Falling for Jack

by Joanne Hill

  Robyn looked up from the newspaper as her mind raced. Something had been bugging Jack last night. The look on his face when Brad had phoned. The empty seat next to him at the dinner. The fact he'd gravitated towards Robyn —maybe needing a dose of ‘normal’ when his world was falling apart.

  The door suddenly rattled, and a voice called out, “Mommy? We want breakfast.”

  “Coming, Jamie.” Robyn’s mind was still spinning as she handed the paper back to Sage.

  “Do you think he’s seen it?” Sage slotted it back in her bag and positioned the bread strategically across the top.

  “No. He’s too calm. He can’t know. I mean, he obviously knows it happened but that it’s splashed all over the paper...” She let out a long breath, thinking, wondering, trying to get a grip on it all. Jack Fletcher’s girlfriend had just dumped him. For his best friend.

  Sage shook her head. “It’s beyond me how a supposed friend could go and do something like this. I’ve got no time for rich twits but this is just despicable.”

  They went back to the lounge, and as they approached, Jack eased himself up out of the old chair. “Thanks for the coffee, Robyn, but it's time I got going.”

  Robyn saw he’d finished his drink and she ignored the disappointment that seemed to come out of nowhere and settle in her chest. Of course he had to go. His life was in a mess, even though he was doing a good job of hiding it.

  She took the keys and handed them to him. She was careful not to touch him, even though the urge to touch him and tell him it was all going to be just fine, was strong. Had Charlotte really left him? Maybe it was just speculation - although something had clearly happened.

  His gaze fastened on hers, silver blue with a hint, she noticed now, of sea green. The calm before the storm.

  “Did it handle all right?”

  She blinked. “Sorry?”

  “The car? It handled all right?”

  “Oh, my gosh, yes. Like a dream.”

  “Good.” He glanced over at Ruby and James, curiosity written over their faces. Jack was about to say something, then hesitated. He looked out of his depth, as if he’d never had anything to do with children, even though his younger sister had children. She’d been pregnant with her second child about the time Robyn finished high school. Perhaps he just never had any contact with them.

  He cleared his throat, gave an awkward wave to the twins. “See you later...aaah...children.”

  They stared back, wide-eyed and quiet. Robyn chastised “Ruby? James? Manners, please.”

  “Bye,” they chorused and Robyn stepped outside with him.

  As they walked to the car, he said, “I really appreciate you were okay with driving home.”

  “I loved it,” she told him honestly. She rubbed her arms up and down her arms against the morning chill. “There are times I miss having my own car.”

  “You better get inside.” He gestured to her window. Ruby and James were inside, noses pressed against the glass. She was sure behind them was Sage, trying not to be obvious.

  He opened the car door. “Robyn, I'm glad we bumped into each other. It's been...” His mouth twisted wryly. “It's been a diversion from real life.”

  So he had seen the paper?

  No. He was too calm for a man who'd had his personal life splashed over the page.

  “Take care,” he said. His gaze lingered on her a moment and she said, “You too.” He climbed in and clicked his seatbelt, reversed and with a short wave, headed off down the drive.

  She watched the car until it was out of sight and until all that was left was the gap in front of the house where it had once been.

  The minute she stepped inside, Sage ordered, “So what’s been going on with you and Fletcher?” She sat cross-legged on the couch.

  “Nothing.”

  “Ha,” Sage said disbelievingly.

  “Jack’s from my old home town, Kopane, up north. We weren't friends, we just knew of each other.” She stopped. It still blew her away he'd known who mousey, studious Robyn Taylor had been when he'd had plenty of girls throwing themselves at him. “He was a few years ahead of me at school though.” Best to leave the details of his past out. “And last night I bumped in to him when I was working at the charity dinner and we got talking; he loaned me his car to drive home and he just came back to pick it up.”

  Sage stared at her. “I guess as your friend I have to believe you.” She unfolded her legs, and joined Robyn in the kitchen. “But as for the rest. Let’s recap. Jack’s been going out for a while now with Charlotte Bodie, which we all knew. But what we — and one assumes Jack — didn’t know is that she'd been playing around with Brad Randell on the side and now, Charlotte has left Jack for him.”

  “What?” Harriet suddenly screeched from the couch. “Charlotte has left Jack Fletcher for Brad Randell?”

  Robyn and Sage exchanged glances and Sage said, “Did you hear nothing that went on here the last quarter of an hour? I thought you were just pretending to be asleep.”

  Harriet struggled up. “Why? What happened?”

  “He was here. Jack Fletcher.” Sage nodded at Harriet's shock. “Robyn knows him. Personally.”

  Harriet's hand splayed across her chest. Her voice was faint. “You know him? He was here? Mother, why didn't you wake me? I totally love reading the gossip.”

  “That,” Sage pointed at her, “is why I didn't wake you. You should be focusing on your studies and not reading trashy gossip magazines.”

  Harriet staggered to her feet, draped her duvet around herself, and hopped over to the table. “Why was he here?”

  “To drive his car home,” Sage said.

  Harriet’s eyes widened. “He stayed the night?”

  “She,” Sage threw a disbelieving look at Robyn, “claims he didn't.”

  “Of course he didn't stay the night.” Why on earth would a man like Jack take an interest in her? Exasperated, she peered closer at the photographs in the newspaper. One showed Jack and Charlotte a month back at a Business Association function, another pictured Brad and his wife Emily. Emily, according to the caption, was indeed six months pregnant.

  “Isn’t Emily Randell a doctor?”

  Harriet rolled her eyes. “Duh. She's the one that treated Brad's leg after the injury that blew his All Black career to smithereens. Now he’s got a sports management business.”

  Sage hissed, “I’ve never liked him. That poor, poor woman.” She tut-tutted with all the experience of a woman who knew far too well what she was talking about. She jabbed the picture of Brad. “All money and no brain, all they care about are their looks and I bet he's had surgery, look at that jaw. I don’t trust anyone who has a gym membership.”

  Harriet opened her phone and checked. “Well, it's front page on the news websites and social media is already going nuts. They’re all trending on Twitter.”

  Robyn bit her thumb and thought back to Jack’s house, that beautiful but empty house. Who did he have in his life to turn to in moments like this? It had been Jack and Charlotte the past six months and of course, his small circle of friends. Brad, she knew, because he was the high profile one, the former sporting hero, but there’d been another one as well. Ethan someone-or-other.

  “Mom, we’re still hungry,” James reminded her, and Robyn snapped out of it.

  No doubt he had a network of friends and she had no idea what she was talking about. But even so. Remembering that remoteness in his expression troubled her when it shouldn't have. She didn't know Jack Fletcher. Making assumptions was wasting time she didn't have to spare.

  Her stomach rumbled and she was grateful to get her mind off Jack. Off problems that weren't her own. “I'm starving, too,” she said, pulling bread from the pantry. “I'll make toast. Who wants some?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jack walked into his house to be greeted by the smell of baking, and into his kitchen to find his housekeeper, Mrs Parker. Mrs Faye-Anne Parker to be exact, although he had never called her Faye-Anne in
the years she’d worked for him, and she had never signed her name as anything other than Mrs Parker.

  “It's Sunday. This isn't your day,” he stated.

  She rolled her eyes. “I saw the net. I know what's been going on. At least, those hack journalists' opinions of what's been going on.” She eyed him closely. “So is it true? She's gone and left you for Randell?”

  He massaged his aching temples. “Yeah.”

  Mrs Parker's mouth tightened. “You know what I thought of her.”

  “Don't start.”

  “She was never the right one for you.”

  “I don't believe in a right one.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “I thought he had more class than that. It's not often I'm wrong.” She yanked open the oven door, and pulled out a tray. Instantly, the aroma floated to him, tantalized him. He hadn’t eaten since the dinner last night, and even then he’d barely touched his food. His taste buds twitched. “What have you made? It smells good.”

  She set the tray on the counter. “Shortbread with real butter. My grandmother's recipe. You need some comfort food right about now.” She shoved another tray in the oven. “These are Hokey Pokey biscuits. Your friend is coming over.”

  “Brad?”

  “Your friend. Ethan. He took Emily out to his place so the media won't hassle her and make her life more of a misery than it already is. He's on his way back from there.”

  Jack ran his hands roughly through his hair. Ethan had called earlier to tell him his plan. Emily was a mess, and barely able to process what had happened. She was their friend as much as Brad had been, but at the back of his mind, Jack was nervous. How would she react to seeing him? Would she throw some of the responsibility back at him - after all, it was his girlfriend that had taken off with her husband. He bit back on a groan. Wrestling with the blame issue was wearing him out.

  “Look, thanks for coming in, Mrs P,” he told her. “You didn't have to.”

  “I know.” She sighed as she began to lift the biscuits off the tray and set them on a rack to cool. “It just goes to show no matter how good looking or rich you are this crapola happens. These are hot.”

  “Is that a compliment?” He reached out to take a biscuit. It burnt his fingers and he dropped it.

  “Maybe.” She didn't often make compliments.

  He took the biscuit again, took a bite, then another. “These are good. Really good.”

  “Even better when they cool down.” She managed a smile—which was just as rare as her compliments. “So. What are you going to do?”

  What was he going to do? He’d been thinking of little else. He leant his hip against the counter. “I'll head over to see Emily, see what I can do to help. Try and keep Ethan from hunting down Brad and killing him.”

  Mrs Parker shook her head. “I can’t imagine what she must be feeling, and with a baby on the way.” She reached up to tighten her dyed red hair in its bun. “But Ethan, for all his macho ways, has the heart of a pussy cat so she's in good hands.” She suddenly snapped her fingers. “Dash it, I almost forgot. There was one other call that came in for you. From Canada of all places. I figured it wouldn't be media, and the woman said she knew you.” She read from a notepad in her apron pocket. “Does the name Valerie Wright mean anything to you?”

  It took a second for the name to make sense, and when it did, surprise jolted him. “Val? Yeah, she was someone I knew briefly years ago.” He took another bite of the shortbread. The melt-in-your-mouth shortbread. “But I haven't thought about her in years.”

  “Well, she wants you to call her now.”

  “Did she say what it was about?”

  Mrs Parker snorted. “Not my business so I didn't ask. But she did say it was important.” She handed him the notepad with her number. “I'll make coffee. Normal or decaf?”

  “Make it normal. And thanks, Mrs P, for coming in. Really.” He took another piece of shortbread. “And for these.”

  She waved away his thanks but there was the tease of a smile on her face as she proceeded to turn on the faucet and scrub the baking tray.

  Jack read the notepad as he walked through to the study at the other end of the house. Val Wright. Yeah, he remembered her well; a long legged brunette, a model with career aspirations that matched his.

  He pulled out the leather chair and sank into it. They had both been young and hungry for success when they'd met. She was Canadian, had been in New Zealand for just a few weeks, and was heading over to Sydney to model at Fashion Week.

  He switched on the computer, and thought back. She’d been vague about what had happened in the intervening years but then, his focus had been on his career. He picked up his landline, checked the numbers, and began to dial. Even so, he felt a momentary sense of bewilderment. Why now?

  When she answered, he leant back in his chair. “Hey Val, it's Jack. Returning your call. How the hell are you?”

  “Jack. My gosh. Thanks for ringing back so quickly.” Her voice was a mix of relief and nervousness yet it wasn't a familiar voice. Her Canadian accent was pronounced, but over the years any contact had been erratic, and all of it by email. After the first few months, it had dwindled and within a couple of years had been non-existent. The brief weekend they had spent together had soon been overshadowed by real life.

  “How am I?” He opened his internet browser and admitted, “It was a shock hearing you'd called out of the blue like this. It's been, what, eight years?”

  “It is eight years. It's hard to believe it was that long ago.”

  “A lot has happened,” he mused. Eight years ago the lifestyle he now lived had barely even registered as being a possibility, let alone a reality.

  He heard her sigh. “Jack, I rang because...” That edge of nervousness in her voice had suddenly grown and he heard the whoosh of air as she exhaled. “Jack, I need to say first that I'm sorry. I need to apologize for not letting you know earlier.”

  He was about to open his email, but he stopped. What had she done? After eight years, what could she possibly be sorry about? He looked away from his bulging inbox.

  “Val, you've lost me. What have you got to apologize about?”

  “The second shock you're going to get.” She gave a nervous laugh then just as quickly stopped.

  Silence lay between them and he prodded, “Val?”

  “I might as well just say it. I've been holding on to it long enough.”

  A sense of doom swept over him, made him sit straighter, made his throat go painfully dry. “Yeah. I think you better.”

  “I'm a mom, Jack, I have a son. Eric.”

  Jack relaxed a fraction. “Well...” Why was she telling him this? “Well, congratulations, Val.”

  “Jack...Eric is a great kid. A normal little kid. He likes TV, he likes sports, especially ice hockey, and playing computer games. He's smart, too.” She paused and her voice lowered further. “Just like his father. He even looks like his dad.”

  Jack was going to say the first thing that came to his mind. Who is his father? Not that he would know him. He had no idea who Val had chosen to date in the intervening years.

  But then it struck him, and his breath caught in his throat. He went so still inside he wasn't even sure his heart was beating.

  He knew what she was going to tell him.

  It was in the tone of her voice, even there in the silence sitting between them.

  He dragged breath into his lungs and asked the question anyway. “Val, who is your son's father?”

  “You are, Jack.” He massaged his forehead as she said clearly, “Eric is your son.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  It had been twenty-four hours from hell.

  Well, not hell — hell had been the word to describe Emily’s life the past two days. So this wasn't hell. It was just twenty-four hours of complete and utter turmoil. Assuming Val had told him the truth.

  He rode the lift to his office and went over the conversation again, just as he had in the hours following the call, to
the hours he’d lain in bed unable to sleep, and the trip to work. Unable to wrap his head around the news that he had a kid. A son. He — Jackson Ronald Fletcher — was a father.

  He'd gone over that weekend in his mind a dozen times.

  He'd enrolled in a seminar at a business expo, exploring options to get more start up cash to invest in his plan for building inexpensive but attractive homes. Val had been one of the models hired to show an exhibitor’s product. They'd both been staying at the same hotel, and one drink had led to dinner, had led to a couple of nights in a hotel room.

  He prowled into his office, shut the door, and sank into his chair. They’d used protection. He remembered that. But clearly they were in that however many percent it was that weren’t protected after all. Because six weeks later it had led to Val discovering she was going to have a baby. His baby.

  His PA, Collette, had placed today’s paper on his desk and he gave it a quick glance. In a sidebar it continued to run with the story that Charlotte Bodie had dumped her millionaire boyfriend for the former All Black turned businessman who had left his pregnant wife, Emily. The latest was that Emily had taken refuge at an unnamed friend’s house. How the hell did they learn this stuff?

  Jack leant forward, his elbows on the table, and buried his face in his hands. His body had tensed up so badly he felt he was going to explode. Even an hour in his gym this morning, punching the crap out of anything he could find, hadn't helped. He looked suspiciously up at his ceiling. You’ve got a sense of humor, Big Guy. Care to let me in on the joke?

  Because the story had gotten even better.

  Val wanted her son to meet his father. She hadn't phoned to tell him he had a son, end of story. Or demand money to help support the child.

  She had rung to tell him she wanted to fly her son out to New Zealand to spend a few weeks’ holiday with him.

  He'd have preferred cutting a check.

  His jaw clenched. Because the fact, the truth, was that he was no father, wasn’t even close to being father material. He gritted his teeth. No Fletcher was cut out to be a parent - no one with the blood of Ron Fletcher running through their veins — he had siblings who were the hard proof of that.