by T. Torrest
When I lead him into the yard, the girls are lounging around the lawn chairs and offer a united sing-song of a greeting, a la Charlie’s Angels. “Hiii, Jack!”
That makes him smile in spite of himself. A sad smile, but at least it’s a crack in his cheerless reserve.
I set him up with a beer as Tess flips a burger onto a bun for me. I fix it up just right and then deliver it to Jack, before settling myself at the end of his chaise, digging a stone out of my sandal. Our “yard” is nothing more than two-hundred square feet of sand covered in beach pebble. Even with my summer-tempered feet coming along nicely, walking around barefoot out here is not an option.
“Your brothers said to tell you ‘hi’.”
Jack pauses mid-chew. “What?”
I proceed to ramble on about our entire evening, telling him about Tess’s crash-landing into Sean, Vix meeting her surfer dude, Chris, and of course, my performing debut. He simply refuses to believe that we truly sang onstage. The other girls back me up on my story, but it’s not until I catalogue the sheer quantity of alcohol consumed prior to my Joan Jett impersonation that he actually believes me.
“You should have heard your brothers tearing me to shreds. Sean was all, ‘I guess there’s more than one rock star in the family.’ It was so funny.”
Jack has a polite smile pasted on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes. Man, he’s just a barrel of laughs today. Shug must have really done a number on him.
“Babe?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“You okay?”
Jack takes a sip from his beer and rests the back of his head against the cushion. “No.” He glides a hand lightly across my knee. “But don’t worry about it. I guess I’m just overthinking things today.”
Don’t worry about it? The guy looks as though he’s ready to stick his head in the oven.
By his tone, it’s almost like he’s mad at me for something, but I don’t remember saying or doing anything worth catching attitude for. It’s not like him to dance around a subject if there was a problem, anyway.
I decide to just let him sulk. He’ll open up when he feels ready, and I’ll just make sure to be there for him when he does. As concerned as I am, there’s really nothing else I can do. If I was in a mood, I wouldn’t want anyone hovering all over me. Besides, I still have some salads to throw together before the guys get here. I excuse myself from Jack’s side with a concerned smile and a pat on his leg.
CHAPTER 37
Tuesday, July 4, 1995
9:37 PM
The Beach
Manasquan
Once it gets dark, we decide to take the party up to the beach. It’s amateur hour up here with all the budding pyro-technicians setting off their ill-gotten fireworks. Theoretically, it’s illegal to set off explosives in New Jersey, but the beach patrol normally looks the other way on the Fourth. You can’t even buy fireworks around here, so I know most of these people must have driven down to South of the Border to stockpile for the event. Every few dozen yards along the water’s edge, there’s a makeshift launchpad set up, surrounded by the silhouette of a few daring drunkards with lighters.
Our group is back far enough to avoid any potential injuries, our beach chairs arranged in a semicircle facing the ocean. With nearly every burst of color in the sky, someone, if not all of us, will respond with an “Oooh” or an “Ahhh.” I know it’s corny, but it’s tradition.
Bucking tradition this year is Monty, who’s in London for the holiday with Walter. Good place to be on America’s birthday—out of the country. But thankfully, Ronnie and Tom showed up within a few minutes of Jack.
From the first second they walked into the backyard, we all made a big deal of congratulating Ronnie and busting his chops about the engagement. Now that their relationship is official, I can see that he and Tess really do make a great couple.
It’s good that he and Tom got down when they did, because I was able to let them deal with Jack for the afternoon. I kept my distance because I didn’t want to constantly be buzzing around him, annoyingly trying to cheer him up. Not that the guys had much luck on their end in that department, either.
Jack remained remote all day. Whenever I would ask him a question, he’d give me a one-word answer, if at all. I know he’s upset, but he’s never been moody. It’s starting to get my feathers up. Even now, he isn’t even sitting next to me to watch the fireworks. He’s at the end of our semicircle, drinking a bottled water. At least he’s not drowning his sorrows in alcohol.
I wish I could get a moment alone to talk with him. He hasn’t even alluded to his meeting yesterday, but I think it will do us both good to discuss it. I’m sick of tiptoeing around the subject.
The fireworks are winding down, so everyone gathers up the chairs and coolers to go back to the house for dessert. Vix made this really cute cake with blueberries, strawberries, and whipped cream arranged on top like an American flag.
I’m lagging behind, trying to fold my uncooperative beach chair as Jack comes to the rescue. But instead of helping, he takes the chair from my hands and sets it back down in the sand.
I look up at him. “Do you want to talk?”
He nods in the affirmative, looking blankly at something over my left shoulder.
I jog a few steps to catch up with our group, letting them know we might be a while. Tess raises her eyebrows and offers, “Have fuuun.”
I just roll my eyes. I can pretty much guarantee that there won’t be any beach sexcapades tonight. But I don’t bother to tell her that. It’s probably beyond her comprehension.
I walk back to our chairs only to find that Jack isn’t there. He’s at the edge of the water, looking out at the ocean, his hands crammed into his pockets. I hate seeing him like this. From the back, even his posture makes him look completely despondent.
Walking up behind him, I slip my arms around his waist in a consoling hug. Before I can even complete the movement, he grabs my hands to stop me.
What the hell?
He turns to face me, and by the look in his eyes, I already know this is going to be bad.
I don’t want to speak first and he looks like he can’t speak at all, which makes for this heated, awkward silence between us. I’m just looking at him, waiting, and he won’t even look me in the eye.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “There are some things we need to talk about.”
Ya think?
“Like what?”
Jack runs a hand through his hair and then slides it down to massage his neck. “The meeting with Shug went really well.” For such exciting news, he doesn’t seem very happy about spilling it. “But that means we’re leaving for this tour. Effective immediately. As in, first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Well… wow! That’s… Congratulations, Jack! This is exactly what we wanted. But why—”
“By ‘we,’ I mean me and the band. I’m leaving for this tour. Understand?”
Understand? My eyes narrow as his words—combined with his crappy mood all day—suddenly start to become clear. “Without me, you mean.”
“I just can’t see it happening.”
There are more people in the band than just Jack Tanner. Chances are good that he has to take their wants under consideration along with his own, and I guess Collette and I didn’t make the cut. I’m stunned and devastated, but what am I supposed to do? Beg him to take me with him? Pout until he does?
It’s all a little too Yoko too consider.
Again, he runs a hand through his hair, looking like he’s holding back from saying something more. I wish he would. Something along the lines of, I don’t want to go without you. Please come with me.
But he doesn’t say it.
And I can tell that he won’t.
Instead, he says, “I mean, I’m not going to just float with you through these next months on tour. You need to give me something here.”
Wait. What?
When all I do is stare at him in confusion, he takes a deep breath and
asks, “Why couldn’t you just say it back?”
His eyes are broken, staring into mine, waiting for me to understand his question. He’s annoyed because… because I never told him I loved him? What the hell? “Is that was this is about?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
I don’t like the angle of this entire conversation. It came out of nowhere, and I’m not sure what he expects me to say. Everything I’ve felt for him has been terrifying, and I don’t have much experience dealing with such foreign emotions. I’m not comfortable just blurting out something I’ve never said before.
While I’m trying to think of the right way to explain, Jack tips his head to the side and says, “You can’t do it, can you?”
He’s almost smug with the way he asks me, almost as if he knew this was exactly how I’d react. “What, do you want me to stand here and lie to you? Tell you something I don’t really mean? I just don’t know yet, okay? Why is that a problem?”
“The problem isn’t that you can’t say it. The problem is that you don’t feel it.”
“It’s not that I don’t, Jack. It’s not that at all. I just…”
“Then tell me. Tell me what we’re doing here.”
My head is spinning. I don’t know what we’re doing. “Why are you pushing me on this? Why does it have to be defined all of a sudden? Everything was fine when you left yesterday. I thought things were going great.”
“They were.”
Something about the way he says that makes me snap to attention. His eyes are unblinking and his mouth is set in a determined line, his resolute expression speaking as loudly as if he were screaming… and I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing.
“Wait a minute. What’s going on here?”
He puts a hand to his forehead and swipes it down his entire face, ending with a balled fist at his throat. He finally looks at me, and in the one second pause it takes to answer, his face becomes drawn and his shoulders go limp.
A zombie, he answers deadpan. “That depends on you.”
“What?” I get the distinct impression that I’m being tested, and I really, really don’t like it. “Why?”
“Please don’t ask me to answer that again.”
Is he fucking kidding me?
“Well, what should I ask you, Jack?” My heart starts to hammer as I feel my stomach drop clear out of my body. “Should I ask if the sex wasn’t good enough?”
“No. That’s not it and you know it.”
“Should I ask if there’s someone else?”
“No.”
“‘No’ I shouldn’t ask or ‘no’ there’s no one else?”
“There was only you.”
“Was?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Well, forgive me, but I don’t know what the fuck you are saying, so I guess I’m just trying to clarify.”
He clears his throat before answering. “I’m saying now what I’ve been saying for weeks. I’m done with fun. I need something more. I need something real. I thought you would have told me the other night, but when you didn’t…”
What the hell is he talking about? This has been the most ‘real’ relationship I’ve ever been in. Or so I thought. “Oh, real nice timing, Jack. You wait until after we finally have sex to bring all this shit up? So you’re just going to fuck me and leave me then, huh. You’re no different than the rest of them.”
His eyes turn to slits, and my blood runs cold from the look on his face. I may have gone too far. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been hiding behind sex and music for so long, you can’t even see what’s right in front of you. I’ve gone above and beyond to prove I’m different. Now I’m wondering why I bothered. You can’t seem to tell any of us apart anyway. I guess we’re all the same with the lights out.”
Before I even realize it, I’m slapping him across the face. “Fuck you!”
Where the hell does he get off saying something like that to me? Haven’t I proven to him over these past weeks that I’m not that same person anymore? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was setting up for all the groupie tail he’s sure to encounter out there on the road.
How long will he be gone? Two months? Six? A year? I have no idea.
I would wait for him if he wanted me to.
It’s shocking that he can’t seem to wait for me.
I thought it was a foregone conclusion. We aren’t just Jack and Livia anymore. We’re us. Even if it’s only been six weeks, that doesn’t matter. I thought we were perfect together.
And just because I can’t tell him any of that right this very second, now he wants to leave me behind.
Jack barely flinched when I slapped him, but now he’s running a tongue across his teeth. He gives a rub to his scruffy jaw, looking genuinely humbled. “I’m sorry, Liv.”
His apology calms me down somewhat, but it doesn’t make anything better. “Jack. How can you even question this? Don’t you already know?”
“I thought I did.”
“Yet here you are, cutting your losses.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? That’s what this is. Own it.”
“Look, I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Too late.”
I can feel the heat of tears burning behind my eyes and I hate myself for it. This isn’t happening. Why should I be fighting back tears over something that isn’t even happening?
He takes my hands, and wimp that I am, I let him do it.
As if he were answering the unasked question in my brain, Jack says, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t see things going down like this.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? You made this happen.” He’s the one that wanted this, that wanted me to feel something for him. Well, I do. I feel everything for him. And now he’s leaving.
He may as well take my heart with him when he goes, seeing as how he went through all that trouble to rip it out of my chest.
His brows are drawn together tightly as a muscle pulses in his jaw. “You asked me yesterday morning where we are, and here I am, telling you. We can’t go on like this.”
“Bullshit.”
He looks about as tortured as I do, however, and I guess I never realized that along with singing and playing guitar, he’s also a very talented actor. I’m under the delusion that that revelation is giving me strength when I hear him say, “Please don’t.”
Please don’t what?
And then I realize the tears aren’t lodged behind my eyes, they’re actually streaming down my face. I can’t believe he’s doing this to me. I can’t believe he’s doing this to us.
I hate the pleading sound of my voice when I look up and ask, “Why are you doing this?”
His face becomes a twisted, tormented caricature as he grabs me behind my head and pulls me abruptly against his body, crushing my face to his chest. I feel his lips against my hair as his hand attempts a soothing caress up and down my spine. “Liv…”
The dam breaks.
I can’t help it. I start bawling against him, my shoulders heaving with sobs, and I cannot, for the life of me, make it stop. We stand like that for an eternity, my tears unrelenting and my brain a swirling mess of questions. It doesn’t help that I’m seeking solace in the arms of the very person who is causing me this pain. I want to push him away and tell him where he can shove his sympathy. I want to scratch his eyes out for making me feel cold-hearted and humiliated and unwanted.
It doesn’t make sense. Nothing does. It doesn’t make sense that he feels the need to toss out this ultimatum; it doesn’t make sense that our plans are being shot all to hell because of it. It’s not fair that he’s expecting me to say something I’m not ready to say. I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle any of it. So I stand here, letting him hold me, listening to his mantra of, “Baby, please don’t” over and over again like some pathetic loser. Relishing the sound of anguish in his voice. Lying to myself that this is hurting him, too.
/> Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I feel his hand under my chin, lifting my face to his. He bends down slowly, unsurely... and before I know what’s happening, his lips are brushing across mine. I’m dazed and spent from crying and have no energy left to fight him off.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I realize I’m kissing him back.
His thumbs brush against my cheeks, swiping away my tears as his lips slant firmly against my own, taking from me the last of what I have to give.
His arms pull at my waist, holding me tightly against his body as I feel him lower me to the ground. The sand is damp and cold against my back, but Jack’s lips are warm and insistent against my skin, his body hard and demanding against mine. I’m still crying, but the illusion through my tears is that Jack’s eyes are watering up as well.
Maybe I can show him what he’ll be giving up. Maybe if I can let him feel how much I care about him, how good we are together...
I smooth my hands up his chest and mold my body to his, kissing him, holding onto him for dear life. I run my fingers along his strong, muscular arms. I grip his thick, beautiful hair in my palms. I touch my fingertips to his sculpted jaw, trying to imprint his features into my memory through touch.
He lets out with a groan, that earth-shattering reverberation of pleasure and pain that always tears right through my insides. I start to slip into that familiar daze, that trance he’s always been able to put me under as I groan back, his heart pounding against mine, our breaths mingling in the night salt-air.
There’s something different in the way he’s kissing me, almost like he’s trying to possess me. It’s scary. And it’s not him at all. When I feel his cool hand sliding under my shirt, the touch snaps me awake.
Whatever the hell is going on here is just too pitiable to fathom.
Somehow, I muster up enough pride to tear my mouth from his and put a halting hand against his chest.
“Stop.”
His dark eyes look down at me in anguish, and if I didn’t think he was such a jerk at this second, I would swear that he looks ashamed of himself.
He breaks out of the moment with a pained, “I’m sorry.”
