Play For Me

by Tam DeRudder Jackson

  “Jack! What are you doing here?”

  “Must be a big place you’ve got that you’re out of breath answering the door,” he said laughing. “May I come in?”

  Having no real choice, I opened the door wider and stood aside as he strode past me. While he took up all the space in my tiny apartment, I stood at my open door, staring at him. Though his tall, broad-shouldered body seemed to fill up my living area, I struggled to process that he stood in the middle of it.

  “Did I catch you working out or something?”

  “Um, no. I don’t get many visitors, so the sound of my doorbell in the middle of the afternoon startled me.” With a swallow, I tried to compose myself as I closed the door. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on tour or something?”

  “Just got back from six months in Asia. Before that, we toured for four months here at home. Before that, we were in Europe for a couple months.”

  As I watched him glance around my home, I wondered what was going through his mind. Was he cataloging my used furniture, the lack of art on the walls, the dollhouse size of it?

  “Wow. Sounds exciting. Everything you ever wanted.” I stuffed my hands in the front pockets of my shorts. “What are you doing in Fort Collins?”

  “Finding you.”

  The deep timbre of his voice rippled through me on those two words, and I nearly reached out to him. But I caught myself, remembering the breathy voice of woman on his phone, and I walked around my island instead. “You want something to drink? I’m afraid I don’t have anything stronger than soda or iced tea.”

  “I want to talk to you, Clio.”

  I faced him with the safety of the island between us. “About what?” Panic made my heart race. Had he found out about Angel somehow?

  “About that night after our concert at Red Rocks.”

  Putting on a brave face, I said, “Listen, Jack, I get it. You were playing a huge show for the home crowd. Everyone was there, and you forgot you had someone else lined up when you ran into me.” I waved a hand in front of my face and finished with a lie. “Don’t worry about it.”

  His gorgeous eyes blazed green fire. “Did you forget the whole part where I engineered your presence at that party? I explained to you then what I did to get you there.”

  Suddenly, my bar didn’t feel like a barrier at all.

  “I’m sure your friend Annabelle told you. You were the only woman I had ‘lined up,’” he said, air-quoting the words. “That message you heard on my phone the next morning was Dakota’s idea of a joke. The fact that I don’t sleep with all the groupies who throw themselves at us on tour grates on his nerves.” He pulled his trucker hat off his head, ran his hand over his thick, dark hair, and replaced his hat. “He thinks it’s funny to have whatever woman he spends the night with record a message, which he forwards to me as a wake-up call.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared at him for a beat. “Sure. That absolutely explains the box of condoms in the drawer in the nightstand too, Jack. Come on. Give me a little credit. I’m not completely naïve.”

  He leaned on the counter, his square jaw jutting out as he said through clenched teeth, “What about the part where I set up the evening with you did you miss, Clio? I had plans for us for that night, plans that included being responsible.”

  “Why, Jack? Why did you have plans for us that night after you didn’t even think about me for nearly five years?” I tried to keep the piercing hurt that I’d buried for so long out of my voice, but the words stuck in my throat all the same.

  He sat heavily on a barstool. “Believe me, Clio. I’ve thought about you constantly for all that time. There were”—he hesitated—“things that got in the way of us. But those things aren’t there anymore, and I want to reconnect. That’s what I was trying to do after the show at Red Rocks.” His eyes pleaded with me. “The timing when we were in the middle of the US tour wasn’t great, but I was so close to you, I had to give it a shot. Now I’m off the road for at least a month, and I want to spend time with you.”

  I tightened my arms around myself. “Just like that, huh? You walk through my door like you own the place and announce that you want us to ‘reconnect,’” I air-quoted him. “It’s not that easy Jack. What if I have someone else in my life now?”

  He stood up again. “He’ll have to prove he’s the better man, that he wants you more, that he cares about you more than I do. Frankly, Clio, I doubt that’s possible for anyone else to do.”

  Jack took one step, two steps, toward me as he spoke until he’d rounded the island and backed me up against the counter between the sink and the fridge. Still, I kept my arms protectively crossed over my chest and stared up at him defiantly. No matter how much I wanted to believe him, not only did I have my heart to shield, but also my little girl innocently sleeping in the next room.

  Slowly, Jack reached for me, like someone trying to coax a wounded bird into his hand. He ran one gentle finger over my cheek and tucked a stray strand of hair that had escaped my ponytail behind my ear. I sucked in air at his touch but otherwise pretended his nearness didn’t affect me. He must have sensed the lie as his nostrils flared, and he dropped his beautiful long-fingered hand to his side.

  “The thing is, Clio, there isn’t anyone else. Not for me. Not for you. That much was obvious when you let me be your first lover.” He stared at my mouth for a beat. “I suspect I’ve been your only lover.”

  I clamped my lips shut at his not-so-subtle comment.

  “What I don’t understand is why you’re living here, in married student housing, rather than in your sorority house. When I asked your friend Annabelle, she was about as helpful with that information as she was with giving me your number. Which, by the way, I’d like you to give me now.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing into it. When I didn’t talk right away, he stopped and raised an expectant eyebrow at me. “Your number?”

  Sighing, I rattled off the numbers even though a little voice in the back of my head kept reminding me he’d probably delete me the minute he found out about our baby.

  “Now, where is your phone?”

  I pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jean shorts. “Here.”

  He snatched it from my hand and programmed his number into it.

  Handing my phone back to me, he said, “There. Now we can communicate like normal people since you apparently do nothing on social media.”

  “Some of us are more private than others,” I responded to his veiled question.

  Jack let that go as he took two long-legged strides to the couch, sitting in the middle of it and giving me room to breathe for the first time since I’d received Annabelle’s text.

  “What kind of pop do you have?” he asked casually as he made himself at home by taking up most of my couch with his tattooed arm draped across the back of it and one knee drawn up on the cushion.

  “Diet Coke, root beer, a cream soda Stacy must have left here when she stayed with—” I stopped myself before I blurted Angel’s name. Stacy had watched her when I took my last final last week.

  Oblivious to my blunder, Jack said, “I love root beer. Do you have ice?”

  I pulled a glass from the cupboard by the fridge, filled it with ice from a tray in the freezer, and poured his root beer over it. Then I poured myself a glass of iced tea and joined him on the couch, sitting in the far corner opposite him, my knee drawn up protectively between us.

  His demeanor made it clear he intended to stay for a while, which meant the chances of Angel making her presence known increased by the second. Somehow, I needed to tell him about the third person currently in my apartment. Jack gave me my opening.

  “Tell me again why you’re living here?”

  Carefully, I placed my drink on the coffee table in front of me, took a deep breath, and said, “I don’t live here by myself, and the dorms and the sorority don’t allow children to live in them.”

  Now it was Jack’s turn to
sit forward and put his drink on the coffee table.

  “Children? What are you talking about, Clio?”

  On cue, a noise erupted from the peanut gallery, and Angel took care of introducing herself.

  “Just one. Child that is. Excuse me.”

  I stood and walked into my bedroom to check on Angel, who must have heard our voices and awakened early from her nap. She looked up at me from her bassinet and smiled. She’d started doing that recently, smiling, and my heart melted every time. “Hello, beautiful girl. Did you wake up early? Come here. There’s someone I need to introduce you to.”

  Jack’s eyes rounded to saucers, and he came to his feet in a rush when I reentered the living room with Angel cradled in my arms.

  “This is my daughter, Angel Claire. She’s the reason I live in married student housing.”

  Jack blinked, his mouth agape. After several long seconds, he finally choked out, “Your daughter?”

  I could tell from his expression he couldn’t wrap his head around what he could see right in front of him.

  “My daughter.”

  He ran his hand down his face. “How can you have a baby, Clio?”

  His voice cracked on the question, and my biggest fears formed a lump in my throat, one I had to swallow over a couple of times before I could push out words to answer him. “The usual way. I spent a night with a man, and nine months later, I gave birth to Angel.”

  “When?” He swallowed and tried again. “When did you have her?” he croaked out.

  I noticed he kept balling his hands into fists at his sides, then opening and flexing them like he wanted to hit something. But I held my ground.

  “Angel’s a month old.” I waited for the fireworks.

  Fascinatedly, I watched as Jack did the math.

  “But you were a virgin.” He blew out a breath. “And we used condoms.”

  “Virginity can’t prevent pregnancy, and condoms aren’t one hundred percent pregnancy protection.”

  “So, she’s mine.”

  I nodded.

  Then he shocked me. “May I hold her?”

  He extended his hands to me, and I walked over to him. Gently, he took Angel from my arms and stared down into the seafoam green of his own eyes. Instead of running away screaming like I worried he would, Jack sat carefully on the couch and laid Angel in his lap. He counted her fingers and gently ran his index finger across the ends of her feet covered in her footy pajamas, counting her toes. While cupping her head in his big hands, he cradled her body between his forearms resting on his lap. As I watched Jack fall in love with our daughter, I fell more deeply in love with him.

  Without looking away from Angel, he whispered, “Were you going to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  He quirked a dubious brow at me as I sat near him on the edge of the couch.

  “I just hadn’t figured out how. Until a few minutes ago, I didn’t have your number.”

  Like he couldn’t help himself, he returned to staring at our baby. “You could have called my parents,” he said softly. “They would have given it to you.” He didn’t take his eyes off Angel, who studied him with the same intensity.

  “Are you sure about that?” I didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of my tone. “How many women call your parents every week claiming to know you? Claiming to have children you’ve fathered?”

  He glanced up at that. “Good point.” Clearing his throat, he said, “Annabelle had my number.”

  “She did?” I tried to cover my squeak with a shrug. “Besides, telling you over the phone when you were on tour didn’t sound like a great idea.”

  “Who else knows about us? About our baby?”

  “Annabelle. My friend Stacy from the sorority. They suspect you’re her father, but they don’t know for sure because I haven’t told anyone who Angel’s father is.”

  The abject expression on his face tore at me. “Sounds like you maybe weren’t going to tell me about my daughter. Are you ashamed I’m Angel’s father?”

  Hurt? Anger? I thought I heard both in his voice.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why keep it a secret?”

  Tipping a look at the ceiling, I gathered my thoughts. With Jack holding Angel like she meant everything to him, I knew I only had one chance to say everything right. “For starters, my friends would believe me, but no one else I know would. Then there’s the press. Someone would see an opportunity to make money, and the next thing you know, it’s all over Twitter, TMZ, Entertainment Tonight.” I leaned forward, willing him to understand where I was coming from, that I was trying to do everything right. “Some reporter is shoving a microphone in your face and asking all sorts of intrusive questions you don’t have a clue how to answer. How would you have felt if that was the way you found out?”

  “I—”

  “If the existence of my baby were splashed across the pages of the local news, which it would be considering who you are and who Harrison Barnes is, then Harrison and Meredith would know all about her too, and I don’t want them anywhere near Angel,” I finished in a rush.

  He jerked his head like I’d slapped him. “Your parents know nothing about her? How can that be?”

  Closing my eyes, I sucked a long breath in through my nose and let it out slowly. Opening my eyes again, I gave him a level stare. “They disowned me the day I told them I was pregnant.”

  “They did what?”

  Angel startled at Jack’s outburst, and he gave his attention to soothing her for a minute before returning his eyes to me.

  “Beyond knowing about my pregnancy, they know nothing about me, about you, about Angel. They cut me off with nothing but my car, which it turns out they’d foolishly put in my name when they gave it to me for high school graduation. Otherwise, they cut off everything. Especially contact with them.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “It’s as though I never existed. If they knew you were Angel’s father, it might even be worse than no contact.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Jack’s tone was low—and dangerous.

  I sucked in a breath and spilled the ugly truth. “When I told Harrison and Meredith you were taking me to prom sophomore year, Meredith’s exact words were: ‘You’re going to prom with a boy named Whitehorse? Really? Is he—an Indian?’ She made it sound like your race was a social disease.”

  Jack flexed his hands into fists and growled, “I suppose she wanted you to go with someone named Carlyle?”

  Angel let out a squawk, reminding Jack she still lay in his lap, and I watched him slowly relax for her.

  “If I hadn’t done something so socially unacceptable as to become pregnant outside of marriage, she’d probably still like me to be dating someone named Carlyle.” I let out a snort. “In fact, before they erased me from their lives, they invited Michael Carlyle to every social event for which I needed an escort. No subtlety whatsoever.” I rolled my eyes. “Which made it awkward for everyone when I ignored him for the entirety of those events.”

  “At least you have good taste,” Jack said. We shared a feral grin.

  “Actually, when Meredith saw you in your tux when you picked me up for prom, she commented on how incredibly handsome you were. ‘Too bad he has the last name Whitehorse and no money,’ she said.”

  “After nearly three years with Balefire, I can probably buy and sell your parents.” His tone switched from partly sunny to deadly frigid in a heartbeat.

  Mine matched his. “Stop calling them my parents. Parents care about their kids. Parents take care of their kids when their kids need them. Parents don’t raise their kids to be invisible except when the parents need to show them off at social functions. Parents don’t disown their kids when their kids disappoint them.” Angel startled at my raised voice, and I worked to lower it a couple of octaves. “Harrison and Meredith Barnes are my biological donors. They are not my parents.”

  I’d ranted myself into a state and needed to take a couple of laps around my apartment to calm down. Ange
l continued to fuss, and Jack automatically put her on his shoulder and patted her gently, soothing her.

  “Jesus, Clio.”

  We stared at each other in awkward silence before he finally broke it. “Well, that explains your apartment.”

  I looked around at my sparsely furnished place and realized how it must look to someone who’d spent the better part of the last three years living in hotel suites with bathrooms as big as my living room and kitchen combo. Embarrassed heat suffused my face, and I dug my nails into my palms.

  “I’m on scholarship, so school is paid for. I took out a loan for living expenses since my part-time job only pays minimum wage. This place is clean, and Angel has everything she needs,” I said, daring him.

  A pained look crossed his face. “You could have asked me, Clio. I would have taken care of you,” he said quietly. “I’ll start now, if you’ll let me.”

  It was the way he said it that defeated me. Plus the fact that he looked so handsome, so perfect sitting there holding Angel effortlessly, like handling a tiny baby was just another part of his day.

  “Why, Jack? Why did you walk away from me without a backward glance?” I hated how small my voice sounded, but after all this time, the hurt had never left me.

  An answering pain flashed in his gorgeous eyes. “Part of my plan that night at Red Rocks included an explanation. But one thing led to another—” He shrugged. “The truth is, I never wanted to walk away from you.”

  “Then why did you?”

  Before he could answer, Angel stiffened her teeny body and tore off an earsplitting scream. He flinched and held her closer to his shoulder as she followed her scream with a pitiful wail.

  I came around the coffee table and reached for my daughter. Reluctantly, Jack handed her to me. “I didn’t hurt her, I swear.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I agreed. “Someone has gas. It’s a little intestinal trouble she’s had since birth. The doctor said she’ll outgrow it in the next month or so. In the meanwhile, she needs a little massage, don’t you, baby girl?”