by L.H. Cosway
I never looked away from him when I came with startling intensity, and a few seconds later, hot liquid hit my mouth. I swallowed before I could think about it as Jack pulled me up to stand and wrapped his arms around me tight. His pulse was racing.
“That was incredible, thank you,” he said, a little breathless, his voice full of gratitude. Then he began to softly laugh. It wasn’t a mocking sort of laughter; it was a gentle, tender kind. “That’s going to be etched into my memory for the rest of my days, Lille. Just looking at your lips is going to be a struggle.”
I wasn’t sure why, but thinking about that made me smile.
***
Later that day, we were just arriving at the gazebo for dinner, hand in hand, when a loud ruckus sounded. I’d thought the scene Julie had made this morning was enough drama for one day, but seemingly not. People stood nearby as King bulldozed around the space, tossing over tables and chairs, fury and misery melding into one as angry tears ran down his face. He was on a rampage and drunk beyond measure.
“Where is it?” he growled, the rumble of his voice making the tiniest hairs on my arms stand on end. “Which one of you took it?!” He glared at those standing by, pointing accusatory fingers at anyone who dared make eye contact. My heart pounded and I swallowed deeply, wondering what the hell had happened.
“I swear to God, I’ll burn this place to the ground if I don’t find it,” he threatened. His body lost some of its tension as he slumped forward, bracing his hands on a table. “Thieves! You’re all a bunch of thieves! Will you try to steal everything from me? Strip every last pound of flesh from my bones until there’s nothing left?” Now he stopped pointing fingers at those around him and looked up to the sky as though talking to a higher power. “Have I not suffered enough for you? Have I not paid yet for my sins?”
The stark suffering and woe that encapsulated him despite his anger made my eyes prick a little with tears. A moment later, Marina was hurrying to him. He turned away when he saw her, as though ashamed of his behaviour, and she reached out to place a hand on his elbow. As she tugged on his arm, he slowly turned around, icy blue eyes full of heartache.
“What’s wrong, brother?” Marina asked in a surprisingly tender voice. “What happened?”
“They took it,” he said, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke. “Somebody took it.”
Marina began to rub his arm in a soothing manner. “Took what?”
“The picture. It’s all I have of her and now it’s gone.”
As I listened to him speak, my entire body startled with a sickening jolt. Oh, God. The picture. I still had his picture. I’d been meaning to give it back to him all day, but Jack had been distracting me so much that I’d forgotten. I felt for it in my pocket, fingers sliding over the worn edges of the paper. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like if I stepped forward now, King might try to attack me, thinking I stole the picture, when really I’d just found it and had every intention of giving it back.
“Jack,” I whispered, and his attention fell on me. “I think I know what he’s talking about. I think I have his picture.”
He stared at me for a moment before comprehension lit in his eyes and he held his hand out. “Give it to me.”
I pulled it from my pocket and did as he asked. “I didn’t steal it. I found it.”
“Don’t worry, Lille,” he said, looking down at the picture and taking in the image of the beautiful woman. “I’ll take care of it.”
With that he walked towards King, holding the picture out to him. “King, mate, look, is this what you’re searching for? I found it today. I’ve been looking for you to give it back.”
King’s eyes darted to Jack, and the moment he saw the picture, he swiped it from his hands. It was almost like everything else faded away as he held it close, peering down at the image. He blinked a few times, tears still on his face, as his body slumped to the ground and shook as though in agony. I frowned at the scene, my curiosity building to almost uncontainable levels. I wanted to know desperately who the woman in the picture was. It said on the back that her name was Alexis, but there were few other details. I had the feeling this woman had something to do with why King was the way he was. What on earth could have happened between them to bring him so low?
After a moment, Jack assisted Marina in helping King to stand, and they led him out of the gazebo. A couple of minutes passed before everyone had fixed the tables and chairs back in place, and then it was like nothing had even happened. It was more than a little bizarre. One of the women who did the cooking — I didn’t know her name, but I recognised her face — came and asked me if I’d like some stew and I nodded, asking for a bowl for Jack, too. I thought he’d be back as soon as he was done with King.
I was halfway through my bowl, my mind still fixating on King and the mystery of his photograph, when a shadow fell over me. I looked up to see Jack. He sat down across from me, and I told him the extra bowl was for him.
“Thanks,” he said, fitting his feet around mine beneath the table, but it seemed like his mind was elsewhere.
“Is…is King okay?” I asked.
“Marina put him to bed in her camper to sleep it off. He’ll be fine.”
“Do you know who the woman in the picture is?” I couldn’t help blurting.
He shrugged. “Some old flame of King’s, I think. When he’s really wasted, he sometimes talks about losing the love of his life, how it was some guy called Bruce’s fault. I don’t know many more details than that. He doesn’t make a lot of sense when he’s drunk, and he’s drunk more often than he’s sober.”
I pondered his answer, wondering if the love of King’s life had died or if she’d just left him.
“What did he do before he came here?” I asked. “Marina once said something about his life being very different before.”
Jack met my gaze as he chewed on a piece of bread he’d dipped into the stew. “You’re very curious about King, Lille.”
“Yes, I am,” I said, not bothering to deny it. “There’s something fascinating about him. I’d actually really like to draw him.”
Jack tilted his head, now taking a swig from a glass of water. “Do you want to draw him for the same reasons you want to draw me?”
I scrunched my face up. “No, of course not. I like interesting subjects. And different people interest me for different reasons. King interests me.”
He absorbed my answer and continued eating for a while before he spoke again. “In answer to your question, from what Marina’s told me, King used to be really rich. Some big successful banker or something, but he got involved in some shady stuff and lost everything. Marina thinks he was being blackmailed, but who knows if that’s true.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful.”
“Yeah. In the end whatever he was doing caught up with him, and he lost everything. And like a lot of fallen men, he hit the bottle.”
“Wow.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Wow?”
“Yeah. I mean, to have it all and then lose it is kind of epic. It’s like the ultimate tragedy.”
He let out a deep, cynical chuckle. “If you say so.”
The smile that shaped his lips told me he found me amusing for whatever reason, and I scowled at him playfully. “So how come you don’t know more about him? You two seem to talk a lot.”
Jack shrugged one shoulder. “We do talk a lot, about lots of things, but never his past. He obviously doesn’t want to discuss it.” He paused and got a faraway look in his eyes. “I guess we have that in common.”
I reached over and squeezed his hand, feeling a deep sense of gratitude that he’d entrusted me with his past. I had a feeling no one else knew the full story of Jack McCabe, and it was humbling.
Before I knew it, it was time for the night’s performance, and people were flocking in from the city to see the show. My hands were stained with all the colours of the rainbow by the time I was done, but I felt satisfyingly tired. I’d transformed kids and even som
e adults into a whole variety of creatures, from real to mythical, and I was so looking forward to sleep.
Jack had given me a key for his camper, so I tiredly trudged my way there. Lola walked with me, then continued on to Violet’s. I must have been caught up in all the activity after the show, because when I arrived, Jack was already inside. He lay on his bed, reading. All he wore was his black lounge pants, and his long hair hung wet at his shoulders. I came in quietly and set my things at the foot of the bed. We smiled at one another, not saying a word, and I went to kick off my shoes and leave my sketchpad and face paints on the dresser.
“I need a shower,” I sighed.
Jack glanced up from his book, a quizzical arch to his brow. “What does Teutonic mean?”
His question caught me off guard, and I scratched at my head, trying to remember. “Oh, I think it’s similar to Germanic, or relating to an ancient race of German people called the Teutons. Don’t ask me for more details — I was always crap at history.”
A little smile graced his mouth as he plucked a pencil from behind his ear and scribbled down a note. “Thanks.”
“No problem. So, is it okay if I shower?”
When his eyes came to me again, they were heated. “Only if you promise not to wear a towel when you get out.”
I laughed and shook my head as I turned for the bathroom. “We’ll see.”
I noticed his eyes had been flickering to my sketchpad when I was in the room, so it wasn’t a surprise when he called after me, “Can I look at your pictures?”
I hesitated a moment in the hallway. I was self-conscious about my work, but Jack had already seen most of it, so I shrugged and answered, “Yeah, sure.” And honestly, I was a little bit flattered that he wanted to look at them. When I emerged from the shower, I considered his no-towel request, but I wasn’t ballsy enough to go through with it. Instead, I pulled on my sleep shorts and tank top, which really didn’t leave much to the imagination anyway. And technically, I was fulfilling his request, since I wasn’t wearing a towel.
All thoughts of towels fled my mind when I stepped inside his room again to find him with my sketchpad open on his lap. He wasn’t looking at the sketches, though. He had a piece of paper in his hands, his eyes scanning the words as he read.
It was my list.
Sixteen
A discovery made Lille’s heart pound
Oh, God. I’d tucked it into my sketchpad the other day and forgot about it. Now Jack was holding it in his hands, reading it, and my mortification was palpable.
His attention landed on me, but I couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The list made me look like a silly little girl, I knew that, but I didn’t care because I’d never planned for anyone to read it but me. It was my comfort blanket, something to remind me of my goals and ambitions, ridiculous though some of them might seem. I took a steadying breath and swallowed.
My voice was tense when I held my hand out and requested, “Can I have that back, please?”
Jack stared at me, and the numbered items ran through my head. I knew them off by heart. Aside from numbers 3, 6, and 11, there wasn’t anything on there to embarrass me too much. Still, I felt exposed.
1. Dump Henry Jackson.
2. Get a tattoo.
3. Have sex with a stranger.
4. Do something dangerous.
5. Visit a place I’ve never been before.
6. Fall in love.
7. Make a new friend.
8. Quit my degree.
9. Become a real artist.
10. Move out of my mother’s house.
11. Get my heart broken.
The first thing Jack said was not what I expected at all. “Who’s Henry Jackson?”
I let out a long breath and came to sit beside him, running my suddenly sweaty palms against the fabric of my shorts.
“You shouldn’t be reading that. It’s private.” I knew I was being a little unfair, since I’d read his discarded letter to his brother, but I couldn’t help my annoyance. I tried to convince myself that turnaround was fair play, and my irritation slowly deflated. Plus, if I had found a similar list among Jack’s things, I was pretty sure my curiosity would have gotten the better of me, too.
Jack reached out and pulled me close, tucking me under his arm as he continued to hold the list in front of him. I rested my head on his chest and could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was reassuring somehow.
“I thought it was a sketch,” Jack explained.
“Mm-hmm.”
A beat of silence elapsed. “So, who is he?” If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a note of insecurity in his tone, and I was taken aback. Jack was jealous of the idea of me with someone else. At the very least, he wasn’t thrilled to be thinking about it. My little beating heart and its ever-growing feelings for him was over the moon.
“My ex, obviously,” I answered, peering up at him speculatively.
“How long were you with him?”
“Two years, but it wasn’t serious. He was…I don’t know. Safe, maybe? You know how sometimes you’d rather be with anyone over no one?” Jack’s nod was infinitesimal, but it was there. I guessed he was thinking of Julie and how his loneliness, at least physically, had propelled him to being with her because she was available. His finger scrolled down my list until it stopped at number four. “This one is stupid. Why would you willingly put yourself in harm’s way?”
I let out a tiny laugh. “Coming from the guy who risks his life every night as part of his job?”
He only stared at me, hard. I swallowed, shrugged, and finally answered, “To feel alive, I guess. My life growing up has consisted of a sequence of straight lines. I wanted to throw in a couple of curves and dips, you know. Take a risk, the same as you.”
“It’s not the same, but I see your point.”
“Anyway,” I went on teasingly, “I think I’ve ticked this item off my list. Being with you is pretty dangerous, right?”
My humour was lost on him; in fact, I’d never seen him frown so hard. “Is that how you see me? As a little dip in your straight line? Because if you’re angling to get hurt by me, I’ll put you straight right now. It won’t happen. I will not be your number eleven, Lille. My hesitancy to be with you was indicative of my apprehension as to whether or not I could control myself. Yes, I get off on giving you a little pain, but I will always be controlled, highly so. If I hurt you, it will be momentary, and it will be followed by pleasure. This is the promise I’ve made to myself. And I will never burn you in a way that would cause permanent physical damage. You may be left with a few marks, but they’ll be the kind that heal. I don’t want to feel like a monster, not anymore.” He paused his passionate speech to take my hand in his and bring it to the scars on his shoulder. “You will never wear scars like I do, Lille, do you understand?”
I blinked at him, my throat suddenly dry as my heart pounded in my chest. For years this man had been living under the assumption that he was sick, that there was something wrong with him on the inside, when really he was just different. Changed by experience. And really, he was far more noble than most. Far more worthy of trust, and I didn’t think for a second that he would ever hurt me, not intentionally anyway.
We fell into a strange sort of quiet, still resting close, still touching.
“You’ve completed almost all of these,” Jack said then, and I realised he was talking about the list again.
“I know. It feels crazy. I never thought I’d actually do them all. I thought they’d each take a great effort, but by deciding to join the circus, one thing just kind of followed the other.” He made a little grunting sound, and I glanced at him. “What?”
Instead of replying, he reached for the pencil that was tucked behind his ear, the one he’d used earlier to scribble a note in his book. He brought it to the list and drew a distinct line through number three.
3. Have sex with a stranger
“You’re not doing that one,” he s
aid, voice a firm growl.
I couldn’t contain my grin. “Oh, yeah, well, maybe I already have.”
I swear to God, his expression went so dark I was a little frightened. I really needed to start learning what I could and couldn’t tease him about. “Excuse me?”
“With you, you idiot! You’re my stranger.” I nuzzled affectionately at the spot just below his ear.
Almost as quickly as it came, all of the tension went out of him. His thumb brushed my shoulder, while the other hand spread out warm and tingly on my belly. He was practically purring now. “I am far from a stranger to you. In fact, that night you knew me better than anyone.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, savouring his purring cadence. His voice was pure sex sometimes, so intimate. God, I wanted him inside me, but I was so tired my muscles ached. My body was at once begging me for sleep and squirming for Jack’s cock. I think he saw the thought pass over my face, because he gave me a slow, lazy grin.
“You want me inside you, flower?” he asked in a seductive whisper, tongue licking at the shell of my ear and sending tingles all the way down my spine.
I stared at his bare, muscular torso and groaned, “Yes, but I’m so tired.”
He moved so he was on top of me, pulling my legs around his waist. “That’s actually perfect. Tonight, I want to give rather than take.”
I knew he had to be referring to our tryst backstage in the Spiegeltent earlier today, where I’d gone down on him. The memory gave me a pleasant shudder, and at the same time I wondered about his statement. If he didn’t want to take tonight, then what did he want to give? I watched with rapt attention as he reached over to his bedside dresser and pulled open a drawer. He retrieved a small black leather box and set it on the bed beside me. I got the sense that he wanted me to open it, so I picked it up and lifted the lid. Inside were several pieces of metal. One was long and thin, like a small wand, and the others were silver hoops, both equal in size.
“What are they?” I asked, taking one of the hoops and looping it through my fingers.