Reckless Love_A Second Chance Romance

by J. Saman

  As we sit in New York rush-hour traffic that doesn’t stop, even after everyone is already at work, Jameson calls the hospital for an update. I note he doesn’t call Dianne and I wonder if that’s because of their tenuous relationship or something else. I hold his hand as he listens to whatever the doctor or nurse is telling him, and when he closes his eyes like whatever they’re saying physically hurts him, I move closer to him.

  “He had a heart attack,” he bewilderedly breathes out once he ends the call. “He’s up in the ICU. They gave him some medication that dissolved the clot in his heart and tomorrow they’re planning on doing angioplasty.”

  “They dissolved the clot.” I smile and he nods. “Sounds promising.”

  He doesn’t say anything else. Not even as we pull up at the hospital and John shakes his hand, offering his sympathies. We’re ushered upstairs and as we walk down the hall of the ICU—it would be a terrifying place to visit even if we didn’t have a loved one here—and enter his room, I do my best to hold in my emotions. Jameson squeezes my hand so tight, I can feel the blood draining from my fingers.

  My fingers match Jameson, who is white as a sheet, his eyes wide and his expression a mixture of shock and terror. His father is asleep, his eyes closed, but for such a strong man, he looks small and meek. His black hair—the same shade as Jameson’s—is disheveled. There is a large, stitched-up gash on his right temple. Tubes and wires protrude from his arms and chest, hooked up to machines that drip medicines and fluids into his body. A monitor flashes green numbers at me, various wavy lines dancing across the small screen. I have no idea what any of it means, but I’m hoping it’s good.

  “Dad,” Jameson whispers, his voice hoarse like he hasn’t used it in years. His father doesn’t open his eyes and Jameson starts to tremble. I swallow hard, pleading with myself to hold it together.

  “You must be Mr. Wood’s son Jameson?” a voice behind us says and we both spin around to face a young, pretty woman dressed in light blue scrubs. “I’m Doctor Landy.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Jameson shakes her hand. “This is my girlfriend Lyric Rose.”

  She greets me, before turning her full attention back to Jameson. “Would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment so we can talk?”

  “Uh…” Jameson hesitates, clearly not wanting to leave his father’s side.

  “I’ll stay,” I offer.

  He gives me the smallest of perceptive grins and nods before following the doctor out into the hallway. I don’t know what to do with myself. Where to go or how to move. I’m terrified that any misstep will be like tripping over the proverbial plug, even if I know that idea is ridiculous. It’s just the overwhelming nature of the room and the situation.

  There is an empty seat next to his bed and I slowly slide myself into, realizing as an afterthought that Jameson’s stepmother isn’t here. Tentatively, I reach out and place my hand on top of Mr. Woods’. And then I smile, because even though I know his name is Jameson, like my Jameson’s, I’ve only ever heard him referred to as Mr. Woods.

  At my touch, his eyes slowly flutter open and I realize just how much Jameson looks like him. Same pale blue eyes. Same black hair. Some chiseled handsome features. “You’re not my son,” he says softly, his voice gravely and weak.

  “No,” I say, leaning forward. “Jameson is out in the hall speaking with the doctor. I’m—”

  “Lyric. Yes, I know all about you.” I blush a little at that and I’m not typically an easy blusher. “You’re my son’s girlfriend.”

  “Yes,” I say, even though he didn’t pose that as a question. I get the impression that Mr. Woods knows and sees everything.

  “I’m very glad I’m finally getting to meet you, Lyric. I’m sure I’ve seen you before, around town or in school with Jamie. But we’ve never been formally introduced. You make my son very happy.”

  I smile. I can’t stop it. Even in the middle of this grave situation, something about his father saying that fills me with giddy bubbles. “Me too, Mr. Woods. You have an incredible son.”

  “You can call me Jameson. But if that’s too confusing, since I know that’s what you call him, you can call me Jamie and my son Jameson.”

  I smile. Laugh a little. “How are you feeling, Jamie?”

  “Like I had a heart attack and hit my head.” I frown at that and he reaches over, covering the hand that’s holding onto him with his other ice-cold hand. “I’m glad you two came, though you really should turn around and go home. You both have school.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen until you’re on the mend.”

  “I’m grateful my son has you, Lyric. I don’t know you well. Not yet, anyway, but you remind me of Jameson’s mother, Lily. The way you love him and the way he loves you. It makes this old man very happy.”

  And I’m crying. Big, fat ugly tears. I can’t stop them. They’re rolling down my cheeks like a tsunami crashing to the shore. I feel so foolish and am beyond embarrassed, but God… how could I not cry at that?

  “What did you say to make my girlfriend cry, old man?” Jameson comes in, his tone playful and his eyes bright. I love that he just called him old man. Especially after his father just called himself the very same thing.

  “Come over here,” his father says.

  I wipe furiously at my eyes that are still leaking like a faucet. Jameson kisses the side of my face, stopping me when I try to rise out of the seat so he can sit in my place. He lowers himself onto the arm of the chair instead, closer to his father. He doesn’t touch him the way I am. He just sits there, stiff and uneasy despite the lighthearted moment they just shared. “I’m fine, Jamie. I’m going to be fine. Stop looking at me like I’m going to die any second.”

  Jameson shakes his head, rolling his eyes and growling something under his breath.

  “We need to talk,” his father says and now I do stand up. They need time alone.

  “I’m going to go home and shower,” I say, shifting from Jamie to Jameson. Shit, that’s going to get really confusing. Especially since his father—and everyone else—call Jameson Jamie. “I’ll be back in a bit with some food.”

  Jameson—my Jameson—turns to me and nods. “Okay. Thanks, baby.” He leans in and kisses my lips, right in front of his father. I’ve never kissed a boy in front of an adult like that, and I feel myself coloring again. Jameson laughs at my reaction and then I say my goodbyes to his father and get the hell out of there. I don’t bother calling John. He just dropped us off and I already woke him in the middle of the night and had him pick us up at JFK, so instead I take an Uber home, anxious to see my parents.

  I step out of the car at the gate of my parents’ house. The driver pulls away and I punch in the code, the large black iron gates swinging open for me. I don’t even make it up the driveway to the front of the house before the front door bursts open and Melody comes flying out. She’s laughing hysterically, practically skipping and galloping at the same time until her arms are wrapped around me and she’s jumping up and down, giggling and screaming in my ear.

  “You fucking bitch,” she says. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  I pull back, my smile as glorious as hers. “And when was I supposed to do that?”

  She sighs, some of her enthusiasm slipping. “I don’t know. I guess you had a lot on your plate. How is he?”

  “Jameson the Third or Jameson Junior?”

  She eyes me, her muddy green eyes narrowing. “Both, slut wagon.”

  God, I’ve missed my sister.

  “Hanging in there and hanging in there. I left so they could talk and spend some alone time together. I’ll go back after I visit with you and Mom and Dad.”

  “Am I the worst sort of person if I show you this?” she asks, extending her elegant, manicured hand out to me so I can see the massive emerald-cut diamond that looks like it could sink a battleship prominently displayed on her fourth finger.

  “Oh my God!” I scream, wrapping my arms around her again as we do th
at jumping up and down, giggling thing that only really close sisters or friends can do. “You cunt. When did you get engaged?”

  “This morning, actually. Can you believe it?” she pulls back, wiping at her happy tears. I have some of my own going too. “It was the craziest thing. I woke up to this elaborate breakfast that José made me. I mean, everything, right down to the damn scones, were homemade. Just as I took a bite, he got down on one knee.”

  “You choked, didn’t you?”

  She bursts out laughing, throwing her head back and everything. “Yes! I did. I totally freaking did. But luckily, I got control quickly, because that is not a story to tell the grandkids. I said yes, obviously.” She wiggles her fingers and the massive diamond glints at me again.

  “I am so happy for you. When’s the wedding? And what hideous dress are you going to force me into as maid of honor?” I point at her, making sure she gets the threat behind my words. Any other title will not do.

  “You can pick it out. I won’t even argue with you when you choose some nutty color like powder blue or bright yellow. And I’m thinking sometime next summer.” She cocks an eyebrow at me and I know that look.

  “Like I’d miss your wedding. I’ll take whatever time off you need me to. Can I bring Jameson?” I ask and then I pause, realizing I’m assuming a lot about our relationship. I know we said ‘I love you’ this morning. I know we’ve become serious and that we both want it to work out. But still, that voice in the back of my head continues to ask, how can it? I’ve even talked to Robert about New York, but he won’t hear of it. The office there is very small and there are no studios. At least not ones meant for full record production. California is his home base.

  I’ve been looking for other studios, making calls and sending emails, but so far, nothing else has come up.

  “Of course, you can. But…”

  I shake my head, shutting down the question instantly. I don’t want to go there. I’m getting tired of obsessing over the perpetual ticking clock on my relationship with him.

  “Come inside. Mom, Dad, and José are waiting on us. They let me have my moment, but I know they’re dying to share it with you too.”

  Melody and I walk arm in arm into my parents’ house. Melody can’t stop talking. Her mouth moves a mile a minute. I’ve never seen her this happy, and in turn, that has me over the moon. I hug José, my sister’s new fiancé, instantly. He’s a tall, slender guy with dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and gorgeous, tanned skin. José’s father is originally from Cuba. He came over here for baseball and never went back after meeting his wife and having children.

  “Lyric, my love,” my father says with a huge smile. “We’ve missed you so much.” He wraps me up in his tattooed arms, kissing the crown of my head. His blond hair is shorter than it was the last time I saw him and I think I like it better like this. It fits him. My mother comes on the other side of us, holding me just as fiercely.

  “How’s your boy?” she asks in my ear. “We’re so worried about him. About both of them,” she adds.

  They release me, taking my hand and leading me back into the sunroom. I love this house. It may be huge, but it’s always felt intimate and cozy. It’s always felt like home. My mother is also blonde, with big green eyes and a smile that can stop your heart. She met my father when she was my age. They ran into each other after one of his shows. She went backstage with a friend and the two of them started talking, and that was it.

  They married a year later and had Mel two years after that. My mother devoted her life to raising us and did a damn good job of it. I know how lucky I am to have a family like this. What it means to be loved and cared for to this degree. How special and rare what we have is.

  I explain everything that happened with Jameson’s father and how my Jameson is taking it. They listen with rapt attention, holding my hand and looking as stricken as I feel.

  “He can stay here with you,” my mom says, looking to my father for confirmation. He nods, like it’s a done deal. “He doesn’t have to stay in his dad’s house with his stepmother. He’s yours and that makes him ours.”

  “Thank you,” I say, getting choked up for what feels like the millionth time today. We talk for a few more minutes, mostly about Melody and José’s wedding plans, and then I excuse myself to shower so I can get back to Jameson. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long couple of days.

  Chapter 15

  Jameson

  * * *

  “I’m glad you came, but now you can go,” my father says to me the moment Lyric leaves the room. I rub my forehead with my hand, trying to remain calm when his words just piss me off so much. My father looks about ten years older in this hospital bed. He’s frail and sickly pale. I know he views this heart attack, this hospital bed and the shit coming out of his body, as some sort of emasculating assault. Like being sick is some sort of weakness the world is just waiting to exploit.

  “You’re having surgery tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’m having a procedure and I’m going to be fine. You have classes you’re missing.”

  I stand up quickly, striding to the window that overlooks a courtyard, because if I don’t leave my father’s side I’m going to throttle him, and I think it’s considered bad form to beat up a guy who just had a heart attack. “I’m staying,” I say firmly, staring out the window. I don’t know why I’m so angry with him. Maybe because he’s spent his life drinking alcohol, eating red meat with every meal and smoking cigars. Maybe because I don’t really feel like he appreciates that I flew out of bed in the middle of the night and came running up here for him. Or maybe because in this moment, I feel like a child and I need him to be my dad. Even if that’s unfair given the circumstances.

  But the last thing I can handle right now is the hard, tough-love routine he’s been shoveling down my throat my entire life.

  “She’s special,” he says and I know he’s talking about Lyric.

  I nod my head, still fixated on nothing out the window. “Yes. She is.”

  “I hope it works out for you two. Not so easy when you both want big careers. Your mother was never all that into work. She was always happy to let me lead. I don’t think your girl is like that.”

  “No. She’s not.”

  “She’s gonna have to learn if you want it to work out.”

  Shut up, Dad. Just shut the fuck up!

  “It’s why the divorce rate is so high in this country. Women want to have it all. Big careers, and a perfect home life. But men are simpler than that. We know we can’t have it all and expect our women to take up the slack. When they don’t because they’re too busy with their own jobs to watch after their families, well, that’s when couples break up.”

  I spin around on my heels and face him head on. “You don’t really believe that bullshit, do you?”

  “No,” he says with a tired grin. “I don’t. I was just checking to see how invested you are with her. To see if you’ll support her when she needs you to.”

  I laugh. It’s slightly hysterical. I have no idea who this man is right now. My hands run through my hair, tugging on the ends. It doesn’t help to ease the mounting pressure inside me. Pressure. That’s all I ever have going on. School. Sports. My father’s expectations. This new company venture with Cane and Travers. “I don’t want to talk about Lyric. I want to talk about you.”

  “It’s a heart attack, Jamie. No one’s cutting off my balls. I’ll be out of here in a few days and back to work by the end of next week.”

  I stare at my father, wondering if he’ll ever quite understand. I don’t think so. I think his stubbornness is so deeply ingrained in who he is that there is no seeing past it at this point. So why am I trying to fight him? Why do I feel like I can win when I’ve already lost? And because he’s like this, I can’t show him any weakness. I can’t tell him that he’s all I’ve got, even though Lyric pointed out that he’s not. It’s different, though, and I know she understands that. I can’t tell my father I’m
scared for him. That if he doesn’t change his lifestyle, there will be a next time and that the next time might not end so well.

  I don’t feel comfortable expressing emotion to my father and that hurts nearly as much as this situation does.

  But there are some conversations people can’t have with each other. Some words can never be spoken and you end up swallowing your tongue and part of your soul instead of your pride.

  I turn back around, no longer able to look at him. “You win, Dad,” I say. “You always do.” I think a part of me just died. But ironically, it’s not any part I want to possess anymore. It’s the scared little boy I’ve been holding on to since my mother died. I am no longer afraid of my father, I realize. I no longer need his approval and praise. I have my own company. I have a beautiful girlfriend who loves me. In eight months, give or take, I’m going to have a degree.

  Maybe then, I’ll be able to breathe a little. I’ll find some wiggle room and space to maneuver. I won’t feel like a weight is constantly pressing down on my chest. I may have always wanted to be like my father, and part of me still hopes I am to a certain degree, but I am so much more aware than he’ll ever be. Accepting that we all have weakness makes us stronger and that’s a simple fact he’s never been able to face.

  “Good. Now go find that girl of yours. I’m tired and need my rest. Come back and see me later before you leave town.”

  “Did you know that I flew out of bed to get here? Dianne, who’s not even here, called me at a quarter to four in the morning. I didn’t hesitate. I packed a bag and Lyric and I drove an hour to the airport and I got on a plane. Now here I am. And you’re fucking kicking me out.” I drop my forehead to the window, wishing I were stronger in this minute. Wishing this wasn’t so goddamn hard to say. Slapping my hand against the cool pane of glass, I right myself. I turn back around and march over to his bed, then drop down into the chair. “Fuck you, Dad.” His eyes widen at my outburst and I take that as a small victory. “Fuck you for trying to get rid of me. Lyric and I are staying. You’re going to shut up and accept our help. We’ll leave when we’re ready and I’m satisfied that my father isn’t going to die.”