He and Jamie were friends, he’d like to think, as much as that label made him want to groan in agony and beat his head against the wall in frustrating despair. But that sort of move was a little dramatic for him.
Instead, he’d gotten drunk at Brad’s bachelor party and was spending all his free time with a teenage boy and an old man. It wasn’t a great form of therapy, but it beat wailing in the middle of Forty-fourth Street.
Jamie’s father glanced over at him, narrowed his eyes in recognition. Jack started across the street. He figured Jamie had invited him into the situation by crying on his shoulder. That had nearly killed him, and he didn’t want to see her hurt further.
Jack stopped in front of the man, who was now sitting straight up, looking suspicious and tense. Ready to fight, if necessary. Even with some hard years on him, Jack could see the resemblance to Jamie. Same eyes. Same freckles.
“I just wanted to tell you that Jamie knows who you are.”
“Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
But Jack could tell he knew. The guy’s face went white, his eyes ran scared.
“You know what I mean, Mr. Peters. And if you don’t want to talk to Jamie, maybe you’d better quit hanging around.”
Jamie’s father’s head fell into his hands, and he rubbed his scratchy unshaven chin. “I just wanted to see her…” he said, his voice breaking a little. “Just wanted to make sure she’s okay. I don’t mean her any harm.”
With a sigh, Jack sat down on the bench next to him. “Look, I don’t claim to know anything about relationships. My own family thinks communicating is critiquing each other’s clothing. And as you noticed, given the argument we had the other day, I’m not exactly Jamie’s favorite guy these days. But I think that you’re hurting her more by not talking to her. She wants to know where you’ve been, man.”
“I’ve been in prison.”
“Oh.” Well, shit, that explained a lot. Jack cleared his throat, embarrassed to have trod into something so personal. “Well, fortunately, Jamie understands that men make mistakes.”
He shut up, not sure what else to say.
“Listen, do you have a few minutes? I need someone to talk to, and you obviously care about Jamie.”
“I do.” More than he could express without sounding like a cream puff. “And sure, I have time.”
“Thanks. Name’s Jim, by the way.” He stuck his hand out.
“Jack.”
They shook.
And by the time they were done talking quite a while later, Jack had another new roommate, and a pretty good idea that Jamie was going to kill him.
By the end of the day Jamie had seven new voice mail messages on her cell phone. Walking to the subway, feeling sluggish and slow, her peasant skirt trailing on the sidewalk, she curiously listened to her messages. She couldn’t imagine there were seven people trying to get ahold of her in one afternoon.
First message. Sent at one-twenty-two P.M., the robotic female voice said in her ear. Then, “Sugar, I had another vision. I saw ice, I saw coffee, I saw anger. Call me.”
Jamie played with the amber beads on her necklace. That prediction meant nothing to her, so she waited for the next message.
Next message. Sent at two-twelve P.M. “Why haven’t you called me back? You need to give me your new work number. There are times when I have to talk to you and I don’t like being put off with this cell voice mail bullshit.”
Jamie would have to be insane to give Beckwith her new work number. As it was, she was lucky he hadn’t just shown up at her office.
Next message. Sent at two-seventeen P.M. “You know, you’re lucky I’m getting my nails done or I’d just come down there. There’s a great disturbance in the force,” Beckwith said in his deep yet somehow feminine voice. “There’s like a Darth Vader moment right around the corner for you.”
That made Jamie grin. Darth Vader? Geez, Beckwith certainly had a flare for the dramatic.
Next message. Sent at three twenty-one P.M.
Jamie didn’t need psychic powers of her own to guess it was going to be Beckwith again.
“My crew keeps saying, “They’re here…” like that freaky little girl in Poltergeist. Why the hell am I seeing your future in movies? And who are they? Jams, you’ve got to call me before I have an aneurysm.”
If he’d stop leaving voice mails, maybe she would have time to call him back.
Next message. Sent at three forty-seven P.M. “Whatever you do, do not go to Jack’s apartment, do you understand me? I sense criminal feelings…like death, prison. Maybe the doorman has a violent past or something, but do not go over there, do you hear me? I repeat, do not go to Jack’s apartment.”
The frightened tone in Beckwith’s voice made Jamie shiver a little, even as the sun beat down on her bare arms. He was great at drama, but he wasn’t usually prone to hysteria. Yet she couldn’t believe she’d ever come to harm in Jack’s presence. Despite his lying, she felt in her heart that she could trust him not to ever hurt her physically. He could shred her heart like mozzarella if she let him, but physically she’d be fine.
Next message. Sent at four-oh-one P.M. “Jamie, this is Jack. I was wondering if you could come over to my apartment tonight after you get off work? I need to talk to you…” Jack hesitated. “It’s about your father.”
Jamie sucked in her breath. That must have been the feeling Beckwith was getting. He was mixing sensations about her father with Jack. Prison, a crime…dark shadows of the past like Darth Vader.
“You can come over any time. I’ll be here.” There was another pause like he was going to say something else. But he only ended with a soft, “Thanks, Jamie.”
“Damn,” Jamie whispered out loud, heading down the steps into the subway. She wanted to blow Jack off. To hold on to her anger over the lies, and her irritation with the way he’d taken over handling the situation with Austin. But she couldn’t. She had a heck of a time saying no to anyone, and Jack had been comforting to her when she’d seen her father.
And no matter how far apart their lives were, or how many issues lay between them, part of her would always remember the night they had shared, when everything was simple and it had just been amazing between them.
She hesitated on the platform. Maybe she should run home and change into a fresh outfit. Maybe her yellow sundress.
Next message. Sent at four-twelve P.M. “Okay, sugar, fine, don’t listen to me. Go over there and get murdered. But at the very least, have pity on me and do not wear that yellow dress. It makes you look like a banana.”
Okay, apparently she wasn’t changing. Jamie stepped on the train and glanced down at her green skirt, and smoothed her red hair.
Watermelon. Banana. Same difference.
“Okay, just hear me out,” Jack said when he met Jamie in the lobby.
Met her in the lobby. That was not a good beginning to the evening. Like there was something so utterly horrible and depraved about to blurt from his lips he needed to say it to her in a public space.
“What?” she asked cautiously, sliding her camel-colored hobo bag in front of her. Not that she intended to beat him with her purse or anything, but it felt safer to have a barrier between her and those pleading, pretty eyes.
“Sit down,” he suggested, his hands in his jean pockets as he nodded toward the red chairs.
“No, thank you.”
One, she wasn’t going to be staying that long. Two, those chairs reminded her of that night, which she’d rather not be reminded of, thank you very much. Too much contemplation on that morning’s particular activities and she would either start crying or spontaneously orgasm.
“Okay, then I’ll just get right to the point.”
Please do, God, he was going to drive her to drink.
“Your father is upstairs in my apartment and he wants to talk to you.”
Maybe she should have sat down. Jamie’s cheeks went hot, and her legs turned to rubber. “I’m sorry?”
J
ack reached out like he was going to touch her, but he hesitated. “He was outside Beechwood, and I talked to him, told him you knew who he was, and that maybe it was time for him to speak to you. He told me he’d just wanted to make sure you were okay, but didn’t want to bother you. I convinced him that it would be no bother. That his daughter would like to speak to him. Was I wrong?”
He looked anxiously at her, and Jamie felt tears well up. She shook her head rapidly. “No, no, you weren’t wrong. Thank you.”
Suddenly terrified, she glanced at the elevators. “Should I go upstairs or is he coming down?”
“He’s waiting upstairs.”
When Jack took her hand and squeezed, leading her toward the elevator, Jamie didn’t shake him off. And when he said, “I know about the whole prison sentence,” Jamie found that she was grateful for the compassion in Jack’s voice. Glad that her father had felt comfortable enough to confide in Jack.
Stepping into Jack’s apartment, bracing herself to come face-to-face with her father for the first time in twenty-some years, Jamie found herself leaning closer to Jack. It wasn’t such a bad feeling to have a man like Jack at her back.
Especially when she saw Austin and an older man, not her father.
“Austin? What in the world are you doing here?”
“I live here,” he called from the sofa, looking mighty comfortable with his feet on Jack’s coffee table.
She swiveled to level a gaze at Jack, waiting for some kind of explanation for why a teen criminal was channel surfing on his plasma TV.
He shrugged, looking sheepish. “He’s such a bright kid and he’s living on the streets, Jamie. This is temporary, until I find the right boarding school for him.”
“Boarding school? Who on earth is going to pay for that?” That was sure in the heck not in Beechwood’s budget. Private school tuition was probably more than Jamie’s entire annual salary.
Jack didn’t answer, but Austin did, flipping his hair out of his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder. “Dude’s crazy, Jamie. He’s going to shell out money for me to go to some fancy-ass school. You should stick around, he’ll probably throw some cash your way, too.”
Her mouth stopped working. Shock made her lips numb. It took several seconds for her to regain control enough to form words. “Do you want to go to boarding school, Austin?” she asked, amazed. It was a little hard to visualize him in a blazer, or with his pants actually around his waist instead of his knees.
“Hell, yeah. It was either that or prison. And I’m kind of looking forward to showing up those preppy pimps.” He cracked his knuckles. “I can get straight A’s with my fucking eyes closed.”
“Well, everyone does have their own unique talents,” she said carefully, feeling floored. Flummoxed. Freaked out. All kinds of f words.
The older gentleman in the wheelchair spun himself around. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Jack-o?”
“Of course, Pops. Jamie, this is my grandfather, Will Hathaway. Pops, this is Jamie Peters.”
She managed a smile at Jack’s grandfather, remembering all the wonderful things Jack had said about him. “It’s so nice to meet you. Jack’s told me how much he admires you and all your accomplishments.”
His grandfather cracked a laugh. “I can only imagine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, young lady. Jack’s been gushing like a faucet about how beautiful you are, and for once I have to agree with him.”
Jack made a coughing sound, and Jamie felt a blush rising over her neck and cheeks.
“So, where’s Jim?” Jack asked.
Jim. Her father. Jamie stiffened, heart thumping painfully.
Austin’s eyes darted back to the TV, but Jack’s grandfather set his mouth in a tight line and shook his head.
The silence drew out for a long, awful moment.
“He stepped out for a minute,” Pops said.
Jamie felt her throat close off.
“Is he coming back?” Jack asked, loud and demanding.
“He just bugged out,” Austin said. “He didn’t say shit to us.”
The room blurred as tears came swiftly, cementing her mortification. It was just disappointment, really, but still she was ashamed of the emotion.
“Hey, uh, Austin, why don’t you and Pops run across the street and get some dinner?” Jack pulled out his wallet and handed Austin forty bucks.
That was all the incentive Austin needed to leap off the couch and grab hold of Pops’s wheelchair. “Come on, old man.”
Pops swiped the money out of Austin’s hand. “Got to be quicker than that, punk.”
They paused right beside her. “Sorry,” Austin said, solemn and uncomfortable.
Pops reached out and patted her hand with his strong, wrinkled one. “He’ll come around.”
She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak, their compassion nearly shattering her. When they were gone, she shook her head, pulled her hand out of Jack’s. “Please don’t say anything. Thank you for trying, but please don’t say anything.”
If he tried to apologize, she was going to cry. Jamie took a deep breath and called on all her strength. This was not a big deal. Nothing was different about today than yesterday. She was a strong, independent woman who could wrestle a pig to the ground and fend off barbs from ex-cons with equal success.
Her father’s rejection was nothing new, and she wasn’t going to let it crumple her. The only thing that had been known to bring her to her knees thus far was ice cream, and aside from a slight heaviness in the thighs—some of it genetic anyway—that wasn’t a crisis.
“Jamie…”
“I’m fine, Jack.” Or she would be once she got out of his expensive apartment and went home to collapse on her purple bedspread. Took a breather and meditated to regain her equilibrium.
“No, you’re not.” He tried to reach for her, tried to pull her into his arms.
Those arms looked all too appealing. Knowing if she let him, she’d be helpless, defenseless against his kindness, she stepped back in a panic.
“Don’t.”
She expected him to protest.
What she didn’t expect was him to drop his hands, stare her straight in the eye and say, “I love you.”
Where the heck was Beckwith’s helpful second sight right now? She could have used a little warning on that one.
Chapter 14
Why the hell he had chosen that particular moment to confess his feelings, Jack couldn’t possibly fathom. As he stood there waiting for Jamie to stop gaping at him and actually say something, he remembered a Maxim article he had read out of desperation in LaGuardia when his flight had been delayed and he’d been dying of boredom.
It was the ten most humiliating responses a woman can give when you tell her you love her for the first time.
He had the horrible feeling he was about to get served one of them.
“Thank you,” she said.
Ouch. She slammed number three over the net right into his face. It felt just about as good as a real tennis ball to the nose would. He felt smacked, stung, stupid.
“That’s sweet of you, and I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Honestly.”
Did she think he was professing love to make her feel better? Jesus. He’d told her for purely selfish reasons because he wanted her to smile, say she felt the same way, and agree to move in with him. If he had just wanted to make her feel better, he’d have sent her flowers and gotten her drunk. And it had never occurred to him that anyone would think his love was some sort of balm to any wound.
Take my heart, it’s like Neosporin.
At times in life there were no words. Or at least not any that Jack could think of.
So he just went with instinct. Moving in front of the door where they were still hovering, Jack shook his head. “No thanks necessary.”
Then when her mouth opened to protest, he closed the space between them at the speed of sound and took her lips in a demanding kiss.
The plan was to catch her off
guard and stun her into forgetting she wanted to leave. The stunned part seemed to be working, but that was all. Jamie’s lips were slack beneath his, and he had the feeling her eyes were wide open, though he wasn’t going to look for confirmation.
This required a step two. Wrapping his arms around her, Jack molded her lush body to his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, letting his thumbs brush across her lower back as he eased up on her lips. Kissed her softly, gently, his mouth caressing hers.
Better response. She gave a small sigh and kissed him back. Her hands didn’t go so far as to encircle his neck, but she made it to his shoulders, which was good enough for him. He had missed her. One night, or one morning, actually, and he’d ached every day since for her.
After worshipping her mouth for a few minutes, he felt the shift in her response, felt her leaning closer to him, felt her kisses change from accepting to questing.
He buried his hands in her hair, his body tight, her mouth soft and giving as they moved from tentative to lustful.
“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth, wanting her to understand, to acknowledge he meant the words. And maybe it would inspire some more gratitude, this time in the form of her hand on his fly.
She tried to break away from him.
He wasn’t having any of that. He bent half over and scooped her up into his arms, one arm firmly under her backside.
Jamie let out a startled shriek. “What are you doing?”
“I’m being Rhett Butler, but without the moustache. You know, from your favorite movie.”
“I’m no Scarlett,” she said, though she did crack a smile. “And you said that movie is overdramatic and displays male-female relations in a negative light.”
“Han Solo and Princess Leia?”
She shook her head, and tried to put her feet on the ground. “I’m more like Luke than Leia.”
Jack let her get down, but he nudged her up against the wall and trapped her with his arms. “You’re a man?”
Laughing, she shoved against his chest. “No. I’m whiny.”
Jack couldn’t believe that. He took a risk, knowing it was a big one. “Maybe in the beginning Luke was whiny with that whole Uncle Owen, I want to fly thing, but there has never been anything whiny about you. And in the end, Luke thought more about other people than himself. You’re like that, Jamie. And your father is not Darth Vader.”
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