Irons 3

by Mj Fields

  I make a mental note that I prefer her in my tattered Navy tee shirts than evening gowns, and at home rather than in public.

  I look left and Mother is walking towards me. When she stands before me she places her hands on my shoulders, “Try not to cause a scene, Jaxson. I know you. I know that the people in this room mean something to you. I know this country means something to you, Jaxson. So whatever issues you and I may have, I know they will pass when you stop allowing people, like her, to cloud the importance and position you were born into.”

  “People like her, Mother?” I sneer, yet hold an impassive look.

  “She is, how do I say this? She is not of the same breeding or class, Jaxson. She is-”

  “You do not speak about my wife that way.”

  I stop talking when a man, who I had spotted talking to the staff, approaches. I assume he is the event coordinator.

  “Mrs. Irons-”

  “What is it,” she snaps, yet holds the ice cold calmness she always did.

  “There are two police officers here to see you.” His tone is sympathetic.

  “I am speaking to my son, when I am finished-”

  “Ma’am, there has been an accident.”

  “Jonathon. Where is Jonathon? Jaxon, where,” she holds her hand to her chest.

  He looks down, “Ma’am, could you please come with me?”

  “Jaxson? Jaxson, I need you.”

  “Of course,” I say as I usher her towards the door.

  HOW MANY TIMES A DAY can one person pee? I ask myself as the toilet flushes and I walk towards the sink. I am convinced I have a nervous bladder. Maybe even bruised from the nonstop-

  My thoughts stop as I look up and see Mimi leaning against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “We need to stop running into each other like this, Mimi,” I say as I walk past her to the sink.

  “You’re ruining him.”

  “Is there a reason you think I have decided to buy into your bullshit since the hospital?” Her face turns red and I grab the towel from the basket on the counter. Apparently, the super-rich don’t believe in hand dryers.

  “Do you think Jaxson will ever have a chance at office if he marries a woman of your-”

  “He is married to me. And of my what?” I ask as I walk past her and drop the plush white towel in the basket.

  “Your culture and class.”

  “Thank you for your concern, as distorted as it is and as disillusioned as you are, my husband is not. William was going to run with him, Mimi, and he was raised by the same parents in the same household that I was. I hope that helps ease your concern for my husband.”

  “He would have gained votes. It was smart on Jaxson’s part to align himself with one as a running partner, but not one as a wife.”

  “One what?” came out harsh as well it should have. “You know what, never mind. You just need to understand, Mimi, regardless of what this brief look into the political world has done to me, I guarantee that my husband isn’t nearly as ignorant as the rest of you and the rest of the five percent. He is a good man, an honorable man, and he is my man, Mimi. Do you understand me? He is mine. Because as little faith as you seem to have in his ability to make his own choices, I would follow him through hell because no one, man or woman, black, white or brown that I have ever met is as fair, strong, and honorable as Jaxson Irons.”

  I look over my shoulder at Mimi and as I open the door, “All he needed was someone to love him and see who he truly is so that maybe, someday, he can enjoy a life of his own person and not someone’s fucking pawn.”

  I turn to walk out and am staring into the eyes of a female national news anchor, Maria Sanchez. She nods as she walks past me, and I nearly die that a woman like her heard me drop the f’ bomb in a place like this.

  “Pardon me,” I say as I walk out, feeling my face turn hot.

  I look across the room as Jaxson and his mother, followed by Mimi’s parents, are walking towards the entrance of the ballroom.

  I stop when I feel a hand on my elbow. It’s Titan.

  “Frankie,” his voice is a little unsteady, which is unlike him. “Come with me.”

  “No,” I yank away and start towards Jax.

  “Francesca Irons,” he grabs me again. “It wasn’t a request.”

  “Where is he going? Is he okay?” I look back at Jax and see Mimi rushing in Jax’s direction.

  “He’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

  In anger and worry, I pull my arm free of his hand. I know he is just doing what needs to be done but I want to go to Jax.

  “His father was in an accident, Frankie. Shadows is outside waiting to take them to the hospital. Considering his mother’s feelings for you-”

  “Is he going to be alright?” I ask, keeping up with his brisk pace towards an exit sign to the far left of the main entry.

  “No, Frankie, he’s not.” He opens the door and holds it for me.

  “What happened?” I ask, pausing long enough to pull my four-inch stilettoes off my now aching feet.

  “His car went over the New Jordan Bridge into the Chesapeake River about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Did they get him out?”

  “Not last I heard,” he opens the door to his Escalade and I get in.

  “So he could be alive, Titan. He could be-”

  “It’s one hundred and sixty nine feet high, Frankie.” He shuts the door, walks around the vehicle, gets in and starts it before pulling away from the curb.

  I want to ask all the questions that I know he can’t answer; how did it happen, has the car been pulled out of the river, what can I do to help?

  “Frankie,” Titan says as he pulls through the traffic light. “Now is the time to pull from wherever you found the strength to get through the accident. Irons, doesn’t know this but we’re being deployed soon: in less than a month. Just found out. He’s going to have a hard time knowing he’s not flying with us; add this, his injury, and you, you need to be stronger than ever, Frankie.”

  I take my phone from my bag and send him a text,

  I Love You Jaxson

  He doesn’t reply, so I send it… again.

  ~*~

  I lay in bed staring at the clock. It has been three hours and to say I am patiently waiting is a lie. To pass the time, I watch the news of Jonathan’s accident. The car was pulled from the river, and his body was still inside. My heart broke.

  My parents called and said they were on their way. I asked that they wait until I call them, until after I spoke to Jax. My mother said she will start cooking. Something she always did when someone died. I told her to freeze it, and she agreed to do so.

  After a phone call from Mary, I was drained emotionally and exhausted. I lay in bed, looking at the clock. It has been over four hours since I was brought home at this point.

  I am going to learn to cook for my husband.

  I grab my tablet; search recipes and screen shoot the ones I think Jax will like best.

  Flat Frankie didn’t cook, but she was a dream. A dream of how my life would one day become if I was ever lucky enough to be loved in return by Jaxon.

  The realities are cold, hard, and almost unbearable. Almost.

  Jaxson loves me, I love him. Because of that, I will do whatever I have to do to support and show him how love should be. So deep that it is never ending. My love for Jax is not what I dreamed of as a child. My love for Jax is no longer blind; it is visionary. Whatever obstacles come before me will not stop me. They will make me stronger. Stronger for him.

  I am the wife of a soldier, of a man who will fight for what is right in the world by taking care of what is bad. I am the wife of a man who loves his country and its freedom so deeply that he wants to lead it, regardless of the hazards or loss, that vision, that insurmountable need, causes. I am the wife of a man whose honor and instinctive obligation are ingrained so deeply in him I know it will never change. I am a proud wife, a wife of an American soldier.

  I
am Mrs. Jaxson Irons.

  ~*~

  I wake on a pillow, wet from my tears, to the bed dipping beside me. Jax is trying to not wake me: I allow it. But when he lays down and a soft, low, almost silent, sound comes from deep inside his chest, I can’t stop myself from rolling to my side and wrapping my body around him.

  “I’m so sorry, Jax.”

  “Angel,” he whispers against my head. “I’m sorry too.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m here. Sleep.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon I have to go and make arrangements with,” he pauses. “With her.”

  “Okay. Please just tell me what you need from me and I will do whatever you ask. ”

  “I’d like to sleep. My body aches-”

  “I’ll get you some pain medicine.”

  “I took some just before I came in.”

  “I love you, Jax.”

  “I love you too, Angel.”

  ~*~

  I wake up and he is still asleep. I slide silently out of bed and turn on the fan to the AC unit--white noise,-- I draw the curtains. I take his phone from his nightstand and look down at the message.

  Jaxson, thank you for doing the right thing last night. I will contact you when you are needed.

  The signature on the text is Helen Irons. I know that it was a standard sign off but why did she not say Mom, or even Mother, as he refers to her.

  Mother. That she certainly is, but as I use the bathroom I try to push down my ill feelings towards her, if only for a few days, through the grieving process, longer if Jaxson needs me to.

  I don’t know how long I stand at the end of the bed watching him sleep, searching for something on his face. A scratch, a bruise, some sort of evidence that last night’s deadly blow affected him as deeply as I know it must have.

  I find it in the slight downward curve of his lips and the tightness around his eyes. My heartbeats become harsher. Tears begin to build deep in my throat and move to pool in my eyes. My body aches to ease his worry.

  How much can one man take? How long can you live without the love I was raised knowing? Am I hurting him deeper than they ever did because now he knows love; love that is true and not attached to strings.

  Guilt gnaws at me, thinking I am the reason for the frown. Do I cause him to worry even more? It’s a silly question. I know I do.

  Tears fall and I wipe them away quickly. He senses it, I know he does because he stirs.

  I walk out of the bedroom after placing his phone back on the nightstand with the ringer off.

  I decide today I am going to make Jax breakfast. I am going to fill him up with love and food. I am going to be everything he knows I am and more than he could ever imagine, just like he is to me.

  THE SMELL OF BACON PULLS me from sleep. I know it’s my imagination. The deep sorrow I feel at the loss of Louisa. After finding out about her and my father’s affair, I allow myself to reflect back on all the years she has been in charge of the house staff. In essence, she was more a wife than my mother; and, in honesty, probably more a mother to me than my own was.

  I regret my reaction when I heard the news, ‘My father is fucking the maid?’

  Regret burns. I don’t like it. And now she is gone. She was in the car with Father.

  My heavy lids flutter open revealing a dark room. I reach beside me searching for Frankie in the dark and she isn’t there.

  I pull myself from the warmth and comfort of our bed and swing my cast leg over the side. I look at my phone, there is a message from Mother. I see that it’s been read, and the phone silenced.

  Angel, what are you doing?

  I grab the glass of water and pain pill set on the nightstand and drink it down before grabbing my crutch and making my way to the bedroom door.

  I stop when I see her in the kitchen, cooking. I shake my head and feel my lips turn up. She is trying to cook again.

  As if she knows I am awake, she looks over her shoulder.

  “Jax,” she says as she wipes her hands on a towel, throws it on the counter, and almost runs to me.

  She stops in front of me. “I’m so sorry about your father, and about Louisa. I am so very sorry.”

  She wraps her arms around my waist and holds on to me. I lean the crutch against the wall and pull her closer.

  “How are you doing?” I ask because I need to know.

  “I just want to make you happy,” she says, holding tighter.

  The fire alarm sounds and she jumps. I look up and see the towel she tossed has caught fire.

  “Damn it!” she yells as she runs to it.

  “Frankie, don’t!” I hop towards her as she pulls the half inflamed hand towel across the counter and into the sink.

  I grab the faucet and pull out the end to hose down the fire.

  Once it’s out she looks up at me, tears well in her eyes and all I can do is laugh. Her mouth gapes and then she smiles. Tears spill down her face and she starts to laugh too.

  Once we stop, she shakes her head from side to side and wipes away the tears.

  “Jax, I-”

  “You were cooking me breakfast again.”

  “I was,” she closes her eyes and silently giggles

  “It was only a towel this time,” I hop over and sit on the barstool at the island.

  She walks over and grabs my crutch, leans it on the counter and looks at me as she sighs. “I just want to take care of you.”

  I swear my hearts beat stalls for a moment as we look at one another. She looks like she did just a few years ago, like she did when she wanted desperately to make sure Will didn’t leave, like she wants to crawl out of her skin because she just cannot control a situation she wants to control. I am at a loss for words. I am relishing in the look she is giving me, the same one she gave her brother, who she loved to the ends of the earth and back. The look of loss before she threw her normal little crying fit. It is so hard to see that in her and then to have it disappear because, as my wife, she doesn’t have the luxury of being carefree, being youthful and full of piss and vinegar, of being…her.

  She nods once and walks to the kitchen. Where she opens the microwave and pulls out a plate. She sets the plate with an omelet, bacon, and fresh fruit on it.

  “I just want to be someone who you can count on. I want you to know that my love has no strings. I want to take care of you, Jax.”

  I pat my leg, “Come over here, Angel.”

  She does and I pat my leg again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re hurting me by not being on my lap?” I narrow my eyes at her slightly and she climbs up on me. “See, I’m not hurting anymore.”

  “Jax-”

  “You and I don’t have to make any choices right now.”

  “Jax, I-”

  “Listen to me please,” I push her hair behind her ear and tip her chin up so she is looking at me again. “The kind of love we have doesn’t go away.”

  “It’s not blind, it’s visionary.”

  I nod, “We have a rough road ahead of us.”

  “I’m ready, not going anywhere, not-”

  “Listening to me.”

  “Right.” She nods, “Sorry.”

  “I know you want to take care of me. Hell, there is no one else in the entire world I want to have that job. But just like you, I need to make sure I am taking care of you.”

  “Because that’s who you are.”

  “That’s who I am,” I agree.

  “I wouldn’t want you to change.” She reaches up and intertwines her fingers behind my neck.

  “You sure about that?”

  I take her wrists in my hands and push my face against the warmth of her soft, smooth skin.

  “You see this ring?” She pulls her hand free and holds it between us. “I could give you the talk about a circle being never ending but, honestly, as beautiful as it is, it’s just platinum and diamond.”

  “Just?”

  She looks at her ring and smiles, “It’s beautiful, Jax. More than I could ha
ve ever dreamed of.” She looks up at me, leans forward so her forehead touches mine. “But diamonds and gold have nothing over Iron.”

  “You know how much you mean to me, Angel?”

  She nods, “I do. You mean just as much to me.”

  She pulls back away from me and takes her ring off. “When we get you through this, this hell, Jax. Will you marry me, again?”

  “I’ll marry you every day for the rest of my life.”

  I wrap an arm around her, holding her tight against me, and stand.

  “What are you doing?” she says as she holds tight to my shoulders.

  “Carrying you to bed. I need you, Angel.”

  “You can’t-”

  “Don’t tell me I can’t.”

  “Okay,” she wiggles out of my arm, “How about you can’t right now?”

  “I want to right now.”

  “You better sit down and eat that breakfast I made you.”

  “I want you so fucking bad right now,” I groan.

  “Sit and eat,” she walks away. “Then have me.”

  I am hard as stone and she is bagging up the garbage.

  When she comes back inside, she pulls my stool out as I shovel eggs in my mouth.

  “I’m eating these eggs, Francesca, as fast as I can.” She kneels down in front of me.

  “I’m not trying to stop you. I would like you to take your time and,” she pulls my shorts down releasing my cock, “Enjoy a moment, just for you.”

  Her plump red lips wrap around my cock and she takes as much as she can into her mouth. She moves slowly up and down me, her tongue lying flat against my skin. She works my dick with precision. She knows what I like and where I like it. She takes me deeper than she should, because she knows how much I enjoy it. She moves faster when my hips thrust forward calling, needing, begging her mouth.

  When she hollows her cheeks and her tongue flicks against my head, I pull back.

  “Gotta stop.”

  She looks up and shakes her head from side to side as she grabs the base and runs her tongue from the bottom to the top.