It’s November, and chilly, but I make chicken on the grill anyway because I don’t know how to cook much else. All of mine and Jack’s dinners together involved some kind of grilled meat with a side, and I learned a thing or two from him. I haven’t tried any other recipes because I’m once again on my own and haven’t seen the point.
Ian has changed a little, I’ve noticed. He’s dropped the tough guy act a few notches and is acting like more of a gentleman. After dinner, when we’re sitting at the table talking, I get a real pang for Jack. Ian is sitting next to Tina in the nook on one side of the table, while I sit on the other side with an empty chair next to me. When Ian reaches over to her to casually play with her hair is when it really hits me, just how badly I miss Jack.
After Ian and Tina leave, I clean up and head to bed. I pull back the covers, slide in, and look longingly over to Jack’s side of the bed. I scooch over completely and snuggle down with my Kindle until I fall asleep.
It's after one in the morning when I hear my phone going off with a FaceTime alert, pulling me out of my sleep. The tone is incessantly refusing to let me drift back off, and I'm trying to fight off the grogginess because I assume it's Jack. I manage to win out and grab my phone off the nightstand before swiping the screen. "Hi, hang on,” I say, fumbling around, trying to get comfortable and hold the phone in front of my face.
"Baby it's me,” he says.
"Hi baby,” I say back.
"I can't see you,” he says.
"Mmmm... hang on,” I say, drowsily as I reach over to flick on the bedside lamp, squeezing my eyes shut against its brightness.
"There she is,” he says, with sweet affection.
"Hiiiii," I sing-song, and give him a sleepy smile.
"Sorry I woke you, sweetheart." I can see he's lying in bed, shirtless, and also has a lamp on so I can see him. It looks so cozy and I just want to be in that bed snuggled against his chest.
"How was the show tonight?"
"Amazing. It was great. Baton Rouge’s a great crowd, they were a lot of fun."
"That's so awesome. Are you in a hotel tonight? It looks like it."
"Yeah, thank God. The bus is killing me."
"Where are the guys?"
"After party."
I don't know what to say. I'm glad he's not partying it up again, but I wish he didn't feel like he has to hang back either. "Would you rather be with them?" I ask.
“No,” he says seriously. "That night in Dallas was enough, and it was not even close to worth it. I woke up feeling like shit, and I hate that I missed my time with you. Not to mention I embarrassed us both. I don't even want to think about doing something that could lead to that again. I never want to feel that way or make you feel that way again."
“We had a hiccup,” I say, lifting a shoulder to give him a little shrug. "Let's show them all we can move past it."
"Sounds good. So, what did you do today?"
"The usual boring stuff. Did some yoga, did some work. Ian and Tina came over for dinner."
"I'm glad you had company. Are they working things out?"
"Trying to, I think." I don't tell him that having them over just made me feel lonelier for him. But it must show on my face.
"I miss you like hell,” Jack says.
"I miss you too, baby. So much." I feel that tell-tale sting behind my eyes, warning me that tears are imminent.
"Baby, where's my smile? I hate when you're not happy and smiling."
"You mean this one?" I say, turning the corners of my mouth up, my eyes still sleepy and half closed, but open enough so I can see him.
"There's my girl,” he says. "Hold still, I'm taking a screenshot of that.” I hold still so he can do that.
"There we go, that's going up in my bunk on the bus." We lay in silence for a few seconds, before he speaks again. "Want to do something for me?"
"What's that?"
"Take your top off.” He’s giving me a lazy smile.
"What?!" I say with an exasperated laugh. "Are you serious?"
"I'm dead serious. I want to see more of you."
"Jack, we could get hacked!"
"We won't. And if we do, I'll track the fucker down and pound his ass."
I shake my head at him.
"Please baby, I miss you so much, please let me see you. I want to see your skin so I can imagine it here in this bed against mine." I want that too. The thought of that makes my breasts feel like they're swelling and aching for his touch. The feeling gives me a sense of lust and makes me lose my inhibition. I finally put the phone down and pull my tank top off over my head. When I pick the phone back up and face him, I watch as his eyes scan me up and down on his screen. "Oh my God, you're killing me,” he says. "Damnit, you should be here so I can touch you. You know, like how it's supposed to be?" I can't believe how much I miss him. I want to be in that bed with him, with my skin pressed against his so badly it hurts. And he's right. Our marriage is still so new, and we need to be close to each other. If we could just find some kind of balance. His career is growing at the same time as our life together. If we could just find a way to tend to both. Maybe we can. I don't know how, but maybe we can.
"I want to be with you so bad, Jack."
"Baby, I'm ready to walk away from it all. What's happening with this band is amazing but it feels wrong without you here, being a part of it, sharing it with me. I know being on the road is hard as fuck, but this," he moves his hand between himself and his screen, "is so much fuckin’ harder. I'm ready to say ‘fuck it’ and just come home to you."
"You can't do that, Jack. Think of the guys and what it would do to them. This is their shot too, and it may feel like the right thing to do now, but down the road I think you'll kick yourself for not seeing it through. And besides, it would wreck me if you didn't go with this as far as it will take you."
“I love you so much,” he says with a downtrodden expression on his face that kills me. "And you're right, but I can't stand this. We're man and wife for fuck’s sake, we should be with each other."
"I know," I say, trying to calm him. "It happened differently for us. We had crazy timing and the chance of a lifetime thrown at us right out of the gate. This is new terrain, but we'll figure it out." I realize in this moment, that I've had enough of this too. Naked FaceTime might be bringing me to my senses. Who knew? By now, surely, he and the guys have had enough time on the road to figure out a routine, and I can adapt to it. It's ridiculous to not be there anymore. I stare into my phone and lay my hand on my chest. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I’m yearning for some kind of touch I guess.
"Good God baby, what are you doing to me?" Jack asks, his eyes wandering all over the screen.
"What do you mean?" I ask innocently, moving my fingers gently across my skin.
"You're touching yourself when I want to be touching you."
"What? You don't like this?" I ask, teasing him with a smile.
"Stop it."
"Stop what? I'm not doing anything."
"Mayzie, I swear to God..." And just then I see his shoulder move inward.
"Are you grabbing yourself, you bad man?" I say, flirting.
"I can't help it, you're not giving me much of a choice here." He looks so sexy and frustrated. I'm just starting to let my hand trail down between my breasts when I hear a crash on Jack's end of the line, followed by some loud whoops, and Jack yelling "What the fuck?! Get the fuck out of here!"
I see a blurry struggle and catch glimpses of Chris's face peeking onto the screen. I pull the covers up tightly around my neck.
"Mayzthee!"
The commotion settles, and now the top corner of Chris's face and one of his eyes is visible. I can still hear Jack yelling in the background.
"Hi Chris,” I say, still holding the covers tightly around me, trying not to show even a hint of skin.
"Mayzthee," he slurs again. "Listhen. You gotta get back out here. Whatever you were worried about before, fuhgeddaboudit,” he says, soundi
ng like a drunk Soprano. "Our boy Jack hasth been a mitherable piece of shit with you gone. Heesth not performing the thame, and-"
"Chris!" Jack cuts him off. "This is so wrong, on a number of levels. You do not even realize!" I know that Jack's referring to what he's hiding under his covers.
Undeterred, Chris picks up where he left off. "But if you come back on tour with us, maybe you can get histh head screwed back on straight. Because if he doesn't, I'm afraid the band will just im-PLODE,” he says, widening the one eye I can see. For Jack's benefit, I'm trying to stifle my giggles at Chris's condition and the entire situation. The phone is fumbled again, and then I see Matt's face filling the screen. He looks significantly more sober than Chris, and appears to be walking into another room. "Hey, Maze,” he says, with a friendly smile.
"Hey, Matt."
I can hear Jack shouting in the background. "If you all don't get the fuck out of here, I will get out of this fuckin’ bed, and you will not like what's going to happen if I do!"
"Listen, real quick heart-to-heart," Matt says, hurriedly. "Jack is playing fine. If there's one place he can shred it, it's on stage when we're doing a show. But all the times in between, when we need to set up or talk about the next show, his head is just not in the game. I know you think you're doing the right thing by staying away, and I'll be honest, I thought you were too, at first. But if you come back on tour, you won’t hear any complaints from me. I know my friend, and he needs you.”
"Okay, Matt."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I'd kind of already decided to while Jack and I were talking. Speaking of, would you mind giving me back to him so I can tell him that?"
"You got it. Let's go assholes, we're moving the party to my room!" I hear him shout to the other guys as the phone is handed off once again. I hear more raucous laughter and drunken babble before the door slams.
"Hi again,” I say, when I see Jack’s face back on my screen. He's still in bed and though he looks flustered, I can tell he's trying to get back in the mood.
“Sorry about those fuckers. See what I have to deal with?”
“Rough stuff.”
“I’m telling you, I need my lady. Now, where were we?” He asks, switching to bedroom eyes, and looking like he’s getting comfortable.
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you save it for the real thing, baby?” I say, lowering my voice to a placating tone.
“There’s no way I can last that long.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll meet you in Miami.”
His eyebrows draw together in confusion. “What?”
“I’ll fly down and meet you there.”
I watch as a variety of emotions cross his face, from disbelief to hopefulness, to elation. “Don’t play with me baby. Are you really coming down? Are you coming back on the tour?”
“You’re right, this has gone on long enough.”
“I don’t believe this,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face and smiling ear to ear. “You’ve just made me so happy, sweetheart.” He lays back, gazing at me with one arm laying over his head, giving me a good look at his sexy bicep. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“I can’t wait either,” I say.
29
Jack
I’m on top of the world, and the next morning, I’m showered and the first one at bus call. I’m sitting back in one of the armchairs in the bus’s lounge area picking at my acoustic when Matt and Josh come on board, stashing their bags in their bunks before joining me, each sitting down in the window seat.
“Where’s Chris?” I ask, staring down at my guitar, trying not to give anything away. I kind of messed with him this morning while he was sleeping, before I got on the bus. Hey, I never said I was mature.
“He’s coming,” says Matt. “He’s moving slow. He’s all kinds of hungover and pissed off. I think we need to cut that one off, at least for a couple of tour stops.”
“Oh, I think he’ll turn it down a notch,” I say, still trying not to look up, and really trying not to smirk.
“Why?” asks, Josh. “Did you do something? What did you do?”
Before I can answer, Chris stomps on to the bus. His hair is wet and his clothes are stuck to his skin. Probably because he had to shower without all the towels I removed from his bathroom. He throws his bag in his bunk and trudges into the sitting area, trying to be intimidating.
“Who. Made. Me. Piss myself?!” he demands. Matt and Josh erupt in laughter, their heads tilted back and shoulders shaking. I’m trying to hold back my own laughs, but it’s not working. Chris’s head immediately whips in my direction. “Jack? What the fuck?!”
Still casually resting my head on the back of my chair, I swivel to face him and speak to him the way a sensible grown up would to a disgruntled third grader.
“Chris, I was in the middle of an intimate conversation with my wife. You came clamoring in like a drunken man-sized toddler and interrupted us.” Right when it was getting damn good, I don’t add.
“Come on man, I was totally hammered! Did you really have to put my hand in a bowl of water while I was passed out?!”
“It was one-thirty in the morning. I was in bed, half naked, and sporting a rager. You busted in, and sprawled yourself across my bed,” I say, looking down and plucking at a few strings. “I want you to take a moment and let that scenario sink in.” Josh and Matt are still howling with laughter and holding their stomachs.
“You fucked with me while I was passed out! That is so wrong and fucked up, Jack! I woke up hungover, in my own piss no less and had to shower without drying off! Then I found my clothes crammed in the damn fridge!”
“I felt it was important to make sure you got the message that last night’s behavior was not acceptable.”
“I was fucking drunk!”
“More of an explanation than an excuse. And I did what I felt was necessary to ensure there would not be a repeat,” I conclude calmly with a drawn-out strum of my strings. Unable to come up with an intelligent response, Chris grunts, turns, punches the wall, and stomps to his bunk to sleep off the rest of his hangover.
“You’re in a good mood,” Josh acknowledges when the laughter dies down. I smile and keep lazily strumming.
“Good talk with Mrs. Krasinski last night?” Matt asks with his eyebrows raised. I play it cool, but I fucking love it when people call Mayzie that. Her having my last name really makes me feel like she’s a part of me, that we’re always connected.
“She’s going to meet us in Miami,” I say, punching my fist in the air.
“Yeah!” both Matt and Josh exclaim at the same time, and I laugh. I feel so much relief at the idea we’re going to be together soon, and the guys can tell I’m much lighter and more focused. Before we hung up last night, Mayzie told me she was going to look for flights and try to get Ian and Tina to come to our house to dog sit for the next few weeks, which is what we have left on the tour. The bus starts rolling, taking us to Tampa where we’ll do a show tonight, and then get back on the bus and drive through to Miami where we’ll sleep and then do sound check before putting on another show. And hopefully, somewhere in the middle of all of that, is when my wife will show up. Matt and Josh get their guitars out and start tuning them up, and for the next couple of hours, we jam, we brainstorm new lyrics, we bullshit, and act like a band again.
Mayzie
By the next morning, I have a flight booked for early the following morning. That gives me less than twenty-four hours to pack for the next two weeks, get some writing done, and get Ian over to the house and dog sit. Still, I’m feeling so much lighter, joyful even. Before last night, I felt like I had been carrying a brick around in my chest. Things have felt so wrong these last three weeks, but honestly, I think we needed to see and feel that, as painful as it was. I’m at the table with my laptop open, confirming my flight and organizing the writing jobs that I’ll have to do over the next week on the road. I also decide to google Turn it Up to see what the reviews of last night’s
show have to say. When the page pops up, I’m greeted by another unsavory new headline:
Turn it Up’s Jack Krasinski continues on downward spiral! Click here to read about last night’s Shenanigans in Baton Rouge!
Last Night? That is not right. I saw Jack in real time last night, and he skipped the partying. I know what time the concert wrapped up, and how long it takes to pack up. I know what time those after parties start, and Jack did not go. He was talking to me, completely sober. I go ahead and click on the link. I’m not afraid of what I’m going to read because I already know it’s bullshit. I click on the story, which of course is on The Scope’s website, and continue reading.
Ever since Jack Krasinski was photographed partying in Dallas last week, his marriage has been on thin ice, leading him to check out. Last night after Turn it Up’s set in Baton Rouge, Krasinski was seen tearing it up at the after party, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and draping himself over countless women. Word has it, last week’s antics caused trouble between he and the Mrs., and the front man has been having a hard time coping. A source tells us his bandmates are concerned, and that this could lead to the band’s crash and burn, when their plane is barely off the ground.
I exit out of the screen before reading more. It’s ridiculous, and I don’t need to read more crap. I go to a local Baton Rouge news site to read a review on the band. There’s an amazing picture attached to a glowing recap of last night’s performance. The energy radiates from the posted picture with all the guys whipping their hair, their muscles flexed, as they play their asses off. My heart squeezes at all of the writer’s words that are nothing but positive. Words like rocked, inspired, and adrenalized are dispersed throughout the article. I smile to myself, allowing this news to wipe out what I read before. When I exit out of the browser and look at my social media, I’m irritated to find that The Scope’s story is trending and spreading. Hundreds of thousands of no-name losers are apparently eating this bullshit up and sharing it all over. This makes me almost as upset as when Jack was actually out partying, getting photographed, and being smeared all over the gossip sites. This story isn’t even true, and yet so many people without lives of their own want to believe it is and are pouring over it during their morning coffee.
See Her (Turn it Up Book 1) Page 26