by Jane Lark
“Hi.” He shook my hand, then fist-bumped with Jason.
I looked at Portia, trying to remember who I was back in Oregon, the person Jason’s family had learned to like; if I wanted these people to like me I needed to be her. “Can I help in the kitchen?”
It was much easier to be me in Oregon, wrapped up in the love of Jason’s family. I was all twisted out of shape here.
“We’re just serving up; you could give me a hand if you like.”
She’d made a tomato and pasta dish, with salad, there was nothing fancy about it, and she talked casually to me as we put everything on to the table.
She was so different from me. She was the sort of girl I would have pictured Jason with if he’d been a stranger I’d been watching in a bar.
But she was easy to talk to once I’d relaxed and by the time we’d finished dinner Jason was laughing with his friend, and I felt at ease. I liked them.
We sat down in the living room when we’d finished eating, the boys gripping beer bottles and Portia and I sitting opposite each other.
I’d been watching the way she and Justin communicated. They were friends as well as lovers. They talked and told us stories, butting in on each other and they laughed and glanced at each other all the time.
I looked at Jason. Had we ever been like that? He was talking to Justin, sitting back in an armchair, his beer bottle moving and lifting, emphasizing the words of his conversation. But he wasn’t relaxed. There was a tension around his lips, and it was like he had a slight frown. I bet if I touched his shoulders, the muscle there would be solid.
He glanced at me, as though he sensed me watching him, and smiled. There were the words in the silence. Are you okay?
The muscle in my belly tightened when I nodded. He wasn’t relaxed with me. I couldn’t remember when he’d been relaxed around me. But he must have been in the beginning. At least when we’d been alone…
When Jason looked back at Justin and they carried on talking, Portia sat forward in her chair
“So how do you think I can help you?”
I looked at her. “Jason wants to trap Declan. The only idea he has to do it is to find out where and when Declan buys his drugs. Then we’ll get the police to catch him at it. He wouldn’t win custody with a police record for buying drugs. We went to the club he goes to, but the barman was sure people didn’t buy drugs there, and I asked the security guys in the condos where he lives, but they wouldn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t even know he took drugs ‘til you said. So I doubt he’d put a contact like that through me and maybe he’s stopped taking cocaine while his wife is suing for divorce. I’ve typed a lot of letters about the divorce and his lawyer is always calling, either about your case or the divorce. So maybe he’s being careful. If he was caught buying cocaine it would damage his divorce case too and his access to his other kids.”
Shit. I had an idea. “Jason.” He looked over. “I could threaten him. We don’t need any more evidence. I know what he does.” I hadn’t even thought about the power I had. I had a lot of power over Declan. I knew everything. All his dirty little secrets. Every vivid damning, fucking detail of the sleazy life he led behind his image of a respectable businessman. I had that sudden sense of being on fire. An angel in white on fire. “If I told his wife’s lawyer, he’d lose access to his other kids and it would trash his settlement in his divorce. He’d give anything away to avoid that.” Including Saint.
Jason’s lips closed and twisted sideways. He didn’t like the idea.
I looked at Portia. “Do you think that would stop him from fighting me?”
“You know him better than I do, all I know is he’s a cold-hearted cheat, but he’s not happy about his wife suing him—”
“Because his money came from his wife. If she leaves him he’ll be hemorrhaging money,” Jason said.
“His distress over his divorce has nothing to do with the love of his kids,” Justin added.
“Or his wife, pretty obviously,” Jason finished.
This was a hate-Declan club; sticking pins in him like we had a voodoo doll. I laughed. Probably for too long, and probably in a weird cackle. Jason looked at me. I swallowed the laughter. Maybe it hadn’t even been a laughing moment.
“So what now?” Portia said.
“I’ll go and talk to him again,” Jason said, then took a swig from his beer bottle.
“But this time I’m coming in too.” I’d wanted to face him in the club. The desire to face him revved up. I needed to face him. For Saint if not for me. But it was for me too. My righteous angel rose up, wings and arms wide, ready for revenge.
Jason choked trying to swallow his mouthful of beer, then he wiped his mouth and looked at me. “No.”
It wasn’t his choice. “You can’t make the threat. It has to be me. He’ll only believe I’ll do it if it’s me who says it. You don’t even really know what you’re threatening him with.”
It was like I’d punched him in the belly. He went silent and looked down at the neck of his beer, then took another swig like he was trying to distract me from his response. He only wanted to protect me, but…
“It has to be me,” I said again.
“I was trying to protect you. That’s what I do. I try to protect you and Saint…” I breathed in hard, holding in all the odd emotions warring in me.
After he’d swallowed his mouthful he glanced over at me again. “Whatever you want.” His words were stiff and sharp and his posture had changed. I might think his protection a precious thing… But what did he think? My broken brain rarely remembered to think about him. But I’d been trapped inside myself for months. Locked in by my meds.
Justin looked at him, then me, then Portia.
Portia stood up. “Mr. Rees is in the office tomorrow. He’s got a meeting at two. Do you want another glass of lemonade?” It was like they thought something wasn’t right between me and Jason.
Was something not right?
I looked at Portia. “Yeah, thanks.” I hadn’t thought tonight would help us. I’d been wrong. I looked back at Jason. He was looking down at the beer bottle in his hand, thinking, while Justin said something else.
Was something not right? I’d always thought we were good together.
When Portia came back in, the conversation turned away from Declan, and we just talked, about anything. I liked it. I liked talking to them. They were nice people. Like Jason.
When we left their place, I was excited and on a high, buzzing with energy. It felt so good. Everything was going to work out. I was convinced. I wasn’t even worried anymore. It was an absolute belief. Because I was on a high and invincible. This was what I’d given up my meds to feel. I was happy and riding it like a surfer on a wave. It was too long since I’d felt this pulsing energy and excitement.
I turned to Jason when we walked along the sidewalk heading for the subway. “Can we go to a club? I wanna dance.”
We didn’t go out to clubs in Oregon, we lived a small-town life. There were only a few quiet bars in his town. I wanted noise and crowds, I wanted the energy of people and music.
He stopped walking and looked at me, his arm had been around my waist, keeping me warmer, it lifted to my shoulders when he turned to face me. “Don’t you want to call Mom? It’s getting late to speak to Saint.”
“I’ll do it now.” I looked down and dug my cell out of my purse. It was already too late, really, it was nearly ten. His arm fell away when I caught a fingertip of my glove in my teeth and pulled my glove off, then I crammed that into my pocket, slid up my contacts and pressed Mom’s call icon. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, Rachel. How are you?”
“Really good, thanks. Is Saint still awake? Sorry it’s late.”
“No, he’s in bed, dear.”
“Would you take the cell upstairs and put it to his mouth so I can hear him breathing, I love listening to him breathing when he’s asleep.”
I could tell from her breaths she’d started walking upst
airs. “How are you and Grampy? I hope Saint’s not wearing you out.”
“No, we’re fine, dear. Here you are, I’ll put the cell to his mouth now.” Her last words were whispered.
I could hear him breathing. It was like a soft little whisper. Before I’d gone back on the meds, on the nights I couldn’t sleep because I was high, I used to lay in bed for hours listening to his little breaths. My body had made him. That little person.
“Do you feel better?” Mom asked when she came back on.
I hadn’t been feeling bad. I wouldn’t have even called if Jason hadn’t reminded me it was getting late. Guilt jabbed a finger in my ribs. “Okay. Thanks. Do you wanna speak to Jason?”
“Not unless he has anything special to say.”
I looked at him. “Do you wanna talk?”
He shook his head.
“No, he doesn’t. Bye.”
“Goodnight, Rachel.”
When the call went dead, I stood still for a minute holding my cell, filled with memories of lying in the dark, listening to Saint breathe.
“You okay?” Jason’s gloved fingers brushed my hair back behind my ear.
“Yeah.”
He’d been different all day. He’d started smiling properly yesterday, but he’d stopped again today. I remembered his stiff posture at Justin and Portia’s “You?” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d asked him that question.
“I’m okay if you are,” he answered with a twisted closed-lipped smile. “Do you still want to go dancing?”
If you are…
The thought of dancing flooded my consciousness, over the top of any thoughts of Saint—and I forgot our conversation. “Yeah.”
“Then let’s go dancing.”
His arm wrapped around me again as I pulled my glove back on.
We went to the club we’d gone to together when I’d stayed with him in New York. It played mainly R&B music and we spent hours dancing all up close, sweaty and personal. My hands gripped his butt or the back of his neck as we swayed, ground against each other and rocked to the rhythm of the music. I was breathless and fired up with energy when we left there, and in need of sex, again. I was starving for it. I’d been through a desert over the last few months and was walking out the other side, my throat dry and my belly hungry.
We did have sex but it was in the bed, like good kids, only I went on top and rode him, pushing hard for a quick orgasm so I could enjoy the rest even more.
When we’d finished, while Jason fell asleep, I lay on my side looking out at the lights of the city which pierced through the thin curtains. I’d had a great time today, and last night. I was really enjoying being back in New York.
But what about Saint? The thought slipped through my head, it was like another part of my mind spoke to me, reminding me that things were different. How could I be happy without Saint?
I shouldn’t be happy.
The thought sent me crashing down a rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland, falling into the dark, into a pit of despair. The bad mood I tumbled into became a heavy weight pushing me down into the bed.
When I started crying Jason woke up and wrapped his arm around me, but he didn’t say a thing. If he had I couldn’t have found any words to answer anyway, even if I’d wanted to talk. He probably knew.
I cried myself to sleep as he reassured and comforted me. With an arm that was stiff and tight, like rock—protecting me.
CHAPTER NINE
Jason
Rach was asleep, but tonight I couldn’t sleep. I sat on the floor, naked, with my back against the wall, and my arms on my bent-up knees. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help her. Or how to help me.
I didn’t like her being on meds any more than she liked it. But when this was the alternative… She’d been all over the place for two days. Up then down. Wild, laughing then crying.
And we weren’t having loads of sex because she loved me, or even because she loved sex with me, or sex in general. Her desire for sex wasn’t about me, or her. It was a bipolar-centered addiction; she didn’t have any control over it when she was off meds.
How could I happily ride her rollercoaster of edgy when really it was her being sick? I didn’t want her to feel sick.
I hated myself. Guilt had been lancing through my chest ever since we’d done it in that restroom last night. Then I’d kept thinking about what she must have done with other people in that club. I’d always known about her past. But… Now I could visualize it.
I didn’t want to, but images kept on shoving their way into my mind.
I’d never cared about her past, or judged her on it. Since we’d been together there’d only been me. I knew that. But…
What about the future?
If she stayed off meds and she was like this… What would she do? Would she go back to making dumb decisions? Would she end up doing herself some harm, like she nearly had with Saint? All my family had been cautious around her since she’d walked into the river. She and Saint could’ve drowned. Now we all watched her, looking out for anything odd. There had been nothing odd, apart from her zombie-like, medicated state. That had become normal. But since we’d been in New York there’d been a torrent of odd.
Because the foolish, mixed-up girl had stopped her meds.
I was trying to support and protect her, but sometimes she made it fucking hard. And what did protecting her mean? Letting her be herself and not be tainted by medication, or making her take medication and have her spirit shoved down? This was getting too hard. How did I know what was right and wrong?
I couldn’t deal with the pressure anymore.
Saint was in my mind. Little Saint. Who’d never asked to be caught up in this mess. I wanted him. I did. I had no doubt about that. But—all the weight was on me. Protecting Saint, helping Rach, and fighting Mr. Rees.
“I don’t know what to do.” I breathed the words into the dark room, then my forehead fell on to my arms, which were crossed over and resting on my knees. I felt like getting dressed and going for a run. But I didn’t want Rach to wake up when I wasn’t in the room, especially when it was still dark. She’d worry.
But I always thought easier when I ran and right now I wanted to run really fast and hard. I bumped my forehead against my arms a couple of times, longing for the thought that was going to be the answer to everything. There was no answer. That was the truth. Rach was sick, she always would be. She’d been dealing with it her whole life. That was why she’d ended up trying to jump off a bridge into the East River when I’d met her. Now I was on the journey with her and I just had to deal with it too.
“Man up.” I lifted up my head.
But it was hard.
I’d likened being with her to a rollercoaster ride ever since I’d met her, and rollercoaster rides were fun. Her ups and downs, and the challenges she’d made me face, moving back home, having Saint, they’d made me feel alive, made my adrenalin rush and my heart beat harder. She’d changed me. Helped me become the person I wanted to be. The flat, slow, dull path of Rach on meds had made me miss her highs, but now I wished the highs didn’t go so far up, and the dips wouldn’t be so radical. I wanted to get on a gentler ride with her, that still had thrills, but thrills that didn’t scare me. Thunder-Mountain-style maybe.
I was tired. She was exhausting. Trying to watch out for her, never knowing what mood I’d face from minute to minute.
Lord.
Saint was on this rollercoaster with us too. How was he going to survive it as he grew up?
A disloyal thought struck through my head—that maybe Saint was better off without us.
It wasn’t true.
Images of Rach over Halloween assaulted the treacherous idea. She’d knocked his little hand on a door and fed him his first taste of chocolate, full of pride, and then he’d laughed. He loved her, he loved us, no matter that we were really too young to be parents.
Maybe that was just it. I was young, and struggling with stuff I shouldn’t have to face
at my age. Maybe I just needed to live a couple more years and I’d get stronger.
But I loved Saint. And I loved Rach. My heart ached with it. The emotion clasped tight in my chest and my belly. But loving her didn’t tell me how to help her, or how to be with her when she was sick.
I’d been out of my depth ever since she’d walked into that river. She hadn’t drowned. I had. I’d spent the last few months fighting it. Pushing the fear away. She’d scared me. But I hadn’t been able to show her any of that fear because what I’d needed to do was look after her—and Saint, while his mommy was too sick.
But I hadn’t just pushed away my fear for her and Saint, I’d trapped it behind a wall so I had the energy to fight Mr. Rees. I’d shut it away because I couldn’t cope with it. Because I had to be able to cope. There wasn’t another choice. She couldn’t cope with hardly anything, so I had to.
But I couldn’t keep shoving my feelings away forever—not when she’d be sick forever. I couldn’t run away or hide from this forever. But I still wanted to run right now.
CHAPTER TEN
Rachel
When I woke up, Jason was dressed and lying on the bed beside me. He hadn’t woken me. I looked at the clock. It was twelve. I sat up. My limbs were really heavy and tears gathered as pressure at the back of my eyes. It was a crappy day for me to go to a faceoff with Declan. I felt shitty. It was a low day. But I had to do it—and we needed to be there by one. Declan had his meeting at two.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I got out of bed.
“Because you were sleeping, so you obviously needed to sleep.”
“I bet you wanted to go for a run, though.”
“I did, but it doesn’t matter. It’s more important you feel okay.”
His voice denied what he’d said. His run did matter.
“But you like running. It’s important you get to run. You should’ve gone. You could’ve woken me.”
He gave me a closed-lipped smile. He was off his game again today. But then his moods seemed to change with mine.
If you are… He’d said last night when I’d asked if he was happy.