”
“Yes,” the answers blows me back again. This damn sure wasn't the way I saw the evening heading. “But you've been a complication long before we got to this point. I don't need another one of a child. Besides. Statistically speaking, most relationships fail. The one your grandparents share, that's the rarity. Relationships are typically built to fail. Both parties are rarely honest with one another, take Grim and Haven--”
“They're married now Jazz.”
“True, but everything about that relationship pointed to failure. That it should have failed.”
“Then why didn't it?”
“Because there are exceptions to every number crunch,” she sighs stepping towards me. “Anomalies that don't make any logical sense. The three of you are another example. None of you should still be standing. More importantly you shouldn't get along like you do. The evidence is apparent. Yet the three of you are so flawlessly perfect together you reset the system.” Jazz's hand runs up my chest as her green eyes soften. “This thing between us is a complication, one that could end both of our careers, but I think even against the odds it can survive. Break the rule. Just like I don't want kids because given my background, my upbringing, the way I saw my life going they would be an unneeded complication, it doesn't mean something won't come along to force those numbers to be re-figured.”
“Is that your way of sayin', if someday I want them--”
“That we'll figure it the fuck out then? Yeah...” My grin grows and she shakes her head. “I analyze everything--”
“Over analyze.”
“But it doesn't mean I don't have hope for the exceptions to the things right in front of me. Believe it or not, it's one reason Shepard trusts me like he does. I can read a situation. I can see what's right in front of me and tell you why you're going to take the small chance to defy the odds.”
“Are you ever wrong?”
“You boys are still alive aren't you?”
My arm snakes around her waist as my lips brush hers. “More than ever before darlin'. More than ever before...” Before she can keep talking I drop my tongue against hers proving to her why this complication will be the best she's ever had.
Jazz and I enter the kitchen just as Ma is coming back in it. “Oh thank heavens you're here! There are a couple young men claiming they're here to see you. Pa has them cornered
with the shot gun on the porch.”
“Shit,” I mutter dropping the basket on the counter.
Quickly I jog through the house, Ma's scolding me for running a faint sound easily ignored. Rushing out onto the front porch I see Pa with his shotgun leaned against the railing beside him as he stares skeptically at my military brothers.
“That one's too pretty to be a Marine, Rascal,” Pa denies shaking his head.
“I get that a lot.” Glove nods proudly.
Grim groans, “He's not that attractive.”
“I look like a goddamn underwear model.”
“Only because that's the only piece of clothing you always remember to put on,” Grim gripes as I start to laugh from the familiar banter.
“Always is pushing it.”
“Shoot him.” Grim shrugs. “Anything to shut him up at this point.”
Pa glances at me. “I like him. But does he ever smile?”
“No.” I immediately answer. “Well, his girl makes him smile.”
“That her in the truck?” Pa points to their truck, which is pulled in behind mine. Diverting my attention that direction, I see Haven's eyes are popping out of her head with a nervous expression. While Jazz is prestigious and albeit slightly pretentious, she's very by the textbook. A realists most days. Haven has to be the complete opposite. At least she seems that way to me. And while Jazz is all business suits, tight hair do, perfected make up, most of the time, Haven's in jeans, sweaters, and t-shirts to keep her coffee colored frame covered. It's an attractive one. She definitely curves in numerous places, but not the epitome of sexy to me. No. There's only one woman like that.
