A Question of Necessity

by Jess Dee

  The man had crept into her heart. She didn’t know how he’d done it, or when, she just knew a little piece of her heart now belonged to him. Apart from the sensational sex, she genuinely liked him—everything about him. And that didn’t just mean his size. She liked his humor and his caring, liked his sensitivity and his strength, liked that he could poke fun at himself and collapse at her feet when emotion overwhelmed him. She just liked Jack. Very much.

  And in liking him, she’d invested in him. Invested her emotions in him. She wanted to spend time with him. Wanted to know him in all ways—not just sexually and professionally. She just hoped he wanted it as much as she did.

  She found the Big Mac a couple of minutes later, identifying it by the massive man on board. Her knees turned weak at the sight of him. Up until now, he’d only worn formal pants and ties around her. Today he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that hugged his muscles and made her legs grow weak.

  Oh, yeah. She had it bad.

  As soon as he saw her, he took the cooler bag from her hands—the one she’d stuffed full with yummy food and treats for them to share as they spent the day on the water—set it on the deck, and helped her on board.

  “Hey, beautiful.” His voice sounded rough. A little off, as though he hadn’t slept last night, but she didn’t have time to analyze it or his expression. She had only a few seconds to notice the grey smudges around his eyes before he pulled her into his arms and held her there.

  Held her tight. Held her close. Didn’t release her for a very long time. Which would have been perfectly fine with her—she relished the feel of his hard body pushed against hers, loved how beautifully they fitted together—if she didn’t sense something was wrong. Very wrong.

  There was an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, and his breath was uneven, maybe too slow.

  Even so, he held her as though he’d never let go, inhaled as though inhaling a little part of her.

  “Jack?” She ran her hand up his back and down again, instinct telling her to keep her touch soothing. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded against her hair. “Just want to hold you for a while. Need to hold you.”

  Though he pulled her even closer, so her breasts were squashed against his chest and they stood thigh to thigh, there was nothing sexual about his embrace. She got the impression he sought…comfort. Maybe even strength.

  “Hold away,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Long moments later a sigh rippled through her hair. “God knows you calm me, Miss Jones.” He gave her one more tight squeeze then released her slowly, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

  He didn’t say anything more. Didn’t explain why she’d felt knots in his muscles. Didn’t elaborate on how or why her touch calmed him. He simply busied himself preparing for their departure, not giving her an opportunity to ask questions.

  She didn’t push him on the issue. If Jack wasn’t ready to talk, then Claire was okay to let him be—so long as her presence comforted him.

  A minute before he steered the small boat out of the Rose Bay Marina, he held his arm open to her. “Come stand with me.”

  She made her way over to him and let him position her in front of him, her back against his chest, his arms stretching around her to direct the wheel.

  Neither of them spoke as he expertly guided them past the hundreds of other boats and into open water. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Not too hot and not a breath of wind, save the air that rushed past them as the boat slipped through the water. A perfect day to spend on Sydney Harbour.

  Claire still sensed the quietness in Jack, a need to just be. Whatever worried him still showed itself in his silence and his stance. And in the soft sigh that echoed through her ear. Even the air whistling around them couldn’t conceal its melancholy.

  Her chest constricted, and she turned to place a soft kiss on his neck.

  He tightened his hold on her and focused on the water ahead.

  An hour later, when Jack had anchored the boat in a quiet cove, baited two rods and given her a quick lesson in fishing, they sat side by side, on two fold-up chairs. Seagulls squawked above them, looking on in hopeful anticipation of a big catch.

  But her mind wasn’t on the fishing or the seagulls. It was on the man beside her.

  His color was off. It wasn’t just the grey smudges around his eyes. He was paler than usual. And his mouth, usually so quick to twitch into a smile and show off that gorgeous dimple, had been set in a straight line the whole boat ride.

  As though sensing her gaze on him, he turned to look at her. It was then that she saw it. Then that he allowed her to see it. The ocean of grief in his beautiful green eyes.

  Pain stabbed at her chest. She would have reached out and taken his hand, but his were wrapped firmly around his rod. So firmly, his knuckles had turned white.

  “Jack—”

  “He died.”

  “Pardon?”

  “My pop. He died last night.”

  “Oh…my God.”

  “As I was leaving the hospital. I’d said goodbye. Promised to visit again this morning. I was in my car, and my phone rang.”

  “But…but I thought he was improving. Thought he was getting better every day?”

  “It was another heart attack. A massive one. He never stood a chance. They tried to revive him, but it was already too late. By the time I got back to his room, the crash cart was sitting there, useless.” He laughed, a hollow, empty sound. “You know those paddles you see on TV? On those medical shows? They used them on my pop. But they didn’t help.”

  It was the expression on his face that got Claire out of her seat. His eyes were bleak, desolate. He looked lost. As though his anchor had been ripped out from under him, and he now bobbed on a directionless tide.

  She rested her rod on the floor, crouched beside his seat, and placed her hands on his thigh. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So very, very sorry.”

  “He’s my favorite person in the world,” Jack said. “W-was my favorite person.” His voice broke, and it took a while before he could speak again. “He raised me. While my parents worked, while they were too busy, my pop brought me up. Me and my brother.”

  He had a brother?

  “He taught me to fish. Took me out every weekend. We spent hours together on this boat. Hours.” His shoulders shook. “I’d hoped we’d go out again after his surgery. When he was stronger. When I didn’t have to fear hooking a large fish would cause another heart attack.” His breath turned raspy. “Jesus, Claire. I thought he was better. Thought I’d be fishing with him for years to come. But…but I won’t.” A shudder wracked his body. “He’s dead. Big Jack is dead. Now my favorite person’s gone.”

  With precise, but jerky motions, Jack reeled in his line, clipped his hook safely over his string—leaving the bait dangling from it—and finally laid the rod on the floor. In one stilted motion he stood, turning to face Claire.

  She stood too, instinctively holding open her arms.

  Jack took one look at them and his face crumpled.

  Claire didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to think. She grabbed him, pulling him close, clasping him to her heart. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’re okay. Let it out. Let it all go.”

  He shook his head, holding himself rigid.

  “Grieve for your pop, Jack. Let the tears come. Don’t hold them back anymore.”

  Still he refused.

  She stroked his hair. “I’ll hold you, my giant. We’ll do this together. Your grandfather’s gone, but you don’t have to mourn alone. I’m here for you.”

  As though every last bit of his self-control disintegrated, he dropped his head to her shoulder, let out an agonized cry and began to weep.

  And true to her promise, she held him through his grief. Held him as sobs wracked his body and his tears soaked her shirt. Held him as tremors shook through him, supporting him when he was incapable of supporting himself and giving him her strength when he had none of his own.r />
  She held him forever, until his tears finally ran dry and only dry sobs wracked his shoulders, and then she held him some more, until his body stilled and a hesitant peace seemed to creep into him.

  His muscles relaxed beneath her arms, and his breath no longer came in shallow, shaky spurts. After an eternity, he turned his face to hers, a world of sadness shimmering in his gaze. But at least the worst of the storm was over.

  She brushed his hair from his face. “You doing okay?”

  He nodded. “Getting there. Slowly.”

  “There’s no hurry, you know? Take as long as you need.”

  “I’m okay for now. Thanks to you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You were here for me.”

  “You needed me.”

  “I did. It’s like I said earlier. You calm me, Miss Jones. When you’re near, I… I feel within me a peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “Shakespeare.”

  “Do you have any Shakespeare quotes for your grandfather?”

  Jack’s eyes slid shut, and for a long time he didn’t answer. “One,” he said at last.

  Claire waited in silence.

  “Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”

  * * *

  “Would you like to go back to shore? Spend some time with your family?”

  Jack was still pale, and Claire ached for him. They sat cross-legged on the deck, the food she’d brought along spread between them. She doubted he had much appetite. He’d picked up a bread roll, but instead of eating it, Jack methodically tore off small pieces and one by one, dropped them on his plate, probably unaware he even held the roll.

  He shook his head. “No. I spent the whole night with my parents, first at the hospital and then at their house. This is where I want to be now. On the water, where I feel closest to him.”

  The whole night? “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Tried, but every time I closed my eyes I saw him, lying in his bed. His eyes closed, his face blank.” He tore off another strip of the roll. “I held his hand, you know. After he… Afterwards. He was still warm. Still…still looked like my pop, just older. Years and years older.”

  Claire imagined Jack would see that picture of his grandfather in his mind for years to come. “Did you speak to him?”

  “I did. A bit. Said goodbye. Thanked him. Told him I’d miss him.” His eyes filled again, but he blinked back the tears. “He didn’t hear me.”

  Claire’s own eyes filled. “At least you got to say goodbye. That’s a big thing.”

  “It is, I guess.”

  “Is there anything you would have said or done differently last night? Anything that would have given you comfort today?”

  Jack thought about her question. Then smiled, a quirky, sad smile. “I’d have stopped in at Maccas on the way to the hospital. Bought him a Big Mac.”

  She blinked in surprise. “McDonalds?”

  “The old man loved their burgers. Asked for one in the hospital. If I’d known last night it would have been his last meal, I’d have moved heaven and earth to get it.” He grinned then. “I swear my pop would have put off death by a few minutes to take that last bite.”

  “Tell me he didn’t name this boat after a hamburger?”

  “He did.” Jack chuckled. “Had the name painted on the side before he even told me he’d bought a new boat.” Jack stared at her in wonder. “Look at me. My grandfather’s dead, and I’m sitting here laughing.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Don’t stop. You’re laughing from the joy your grandfather gave you. It’s all part of grieving for him. Remembering the good while experiencing the bad.”

  He sobered. “Sounds like you understand death all too well.”

  “I do.” Her heart heaved. “My mother died of cancer about eighteen months ago. Hard as that time was, and believe me, it was terrible, we also laughed a fortune. Me and my dad and my sisters. Remembering the good times and the fun parts and Mum’s quirks… I swear, we laughed ’til we cried.” She smiled at him. It was her turn to quote a classic. “When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

  Jack looked up in surprise. “That’s not Shakespeare.”

  “Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet.”

  He gazed into her eyes for a long time. “Thank you, Miss Jones.”

  “For what?”

  “Helping me find a reason to smile today. Because it’s true. My grandfather was a delight.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “He liked you.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “Yep. Told me he got a good feeling about you.”

  Claire smiled. “That’s nice to hear.”

  “I told him the same thing. I have a good feeling about you too.”

  “That’s very nice to hear.”

  * * *

  They spent the rest of the day on the boat, fishing and talking. Jack told Claire about Anthony, who, as devastated about Big Jack’s death as he was, was flying into Sydney tomorrow in time for the funeral. He voiced his concerns about his grandfather’s business, and what would come of it now.

  Jack discussed the pros and cons of running his grandfather’s business on a fulltime basis. With his grandfather’s death, the decision couldn’t be put off any longer. It wasn’t a matter of slowly learning the work. It was a matter of diving in headfirst, and running the one-man show.

  Also, Wilson Property Management was his pop’s company, his dream. If Jack didn’t head it up from now on, what would happen to it? What would happen to the dream? Big Jack had given him a dream childhood, encouraged him to follow his dreams and teach. How could Jack let him down by destroying his pop’s dreams?

  Still, as much of a motivating factor as the money was, and as much as Jack hated the idea of his pop’s dream dying with the old man, the thought of giving up teaching—his own dream—still made his stomach cramp.

  Claire had no answers for him, but talking to her helped him voice everything he’d kept inside for so long, and it felt good to express it finally.

  At some point during their conversation, Claire got a bite on her hook, but was so horrified at the thought of injuring and killing the black bream, she begged Jack to free it and throw it back.

  And when the setting sun forced them back to the marina, Claire insisted Jack come home with her. She cooked him dinner, and to his surprise, he ate every last morsel, finding himself suddenly starving. Then she ran him a bath and made him soak in it for ages, even topping it up with hot water twice.

  There were many moments during the day that Jack thought he may have found a new favorite person in his life. No, Claire could never replace his grandfather. But she sure did help fill the emptiness his pop’s death had left in his heart.

  It was when they climbed into bed that night, sleeping together for the first time, that Jack knew he was right. She wrapped herself around his back, once again offering him her comfort and security, and he closed his eyes, expecting to see Big Jack’s lifeless face. Instead he felt only calm.

  Moments before he slipped into dreamless oblivion, lines from a D. H. Lawrence novel danced through his head.

  “All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.”

  Indeed, sleep with Claire was all he needed right now. Being with her, and holding her in his arms, had become a question of necessity.

  Chapter Eight

  Four weeks made a huge difference to Jack’s mood and life. He no longer felt quite so raw or so torn apart. He’d begun to come to terms with his grandfather’s death, although he doubted he’d ever grow accustomed to missing him.

  What hurt the most was the permanence of death.
Sure, he’d missed Anthony while he’d been in Perth. But he’d known his brother would come back. He’d also known he could pick up the phone and talk to him whenever the urge struck.

  His grandfather was gone forever. And wherever he was now, there were no phone lines. There was no way of contacting him. None at all.

  Thank God for Claire over these past few weeks. A mere month ago he hadn’t even known her, and now she’d become his rock. His voice of reason. His calm. Even while she and her sisters had worked their hands to the bone to prepare their new store for the grand opening, she’d had all the time in the world for him.

  They’d spent hours together discussing his future. She’d helped him put his work in perspective, decide what path to take and determine what was most important in his life.

  “So I was over at Wilson Property Management offices today,” he told her now.

  Claire looked up in surprise. She held the knife she’d been chopping carrots with. “You were?”

  “Anthony asked me to drop by. Said he needed to discuss some things with me.”

  “How did it feel, going back there?”

  Since he’d been back at school for the last few weeks, he hadn’t had time to pop into the office. “Okay. I guess I’d gotten used to being in the office without the old man while he was in the hospital, so his absence today didn’t hit me as hard as I thought it would.”

  “That’s good. Progress even.” She chopped another carrot before lifting a board full of diced veggies and tossing them in a pot.

  Jack enjoyed spending his evenings at Claire’s place. Loved her cooking. She’d made him several meals now, each one more delicious than the last. He’d tried to repay her in kind, but one look at her face after she’d tasted his spaghetti bolognaise, and they’d come to a mutual decision that she’d do the cooking thereafter.

  “So what did Anthony want?”

  “To tell me what he’d found while going through all the books and files.”

  Claire added chicken pieces to the pot, covered it, checked the temperature, then gave Jack her full attention. “And what was that?”