by Zoey Parker
“After we’d been out a couple of times, I just started feeling like he was getting really into my business—too much. He started asking me where I was going, who I was seeing, how I spent my hours away from him. It felt invasive, suffocating. And then, one night, he didn’t like that I had been flirting with one of my regulars at the bar—I didn’t know he was even in there, that night. I didn’t see him. Anyway, he showed up at my place after I got home and he got really in my face, and when I yelled at him to back off, he hit me.”
Jack’s hands fisted, his jaw flexed, and his eyes narrowed. Wow. He was pissed. Seeing that, I knew he wasn’t going to enjoy this any more than I did, but I needed to get it out. I hadn’t talked about this since that night, and it felt good to be able to share it with Jack, even though it was awful to revisit. Somehow, I felt like sharing with Jack was important. So I kept talking.
“It was full on, fist to cheek. I went down, hard, and he stood over me just seething, and that was it. I kicked his knee as hard as I could, and he went down too, and I—my head was all jumbled, my cheekbone and eye were pounding, but I was trying to just figure out a way to get him gone, ya know? So I scrambled up when he went down, and I grabbed my phone and called nine-one-one and then tossed it somewhere so he couldn’t end the call, and I just hoped that cops or someone would figure out where the call came from—you know, through GPS or location services or whatever.
“He…he’s got this issue with being around cops. I don’t know his history, but there were a bunch of red flags that I didn’t really put together ’til it was too late—that was one of them. Twenty/twenty, right?”
Jack grunted and squeezed my leg to get me to keep going.
“Anyway, as soon as he realized who I had called, he was ready to bolt. He was still yelling at me as he left, calling me a bitch, saying I’d pay and that I had no idea what he was capable of, or who I was messing with, and that I was making a huge mistake, but that I’d learn better soon.
“I just kept yelling at him to get out, and that it was over, I never wanted to see him again. And then—this is the weirdest part—he said he knew I loved him, and he loved me too, and we’d work it out, and he’d see me in a few days, after I’d had time to miss him.
“Finally, he left, and I was shaking so hard I didn’t even get up to lock the door behind him. I didn’t want to move.”
Jack still radiated pissed-off badass energy, and it was actually comforting to me. It somehow made it easier to tell this craptastic tale from hell.
“Later, I heard sirens approaching, and then a knock on the door and the bell rang, and it was the cops. And I think an ambulance. I wasn’t really thinking well, you know? But they got his name, said that I could press charges, checked me out. I was okay, though; I didn’t need to go to the hospital or anything. Just hit the one time. So anyway, they left after that, I locked my door, and that was it.”
“Hold on, Ellie. Did you press charges?”
“No. Maybe I should have, I don’t know. But I just wanted it to be over, you know? I just wanted the whole night to go away.”
“You should have pressed charges.”
“Shoulda, woulda, coulda. I didn’t. You want me to go on, or do you want to fight about it?”
“Babe…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Go on.” When his eyes were on me again, I continued.
“Well, after that night, I didn’t see him for a few weeks. I thought it was over. Thought that was the end of the story, and good riddance.”
Jack had been paying close attention, and he grunted as he ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking. “Okay. He’s got some payback way overdue, then. This is the same guy my brother beat up that night you told me about, right?”
I nodded.
“Good. Good on Keith.—So, what more do you know about Brian? Full name, height, weight, contact info, anything you can give me, any details about where he might hang out or what things he’s into. Everything you know.”
“Jeez. You do know you sound like the cops right now, right?”
He only lifted an eyebrow at me, and his nose twitched. I guessed he didn’t love that comment.
“Okay. Brian Patrick McAfee, I’m pretty sure he’s thirty-one, maybe thirty-two years old. He’s around six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes, wears glasses, black plastic frames. Man-bun, scruff on his jaw.,,”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up and he was clearly repressing a laugh. “Are you describing one of those hipster dudes? That’s what you go for?”
“Shut up. I lived in Portland, Jack. Fuck you. Do you want me to go on, or are we done?”
He squeezed my knee, still smiling. “No, babe. It just surprised me; shouldn’t have, I guess. Go on. Don’t get mad.”
I narrowed my eyes at him for a moment, then let him off the hook and went on. “Okay. He’s a mountain biker, outdoor-enthusiast. Likes to camp, climb, hike, all that stuff. So he’s pretty fit, strong. He comes off really confident, good-natured—or at least, he used to. I don’t see that at all anymore when I think about him. But that’s how he might seem to people who don’t know him. Um, what else…?”
“Does he look like anyone famous? Give me an idea of his face.”
“Oh, okay. Um, maybe a little bit like a younger, darker-haired…oh, that guy that was the president in Independence Day. What was his name?”
His mouth ticked up. “Bill Pullman?”
“Yeah, that one. But obviously, younger. And fit.”
“Okay, that’s helpful. Good. You got anything more? Contact info? Friends he might have in the area here? Employer info?”
“No to the last, he’s a freelance consultant, or that’s what he told me. I deleted and blocked his number ages ago. I know it started with area code 503, but I don’t remember the rest. I deleted him from my contacts, so I don’t have anything else on him. And no about the people in the area here—that’s one of the reasons I picked Tucson to move to. I was trying to start all over, somewhere I didn’t think he would come. He always said he loved the northwest climate so much, he didn’t want to ever leave it. Tucson, I figured, was the exact opposite of Portland. The jerk came here anyway. Lucky me.”
“Okay.” He thought for a minute, rubbing his own scruffy chin. Pot, meet kettle. But I kept that thought to myself.
“Hops said this guy had a gun. You saw it? Could you identify it?”
“Yeah, I saw it. It was a handgun, black. I didn’t get a great view of it, but it resembled what you see on TV, like what cops and feds always carry.”
“Okay.” He was nodding, thinking to himself. “So, go back to last year for a minute. After he followed you down here, do you know where he was staying? You didn’t leave as soon as he showed himself then, so I figure you didn’t feel totally at risk, right? Or am I missing something?”
Gah! There were so many parts to this whole story, and I wasn’t sure how best to tell it. I was starting to get tired and frustrated with this whole thing. But having gone this far, I knew the best thing to do would be to just keep barreling through, and give Jack every detail he needed. I felt like Hillary Clinton at the Benghazi hearings.
“You’re right, I didn’t leave. I couldn’t think where else to go, and he’d followed me this far, I figured there was no getting rid of him by running, and I just hoped I’d convince him of my complete disinterest and rejection better if I stayed. So I stayed. It might not have been the best move, but I liked it here, and I didn’t come up with any other better plan.
“Can we move along to another thing now? There’s another part of this that figures in, that I haven’t told you about yet. But you should know.”
“Jesus. This is like a fucking novel.” Jack shook his head.
“I know, right? I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Get it out. Tell.” He shifted onto the couch, put his arm around me, and pulled me into his side, getting us both more comfortable for the next part of the download.
“So…Brian’s a hacker o
r something, right? I’m pretty sure he hacked into my email, because after I broke things off with him, my grandmother died. Like, a few weeks later. It was a year ago this month.”
“Sorry for your loss, Ellie.”
“No, don’t—it’s okay, we weren’t close. I didn’t even know her, really. She and my mom—they fell out years ago, when I was a baby. Well, probably long before I was born. But they cut off contact with each other when I was a baby, so I have no memory of ever meeting her. I only really learned about her last year, when Mom got the call about her death. Mom told me, and we figured we should go to the funeral, be respectful. Ha. Well, I wanted to be respectful; Mom wanted to dance on her grave. I think half the reason I went was to stop Mom from doing something crazy like that.
“My mom is…eccentric. Total seventies’ hippie, you know? Earth woman, dances around bonfires, drum circles, big beads.”
Jack started laughing. “I think I got that picture. And let me guess, your grandma, she’d have been a woman of the fifties, right? Conservative…?”
“Exactly. Anglican church, sweater sets, pearl necklace. The whole nine yards. They were oil and water.”
“That was why they didn’t talk?”
“I think the thing that really broke it between them was me. Mom was way into free love, you know? I didn’t grow up with a dad, but I had a lot of loving uncles. Still do. They’re awesome. But I didn’t grow up in a typical nuclear family situation. My grandmother hated my mother for that, not being willing to name a father on my birth certificate, not marrying, not being respectful, not going to church, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Got it. So what’s this all have to do with Brian?”
“Getting to that. Turns out, Grandma is loaded. Or really nicely well-off. Family money, East Coast richies—think, like that movie, Philadelphia Story? That old one, with Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn, you know it?”
“Babe. Not into old movies like that. But I can follow your plot. So who inherits all this fabulous wealth? Your mom?—No. It’s you. Yeah?”
“Yeah, but only on condition. This is classic. You ready? I have to be married for six months before I get the money. And if I turn twenty-eight still single, the money goes to charities, and I get none of it. Which I would be totally fine with—really—except that now, with Peter and all of his medical bills coming in the future, I just think—I wish…” I lost words.
Jack was serious now. “I see what you mean. I get that. I totally do. You need that money, you’re right. You really need that money.”
“Yeah, but here’s the kicker. I’m pretty sure—and I have no idea how, other than that he hacked his way into my email to see the stuff my grandmother’s lawyer sent me—Brian knows about the trust and the marriage requirement. And I think that’s why he’s latched on to this idea that he wants me. I think it’s why he was stalking me.”
“Not sure that stalking usually works that way, El.” Jack shook his head. “I always thought it had more to do with obsession, like psychotic love or something. Which, gotta give it to him, he’s got good taste. You are hot. You’re beautiful. You’re smart. I see the logic.”
He gave me a light squeeze around the shoulders, then poked me in the ribs and chuckled. I jumped and yelped at the surprise tickle, and he cracked up. The jerk.
“This isn’t funny! Stop it!”
“Come on, you gotta laugh a little, babe…But maybe you’re right, maybe there’s also a fantasy about the money tied in with it, too. Makes you that much more attractive—a future with you plus full bank accounts. Yeah, I could see that. No wonder he’s holding on like a dog with a bone.”
“It’s so reassuring that you see logic in his madness. Thanks, Jack. You make me feel so much better.” If looks could kill, he’d have his arm in a sling, at least.
“Aw, come on. I’m on your side, you know that. I’m just trying to make sense of this asswipe.”
“Okay, fine. So now you know. That’s pretty much the background on Brian.”
I was lying. There was another part, but it hurt, and it would hurt Jack, and I really didn’t want to go there yet. It was too much.
“Gotta ask, Ellie. When do you turn twenty-eight? When is this cut-off date?”
This was the crux of why I was here, now. What Jack was asking now gutted me. This was my shame. But I had to tell him, and needed to tell him, because desperate times called for desperate measures. And I was desperate.
I freaking hated being desperate.
“My birthday’s April second. In about two weeks.”
“Two weeks. Two weeks? This year? Are you telling me you have two weeks to get married, or all this money is gone?”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Wow.” He was looking at me, but I don’t think he was seeing me. He went up in his head somewhere. I let him go. It was a lot to sink in.
After several moments, I put my hands on his knees and shook them slightly. “Jack, you okay? Lost you there for a few.”
He gave me a tiny self-deprecating smile and shook his head as if getting rid of the cobwebs, and chuckled without mirth. “Yeah. I’m back. I’m with you…So, got any ideas, what you want to do?” He peered at me inquisitively.
I couldn’t hold his gaze. Today had turned all my hopes upside down, and I didn’t feel like I could ask him to be our more-permanent-but-still-temporary savior. I couldn’t answer.
“Ellie, come on. Ask me.”
My eyes shot to his. Was he saying…?
“Ask me, Ellie. I’m going to say yes. Just ask me.”
“Why would you do that? Knowing that there’s a crazy man who throws rocks through your window and is armed and dangerous, with you in his target sights?”
He laughed. “You don’t know me very well yet, baby. I am not intimidated by that motherfucker. I look forward to giving him what he’s got coming. Don’t you worry about that. Ask. Me.” He pulled me to my feet in front of him, caging me closely in his arms.
“I know it’s a huge ask, Jack. But we can treat it like a business deal, if that seems better to you. A temporary agreement, just until the money comes through. And then, of course, we can do it so you get a fair portion when we end it, to make it worth the trouble for you. I only need to have enough so I can try to cover what I’ll need for Peter, coming up. Okay? We can even draw up a pre-nup to make sure it’s fair and we’re both covered for when it’s over, all right?”
His eyes had been narrowing through my roll-out of ideas, and his face got hard. “Fuckin’ ask me, Ellie.” For some reason, he seemed pissed off now. I wasn’t really sure why, but I could read the emotion with ease.
“What did I say? Why are you mad?”
“You talking about wedding and divorce in the same breath? Nice. Real nice work, Ellie. Business deal. Fuck.” He wasn’t looking me in the eye now, just staring a hole into the wall over my head.
“How can you be surprised? What is this, Jack? A romance? What the hell? I don’t get why you’re upset with me now…you can’t tell me you thought when you woke up this morning, that we’d be talking about getting married tonight. Since when did you become a traditionalist?”
He turned away from me, rubbing his face then pulling his hands through his hair. Then he laughed.
“I just...yeah, okay.” Oh, I love a man who can apologize. Are they all incapable of it, or just the ones I’m lucky enough to know?
Still, it was a big score for me that he bumped me the point. I mentally puffed on my nails and shined them on my chest.
He got his head back together apparently, because he came back to face me again, standing close. “Okay, you want to get papers, work it out, I can be down with that. And I’m not looking for a payday out of this; I need you to know that. I take care of myself, and I take care of my own. I don’t want your money. But you need it. That’s what matters, and that’s what this is about. So. Ask. Me.”
“Will you marry me, Jack? For Peter? And just for six months?
”
He flinched a little, but he didn’t get mad again, and he didn’t turn away. He held my eyes, and he said, “Yeah, Ellie. Let’s get married.”
Chapter 9
Jack
I dove in. I couldn’t help it.
I’d been thinking about her mouth and her lips and her taste almost non-stop ever since that night—it seemed so long ago—when she first moved in. Damn, that was the day we’d first met, too. It was actually only nine days ago. I had forced myself then to keep it light, to back off fast, since there was too much at stake to fuck it all up with sex right off the bat.
But hell, we’d just agreed to get married. I knew a shot when I saw one, and my patience was at an end where she was concerned. So what, if the marriage was only so she could get her money? I wanted her—badly—and I knew, from all of her many blushes and the way her body always seemed to lean into mine, that she wanted me, too. Why prolong agony? We could take what we wanted. No harm, no foul.