by Natasha Boyd
“Oh,” I said and wrinkled my nose.
“Right. So I guess there’s no point surprising you. But we were trying to make the get together this week into a surprise birthday party.”
I dropped my gaze. “I feel like an idiot.”
Strong arms gathered me close. “You’re not an idiot.”
“I am.” I relaxed into Jack’s embrace and sniffed into the delicious piney-scented skin of his neck. “I really am. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, you are, but you’re forgiven.”
“Hey.” I pretended outrage and pulled away only to have Jack’s mouth cover mine. His lips were warm and as his hands slid up into my hair tilting my head to his liking, I opened to his kiss.
His tongue dipped inside, and we both groaned.
Our kisses grew in pace and urgency before Jack’s mouth left mine to roam down my neck. Sighing, I tilted my head back, my legs lifting to lock tightly around his waist.
“Why,” Jack murmured between kisses, “don’t you ... believe ... how much ...” his teeth closed softly on my earlobe, his hot mouth making my skin tingle, “I love you. How much I want you. Only you.”
Words I loved to hear. Words that allayed my fears about how I’d felt we were growing apart.
Heat swirled through me, making me achy. My hands grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth back to mine. I needed more of Jack. More of those words. More proof. I kissed him wildly and grappled at his t-shirt so I could reach his hot skin. “Maybe coz I like how much you like to show me,” I said and pressed myself against him as tight as I could. “Show me how much you want me.”
He pulled back, his eyes dark, his breathing heavy but with a mischievous quirk to his mouth. “You don’t believe me, huh?”
“Nope.”
He scowled.
I danced my fingers down his belly toward his jeans. “You should definitely convince me.”
Jack inhaled.
“Really,” I leaned forward and pressed my open mouth to Jack’s neck, “Really, show me.” I licked his skin.
He groaned through a chuckle, his hand in my hair twisting it into his fist and his mouth descending onto mine. His lips moved hungrily, his tongue tasted and his body pressed.
My hands raced over his shoulders, his back, his sides. I gathered the soft fabric of his shirt and pulled it up his body. “Just like this,” I whispered, my heart pounding.
“Oh, God, Keri Ann,” Jack said through heavy breaths. “I want you so bad. But we have to stop.”
“No, why?” I whined.
Jack’s deep laugh rumbled through his chest and around our kisses. “Because Devon and Monica are about to walk in the door.”
Five
Monica, Devon’s wife, was always so put together. She had perfectly glossy, honey brown hair, shot through with highlights. Her eyes were large and expressive and right now she was descending on me, her arms outstretched for a hug, having followed Devon in about ten minutes after he arrived. “Finally off the phone! Gah. I made it just in time,” she crowed as Devon and Jack took a couple of beers out onto the deck. “I thought we wouldn’t make it here until next week. You look gorgeous as always.”
“Thanks,” I said graciously even though I’d never compare with how stylish and well-groomed she was. Of a similar body type, she was often donating clothes to me she said she’d “never wear” or “couldn’t wear” because of one thing or another. I resisted at first, but after a while, between Jack’s events that required a stylist who brought me clothes and Monica’s donated wardrobe, it became pointless for me to even go shopping except for underwear. Besides, I adored Monica’s style.
I returned her hug. “Just in time for what?” I asked her with a smile.
She swallowed. And stuttered. “Um, ah—”
“It’s all right, I know,” I said.
She stepped back, her eyes wide and a smile breaking out. “You do?”
“My surprise birthday party. Jack had to tell me because I was acting like a freak.”
“Your surprise birthday party. Yeah. That guy can’t ever keep a secret anyway.” She shook her head. “Not when it comes to you.”
We walked back to the kitchen, and Monica grabbed a cold bottle of white wine from the fridge. “You’d think the boys would have opened the wine for us. All these years of training and Devon hasn’t learned a thing.” She shook her head good-naturedly.
I took down two delicate, over-sized glasses from the cupboard. Monica was very particular about the glasses she drank out of, refusing heavy glass, stemless and definitely anything plastic. She said it messed with her wine experience. I gave them to her so she could pour the wine.
“So tell me, why were you freaking out?” she asked as she handed me a glass and we settled in the living room overlooking the ocean and the pool below. Devon and Jack had stretched out on two lounge chairs. Even though it was chilly, it was still a beautiful afternoon. The section of beach in front of us was deserted, and the sky was cloudless.
I looked away from the window wondering how much to share. Monica was always a good person to tell things to, but I felt so silly. She was smiling warmly at me from the other sofa, her long soft gray cardigan draping elegantly.
“I’m not sure. It seems so stupid. It was stupid. I knew it but couldn’t rationalize, you know? Jack was being all distant and preoccupied. Then I was with Jazz, and I overheard her talking to him in secret. Now I know it was about the party. But ...”
Monica winced. “Don’t tell me you thought they were involved.”
“My mind kinda went there.” I returned her expression, feeling sick about it all over again.
“Oh dear.” She grimaced.
“Yeah. Jazz basically kicked me out. I don’t blame her.”
Monica bit her lip. “Have you spoken to her? When did this happen?”
“This morning. And no.” I shook my head and took a small sip of wine, realizing how thirsty I was. “Actually, do you mind if you have this, I’m going to get some water. I’ve hardly had any all day.”
She took my glass and decanted it into her own. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said, and suddenly I wanted to confide everything to Monica.
How I’d told Jack I was ready to marry him and start a family and how I’d been waiting months and months. And that I thought he’d changed his mind. Not about us being together right now obviously, but maybe for the long haul. Or maybe he just didn’t want a family anymore, and he thought if we got married I’d expect it.
Or maybe, my fingers shook as I filled a glass with water, maybe he’d realized marriage would involve prenuptial agreements and legal entanglements, and he couldn’t see us old and gray together. I was very settled here in Butler Cove and our home on Daufuskie. I had my old friends, my friends from college, my work. He was always needed everywhere else. It was inconvenient for him not to be near an International airport. I knew this. Perhaps he felt tied down enough already. My belly felt empty and bottomless as I contemplated what it might feel like if Jack outright told me he didn’t want to get married anymore.
I wouldn’t have Jazz to pull me through either because I’d alienated her with my insecurity. Oh jeez, my stomach actually cramped. I retched.
The water glass slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. The sound was loud and horrific.
“Oh God, I’m sorr—” I retched again and threw myself across to the sink as my mouth opened and nothing came out.
“Holy shit, girl. You okay?” Monica was with me in a second.
“Careful,” I tried through a hoarse throat before my body tried to throw up nothing again. “The glass.”
“Screw the glass. Are you okay? What happened?” Monica’s warm hand rubbed soothingly up and down my spine.
I sucked in a breath and swallowed, wiping my eyes that had watered. “Dang. I always get ill when I’m emotional. And it’s just been a really emotional day.” I screwed my eyes closed, willing my stomach to calm down.
>
“You need to make it right with Jazz.”
I did, but all I wanted was to take a hot bath, climb into PJ’s, and watch as many movies as I could handle before falling asleep.
Instead I nodded, the nausea retreating. “I know. I’ll be fine. Tell Jack I’ve gone upstairs to lie down, okay?”
I was curled up in the middle of the guest bed after brushing my teeth. The same bed where Jack and I had first made love so many years ago. The nausea had gone, and in its place I was left with the feeling that everything was about to fall apart. My friendship with Jazz was too deep and too old to have been rocked by something as silly as what I’d said in a moment of madness today. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table, and typed out a text.
Me: I’m a horrible friend
Outside, I could hear the deep rumble of Jack’s voice as he responded to something Devon must have said. I didn’t know if Monica had told him what happened. But Jack still hadn’t come up to check on me. I swallowed down another nugget of worry.
My phone buzzed.
Jazz: And?
I should have known Jazz would make me drag out an apology.
And I’m an idiot, I typed.
Jazz: More
I smiled thinly, imagining Jazz glaring at her phone as if it were me sitting right in front of her.
Me: And even if you don’t want to talk to or look at me tomorrow, can you still give me your list of things you need help with?
Jazz: Yes. Go on.
I sighed.
Me: And I’m sorry.
Jazz: I’m sorry too
Me: What are you sorry for?
Jazz: Because you are obviously going through some kind of nervous breakdown about Jack and I’ve been too wrapped up and busy to notice.
Her response gave me pause. Was it all on me? All in my head? There was a sound at the door, and I looked over my shoulder. Jack slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he echoed, and the bed dipped as he lowered himself down behind me and slipped an arm around my waist. “You okay?”
I breathed in deeply as I reveled in his embrace. I put my phone back on the nightstand. “Yeah, feeling a lot better.”
“Did you talk to Jazz yet?”
“We just texted. I think she’s accepting my apology.”
Jack nuzzled my neck and kissed the skin behind my ear. “That’s good.” His hand around my waist began to travel up and down my side, eventually slipping under my sweater to my skin.
A rush of warmth spread through me at the contact. “Mmmm.” I hummed and pressed back against the warmth of his body.
His hand stopped moving and held me close. Tight. Then he breathed out, letting go. “I think I’m going for a run on the beach.”
I frowned and turned to face him.
He was looking up at the ceiling.
“You just ran this morning,” I said.
“Hmm?” he asked and turned his face to me.
“I said, you just ran this morning. Without me, I might add.”
We usually ran together, so for him to so casually exclude me from the plan was strange. I’d tried not to read into it this morning.
“I needed to think.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t keep the hurt from seeping into my voice. “And you need to ... think ... again?”
He got up and pulled some athletic shorts out of his overnight bag. “Why? Do you want to come?”
Well, now I felt silly. But surely I hadn’t imagined this strange moment we were having?
He shrugged at my lack of an answer. What in the heck was going on with him?
I sat up and scooted down to the end of the bed. “I just—” I tried.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?” He sat down next to me and changed his socks out for the ones he wore with his running shoes.
“Are we ... are we good? I mean, I feel ... so distant from you right now. Are you ...” I blew out a breath and took a fresh one. “Are we okay?”
There was no answer. After a few seconds, I looked sideways at him and met sincere, but amused, green eyes.
“What?” I huffed.
He broke out into a grin and shook his head. “You.”
“Me what?”
Jack stood up abruptly and stepped in front of me, gathering me under the arms and dumping me unceremoniously backward on the bed.
I yelped.
Then he was crawling up my body, pushing up my sweater, and peppering my tank-covered belly, my chest, and then my face with kisses. By the time he cradled my head in his hands and slanted his mouth over mine I was breathless.
His mouth, tasting like a hint of beer, nipped and persuaded then demanded entrance with a tease of his tongue. He was distracting me, I knew it, but I let him.
Sighing, I relaxed into his kiss. My legs opened to cradle his body against mine. My hands slipped up the contours of his back and into his hair.
Jack’s answering groan fanned the heat that grew low in my belly. Our bodies pressed, our hands sought, and our mouths tasted and coaxed and savored, and soon we were in that place where we were okay. It was Jack and I. Our chemistry bigger than us, our hearts and bodies communicating to each other in a language that our brains and our tongues couldn’t decipher in the real world.
It was so easy here.
Easy to pretend everything was okay.
“Stop,” I managed between kisses. “I want to talk to you.”
Jack pulled away, his gaze dark, furrowed, and focused on my mouth. His body still moving against me, my body arching against his in reflex. We both let out small sounds of want through our heaving breaths.
Pushing gently on one shoulder, I wordlessly asked Jack to shift onto one elbow.
He complied and rested his now free hand flat on my solar plexus. His forehead dropped to mine as our breaths slowed. “What do you want to talk about?” Jack whispered with closed eyes.
“Us. I know it all feels fine between us here. When we do this. But ...” I swallowed. “Other times, I feel like I’m losing you.”
His eyes opened on mine.
I licked my lips nervously and tried to find my voice again. “Am I losing you, Jack?”
The warm hand on my chest slid up my throat and up to my cheek, then reverently through my hair, pausing briefly to caress the shell of my ear and then trail back down my chest and down to my belly. Please don’t try and distract me again, I silently begged as I looked into his eyes.
“Never,” he whispered. “You’re my anchor. My heart doesn’t beat without you. You’re never losing me. Never.”
“Then why do I feel so far away from you?” My eyes prickled, and emotions clogged my throat.
“You’re not, baby,” he whispered, and then grimaced as my eyes welled. “You’re not far away from me. Ever.” His eyes reflected pain. “Don’t cry. It kills me when you cry.” He kissed my eyelids, forcing my tears onto my cheeks and kissing those too. “Keri Ann, baby, please. Please don’t cry. You have me. Always.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I wanted to believe him. I did believe him. But then why was I feeling this? I wasn’t making it up. Sure, I knew I could read too much into things sometimes, but I wasn’t one to create unnecessary drama, or become an emotional wreck without a clear reason. But something was not right.
“I don’t know why I feel this way ... but I do. Something is going on with you. I know it. I know I’m not crazy.”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut at my words, like I’d wounded him or like I’d discovered something he wished I hadn’t.
My heart twisted and I grabbed for him. “I’m sorry, Jack. Please, you know you feel it too. Don’t make me feel crazy. I’m not crazy.” I held his head and kissed his cheek and his nose and his mouth. “Right?”
Jack gathered me close and rolled to his side. His arms squeezed me tight, his hands holding me, stroking me.
I hug
ged him back, pressing my face against the warm piney scent of his skin. “Please. Tell me I’m not crazy.”
He took a deep breath and buried his face in my hair. “No,” he said. “You’re not crazy. You’re not imagining things.”
My breath stuttered in my chest.
“I—” He broke off.
We lay there for long minutes. Him, presumably, trying to find the right words as he breathed into me. Me, so completely frozen, I thought that if I even moved or breathed too hard, I may accidentally shatter our life together.
Six
“Something happened during the filming of the movie,” Jack began. He’d pulled away from me to stare at the ceiling but ended up covering his eyes with his forearm.
I clamped my teeth together hard, trying to be brave enough just to let him talk. “Like with someone?” I forced out, my voice almost unable to make sound.
So this was it.
“No,” Jack said sharply, turning to me. “God, no.” He looked away again, scrubbing a hand down his face. “No.” The last no came out wearily. Like he was tired of always convincing me there was no one else.
I hung on to those no’s with everything in me. “Okay. I’m sorry. I had to ask.”
He sighed.
The time stretched out. And I waited. Every few minutes it felt like he might say something, but then his Adam’s apple would move heavily and no words would come.
Tears I couldn’t control filled my eyes and slipped silently across my face as I watched Jack struggle, and in pain, as he stared unseeingly upward.
“You know,” he croaked and cleared his throat. “You know how hard it was for me writing that script about my father. About me and my mother.”
“Yeah,” I whispered softly. I remembered. Even though he hadn’t let me read it until it was done. In fact, not even until after Devon had read it and it had been “green-lit” and funded to go into production. I remembered his long nights in his study while writing it. He would come to bed and wake me with kisses to make love to me. Almost every night. It was like he came to bed to lose himself in me. To absolve himself. To wash himself clean. He made love with an intensity and a forced carefulness that was so achingly tender it would sometimes bring me to tears. I never questioned him, not even when one night he climbed into bed and I knew he was crying. Once I had started to try to ask him, to talk to him, to soothe him. His simple and finite, “No, I can’t,” was all it took to keep me quiet. I knew it had been hard for him. Talking about his father always was. And then he was writing about him. Trying to get into the motivations, the psychosis, the darkness. From the little bits I’d heard and from the story I’d read, his father was all about intimidation and control. He would have rather Jack’s mother and her child, his son, die by his hand in fear, than be allowed to live in a world separate from him. And with the connections he’d had, Jack’s mother, Charlotte, had believed he had been above the law. She’d had no choice but to flee the country with her son.