“Is everything all right?” Liza asked me in a soft voice, placing her hand gently on my forearm, and I gripped my phone so hard I thought it would crumble to dust in my fist.
I nodded, not trusting my own voice for a minute. She patted my arm softly before removing her hand and looking away from me. I had the urge to grab her and pull her to me, and squeeze to make sure she was real and here and wasn’t going to leave, but I denied it. Instead, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and snatched the handle of my suitcase so hard I almost pulled it clear off.
Liza turned around with a gasp, jumping out of the way as the suitcase flew in front of me from the force of my grip, just missing her left leg.
“Jackson, it will be okay.” She said the words firmly, her tone meant to reprimand me, but in some strange way, it was comforting to hear her irritation.
“You’re right. I’m overreacting.”
Liza nodded at me and we walked out the double front doors to the waiting SUV where Monroe stood, statue still, next to the opened back door.
“Sir,” he said as I passed our luggage to him before sliding into the car.
He said the word like a reprimand as well, a warning to watch my temper before I did something I regretted. I didn’t acknowledge him because it irritated me he thought I needed him to remind me. My only response was a scowl at his back as Liza climbed into the SUV after me. Liza looked back at Monroe and frowned at me before we both settled into our seats. When he closed the door, she leaned into me.
“He’s worried about you. Give him a break,” she mumbled, and patted my leg before resting her hand on my thigh.
I sighed. Liza was right and I should have been grateful for Monroe’s friendship but right now, everything was pissing me off. The scenery of the French mountains and countryside rolled by but I couldn’t appreciate it. I lay my head on the seat back and closed my eyes. Exhaustion consumed me and I wanted nothing more than to be back in New York once I opened my eyes, but knew we still had a ten-hour plane ride ahead of us.
The thought drained me even more, and the one comfort I had was Liza sitting next to me, lightly massaging my leg. I should have been reassuring her, letting her know she still meant something to me and that it would all be all right, but dread gripped my chest, making my throat feel like it was closing. What if I was wrong and the baby was mine? Would Liza stick around?
The trip back to the airport seemed faster this time and before we knew it, we were on a plane headed back to New York City. Jackson was withdrawn but not in the same way as before. This time, he seemed dejected, tired, and maybe even a little bit anxious. I had never seen him this way and it made me nervous. Was he thinking he was wrong about Natalie’s baby not being his? The thought made my stomach clench because I couldn’t even fathom how our relationship could continue with this type of obstacle in the way. We would never be free of Natalie, and the idea of a life with that woman always breathing down our necks made me shiver with revulsion. She would make our life a living hell. Was I ready for that? Did I love Jackson enough to stay under those circumstances?
Love.
There was that word again. When had I started throwing it around in relation to Jackson? My heart felt it from almost the first moment we met but when did my head decide to accept that this was how I felt? The change must have happened in France, at the chateau. Jackson was more relaxed with me than he had been before, more open and caring and tender than I had seen him. It was a big change, a stepping stone in the direction of something. But I wasn’t sure if he loved me or was simply letting me in to not scare me off.
I had a lot of time to ponder the question, because almost as soon as we got onto the plane, Jackson disappeared and left me alone in the cabin. After sitting for almost an hour and trying to read a book, though I read the same paragraph six times, I decided to look for him. There weren’t many places he could have disappeared to and the bedroom was my first thought. I found him on the bed, lying atop the blankets fully clothed, his arm thrown over his head and his eyes closed. I breathed out a heavy sigh before crawling in next to him and laying my head on his stomach. He didn’t say anything, but threw his arm around my back and pulled me to him.
“I have a migraine,” he announced quietly, after about fifteen minutes of us both laying so still, I was convinced he was asleep.
“I’m sorry, Jackson.” I pushed to a sitting position, placing my hands on his forehead, and began to massage with gentle pressure against his temples and the back of his head.
He moaned with relief and I was happy to give him something to help relieve the stress of the last several days. After about five minutes, he reached for me, pulling me against him, my back to his front in a spooning position. We lay like that for a while, our breathing evening out until I was sure this time he was asleep, as my own eyes struggled to stay open.
“Thank you.” He whispered the words against my hair, so quietly I wasn’t sure if I imagined them.
Maybe he thought I was already asleep? I wasn’t sure what he was thanking me for or if I should even respond, so I lay there in his arms, absorbing the heat of his body against mine and pretended to be asleep. It was easier this way. Last time we were on this plane, my chest was ripped open and my soul was bared, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that again. Sleeping was easier, safer, and for a little while, I could pretend we were like a normal couple coming home from a fabulous vacation, and not one who was walking into a viper’s den of uncertainty.
* * *
“Prepare for landing.” The captain’s voice boomed over the intercom, waking me with a start.
I jackknifed to a sitting position. Jackson was gone and a blanket was draped over me. In the dark bedroom of the airplane, time didn’t exist. I was in limbo, my mouth dry and my hair mussed as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The door to the room opened, light from the small windows in the cabin streaming in. Squinting at Jackson, I stood in the middle of the room and tried to get my bearings.
“What time is it?” I asked as I watched him buzz around the room, gathering belongings and shoving them into a bag.
“It’s just after six, New York time.” Jackson didn’t look at me and I stiffened at his tone, glacier cool and detached.
We were here again. How did we get here again? I sighed, unable to cope with his mood swings on top of everything else. The same man who was putty under my pliant fingers the night before as I massaged a migraine away before he thanked me was now icing me out again. Irritation gripped me for the hundredth time. There was never a rhyme or reason to any of it and exhaustion took hold of me again.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I grumbled the words out as I closed the bathroom door.
I took care of what I needed to before splashing cold water on my face. We were taking a few steps back again as Jackson shut me off from his feelings, and frustration bloomed in my chest as I walked out of the bathroom to an empty room. After looking around to make sure I didn’t forget anything, I stalked out into the cabin and buckled myself into a seat without looking at Jackson.
“How did you sleep?” he asked after a few minutes, clearing his throat before and after he said it, his voice gruff.
I could tell he was trying and despite my resolve to hold onto it, my irritation dissipated into pieces, flying away like the scatterings of a flock of birds. Left behind was compassion and worry because the fact that he was trying at all to reach out to me when his instincts told him to shut down meant something. Jackson needed me, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and no matter how many times he tried to push me away, this time I wasn’t going to run.
The jet landed softly on the runway, bouncing along to the hangar from which we departed a few days earlier. I unbuckled my seatbelt, marveling at how little fear I had this time around when we landed, or on the plane in general. Perhaps Jackson was helping me in some ways too.
We gathered our things and headed to the waiting car, which Monroe stood next to as usual,
and climbed in. Silence filled the car as we headed away from the airport, enveloping me in dread. I worried what would happen next, not just with Natalie but with Jackson and me. I wanted to believe we could go on the way we had in France, insulating ourselves in a cocoon of sex and pretending the world didn’t exist, but I knew I was kidding myself if I thought that was going to happen now. Reality beckoned, bright and harsh, as we drove through Manhattan and I realized we were heading back to my apartment. He was dropping me off, discarding me after everything we had shared over the weekend. That was likely the reason for his mood.
When the car stopped at the curb outside of my building, words I wanted to say to him lodged in my chest. I had to speak; I had to tell him something because I feared once he drove away, I would never get a chance to say them. But the words wouldn’t come, they choked me, lodging in my throat with a hard lump, and I swallowed furiously to dislodge it.
“Jackson.” I finally managed to croak out his name, my voice hoarse with the effort as Monroe stood stoic and patient, holding the door open for me.
“I’ll call you in a few days, when I get everything sorted out.” He dismissed me with a wave and my chest ached at his words.
How had everything changed in just a few hours? It seemed we had made so much progress and now here we were again, with him icing me out. I wanted to say more, longed for the courage I had on the plane to France but my energy levels were sapped due to everything that had been said before in addition to jet lag. Jackson should know he was hurting me, know his words were like daggers to my heart but he didn’t seem to care, again.
It suddenly dawned on me that maybe I was wrong about everything, and Jackson was pretending this whole time to get Natalie to comply and give him a divorce. Was I that naïve to fall for it? Was he really so cold and manipulative? I couldn’t believe it, and yet that was exactly what it felt like when I stepped out of the car and walked towards my building, without looking back at the man who stole my heart and was consequently breaking it in two.
It happened again; I decimated her. I saw it, I felt it as she got out of the car and walked, shoulders slumped, towards her building. My words slew her, filleted what was left of her heart as I stomped on the remains. It wasn’t my intention, not really, but after it was done, it was done. Liza was too accommodating, too considerate and kind, and the night before, when she tenderly massaged the migraine away and we fell asleep tangled together, I saw everything I stood to lose if she decided she couldn’t deal with my drama.
This wasn’t all about Natalie and the potential of a child I didn’t believe was mine. It was more than that. I wasn’t good or benevolent like Liza was. I was a bastard—an orphan bastard with an empire and no one to love. For years, I liked it that way. I liked to be alone and hold everyone at arm’s length. Liza turned something in me, making we want and wish and hope. Our future blared at me this weekend, like I was fast forwarding a movie. I could see our wedding, our children, and our life together in Manhattan. I wanted it, and I never thought I would, because losing the one person who meant anything to me destroyed me when I was eight years old.
Closing my eyes against the pain of remembering my mother, I lay my head back against the seat. If losing my mother taught me anything, it was that life was something you held onto, something you grabbed hold of, and didn’t let go. But it also taught me something else. To love someone, to open yourself to them completely, meant opening yourself to the kind of grief that could shred your heart to pieces. Last night, when Liza fell asleep in my arms, breathing steady and even, twitching with dreams I wasn’t privy to, two emotions gripped my chest—love and fear. For the first time in twenty years, I loved someone else, in a way that made me want to hold onto them forever. And for the first time in twenty years, I felt the fear of losing something that could never be replaced.
Not only did I worry about Liza’s health and her safety, but there was something else. What if I failed her? What if she found out all of the ugly truths I was hiding about my marriage to Natalie and walked away from me forever? Both scenarios threatened to tear a hole in my heart the size of the island of Manhattan. I had to think, to breathe, and to have some time away from her to gather my thoughts and make a choice. Did I want to risk everything for her, for us, or was I content to glide through life without love or affection for another person as long as I lived?
These thoughts plagued me in the twenty minutes it took to get to my apartment but didn’t leave once I had showered, barked at Frank on the phone for ten minutes, or even when I was lying in bed, tossing and turning because it felt empty without Liza. I had to make a choice; tell Liza about my past to get everything out in the open, or hide it from her forever and risk that she would find out. The third choice, the one I didn’t want to even think about but was seriously considering though it would destroy us both, was to walk away from her forever and save us both a lifetime of pain.
* * *
The next week dawned too bright and cheery. The December sun filtered through the sheer gray curtains that covered the windows on all three sides of my bedroom and made me wince. I didn’t want sunshine today; I wanted black clouds and rain, storms to match my mood. But the sun shone nonetheless, caring not at all about my dark temper. My phone rang shrilly from the nightstand as I pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and prepared for my morning workout. I hoped and dreaded that it was Frank with news about Natalie. I hoped and dreaded that it was Liza. Scooping it up from the nightstand, I groaned with irritation when I saw who it really was.
“Good morning, Aunt Bea,” I cooed into the phone as convincingly as I could manage.
“Good morning, dear. How was your trip?” She always started with small talk, especially when she had an ulterior motive for her call.
“What can I help you with today?” I wanted it over with so I could deal with the other issues I had no intention of telling her about.
Aunt Beatrice blew out a breath on the other end, as if she were exasperated with me before the conversation even started. “You didn’t answer my question about your trip, but that doesn’t matter.” I could see her waving her hand in my mind, the bangle bracelets and rings that adorned both hands swaying as she did. “How is your friend, Liza?”
I groaned openly, not caring that she could hear me. This was a circuitous route to something she wanted to know and I had no idea what, but it was starting to grate on my nerves.
“Aunt Bea, save it. What do you want?” I wasn’t in the mood for the games.
“Jackson, I don’t know why you talk to me that way.” She tried to sound contrite but it was all an act. “Anyway, I spoke with Frank Wright. He’s concerned about you and this…situation.”
I froze, rage bubbling in my chest. Frank broke client privilege for my aunt, again. I knew, though I had no evidence, Frank was the reason she found out about my hotel chain, and now he was blabbing about Natalie all over Manhattan. It was time to get a new lawyer.
“What exactly did Frank Wright tell you, Auntie?” I barked the question into the phone, not trying to disguise my fury.
“Jackson, dear, Frank simply told me that this mess with Natalie has gotten worse and that I should speak with you about it. No details were exchanged.” The way she said it indicated that details were indeed exchanged.
This was what I got for using the family lawyer. Since Frank was loyal to my aunt over me, he felt the need to share my business with her like I was still a child whose estate trust he was executing.
“None of this is your concern and if Frank can’t keep his fucking mouth closed, I’ll have to fire him.” I didn’t usually curse at my aunt but she had taken things too far this time.
“Please, watch your language.” I pictured her looking around to make sure no one heard me through the phone. “Natalie is vile and I wish I never convinced you to marry her. I am only calling to see if there is anything I can do, and to make sure you don’t make the same mistake with this Liza woman.”
“You�
��ve done quite enough.” I bit off the last word in such a way to indicate she was the reason I was in this mess in the first place.
“Jackson, please let me help. I know people. If you would just tell me what she has on you, I can sort it all out. Get her out of our hair forever.”
Our hair.
Aunt Beatrice was most concerned about her name being dragged through the mud.
I sighed, pulling the phone away from my ear for a moment before I lost it on her again. “Look, I appreciate that you want to help, but it’s beyond your control now. Trust me, if I could pay my way out of this, I would, but I can’t.”
I heard her exasperation through the phone, then a heavy sigh and the click of her pearls as she worried them with her fingers. It was a nervous habit she had for years. “Fine, Jackson. Have it your way. Let me know if you change your mind.”
The phone disconnected before I could say goodbye but I wasn’t upset about it. The sooner I could get her off the phone, the better. Aunt Beatrice meant well, in a way, but she was mostly concerned about her reputation and that of her own child. I was a secondary thought, collateral damage that could be dealt with to keep her name from being smeared in the tabloids. I always had been.
My fingers moved over the phone quickly until I realized I was hovering over Liza’s name, ready to press the call button. My first instinct was to reach out to Liza, to share my misery with her. That had to stop. I had a decision to make, which was eating at my stomach. But the decision could wait for the time being because right now I had so much nervous energy, if I didn’t get a workout in, I was going to explode. Tossing the phone onto my bed, I stomped from the room without looking back.
One Night Page 25