by JB Salsbury
“After this weekend, I realized our breakup was more one-sided than I thought. See, the thing is, you always seemed okay when I missed visits home or trips out to see you. I didn’t realize I had broken your heart. And a group of women tonight at the airport bar helped me see where I may have gone wrong.” I take another deep, intentional breath. “I’ve always been driven to succeed because I wanted to be the best possible husband and provider for you and our future family. Then somewhere along the way, I got addicted to the drive and the straight A’s and the accolades. I think—no, I know, at some point, it wasn’t us that was driving me anymore. It was my pride at being the best. And here I am, married to my job and jobs don’t give blow jobs—”
“What?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Please, explain what you did mean.”
“I miss you. I want you back. I want us back. Kissing you the other night, I can’t explain what that meant to me. I need you back in my life, and if you’re willing to hear me out, I think I might know how we can make it work.”
“I’m listening,” she says softly.
She’s listening! That’s… something!
“Okay, if you come to New York, I can support us financially so that you can work on your art. There are so many art dealers out here. We could find you an agent and you could focus solely on your dream.”
“My dream is painting?”
I open my mouth to answer, but then I register the snarky tone in her voice. “Why do I get the feeling there isn’t a right answer to that question?”
“Jack. You were my first love.”
“I know! And you’re mine. The only woman I’ve ever loved—”
“Can I finish?”
I clear my throat and demand my racing heart chill out. “Go on.”
“When you moved to New York, we made promises to each other as eighteen-year-old kids. There’s no way we could’ve expected things to work out the way we’d planned. We both had some growing up to do.”
“I made a promise to you, and I broke it.”
“Yes, you said you’d be back in four years and we’d pick up our lives together. But guess what? If you’d come back four years later, I wouldn’t have been there. I moved to California. So then what?”
“I guess I would’ve expected you to move back to Vegas or I would’ve come to you, I don’t know.”
“We can’t make life decisions based on what could happen. We have to live for ourselves, with only ourselves in mind.”
“Sadie—”
“That’s all you did. You looked out for you, as you should have. I was heartbroken, sure, but only because I had to mourn the loss of a dream and I was afraid of a future without you in it because you were all I ever knew.”
“I don’t want a future without you. I want to get back together. I want the future we promised each other as kids. I guess the real question is, do you want that too?”
She huffs out a breath. “So much has changed. I’m not the same girl I was at eighteen.”
“I don’t believe that, but if that’s true, give me a chance to get to know you again.”
“You may not like what you see.”
I laugh, because really, that’s fucking laughable. “I doubt that.”
She’s not laughing. Is she even breathing?
“Are you saying you’ll give me a chance to do that? You’ll start answering your phone and sharing parts of your life with me?”
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispers.
“What are you so afraid of me seeing? That you dated other guys? Okay, I got that. I don’t like it, but I get it. I don’t want to dwell on who you were with before. I want to move on and make you forget every man you’ve ever been with, including a young and selfish Jack Daniels.”
She clears her throat. “What if you can’t do that? What if one of those men has changed me forever? What if you have to live in the constant shadow of someone else?”
My stomach rolls over on itself and I feel as if I might be sick, but I have to know. “Are you saying… are you in love with him? With one of your ex-boyfriends?”
She doesn’t answer.
Yep, I’m going to be sick. “Your non-answer says it all.”
“We can never be what we were. If you’re open to being something new, then yeah, I’ll give you that chance to see inside me. And I won’t even be mad at you when what you see makes you change your mind.”
“That’s not happening.” Because whoever Sadie thinks she loves, I’ll love her harder. I’ll love her so much, I’ll squash every memory of every other man from her soul until all she’s filled with is us and the plans for our future together.
“You’re so confident.”
“I believe in us. Since we were little and you’d play tea party with all my Dino Trucks, I knew you were it for me. I got off course and fucked things up, but I’m back on track and I’m coming for you, Sadie Slade.”
“We’ll see.”
I hear a smile in her voice. But it’s far from happy.
Chapter Sixteen
Sadie
“You sure you want to do this?” Ricky holds up the black velvet envelope with the blood-red ribbon.
I stare at the gold embossed lettering. “I have to do this. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to move on.”
He frowns at me from across our small kitchen table. “I hate that it has to be this way.”
“It’s not like I was given much of a choice. There has to be some kind of justice or…” I shrug. “Or I don’t know what. I only know I need to do this. For me.”
His warm brown eyes soften. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”
I grab his hand and squeeze. “I never would’ve had the strength to do this if you hadn’t been there for me.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“Believe it.” His handsome face blurs as I stare at him through building tears. “You were the only person who helped me shoulder all this.”
He flips our hands, brings my knuckles to his lips, and presses a chaste kiss there. “I’ll make sure this gets delivered.”
“Thank you.”
He smiles sadly, grabs his keys, and walks out.
Now all I can do is hope my plan works.
I pick up my phone and go to Dawn’s myBubble message from this morning, in desperate need of a distraction.
* * *
And…? How was it?
* * *
I contemplate her question. I told her how Jack showed up in Las Vegas for Dad’s award ceremony. I told her about the kiss. I had to! I still feel the ghostly press of his mouth against mine. With quick fingers, I answer her honestly and hit Send.
* * *
I still feel it. Everywhere. ;)
* * *
I bite my lip, nervous to put my feelings out there in text. Typing them makes them real somehow. The text bubbles come and go, and I wait nervously for her reply.
* * *
Wow. So… you have plans to do it again?
* * *
Do I? All I’ve been able to think about lately is my exhibition. Since Jack showed up in my life, I’ve felt a little more like the person I was before—same but with modifications. And that… well, that’s something I never thought I’d feel again. So…
* * *
I hope so.
* * *
I’m glad I’m alone and the only one to hear my ridiculous laughter after being so honest—not only with Dawn but also with myself.
I want to kiss Jack again.
I can’t imagine ever wanting more, but a kiss?
Yeah.
A kiss I can do.
Jack
Holy. Fuck.
My pulse roars, my lungs pumping hard as I stare at my phone in my lap, under the table, at a meeting with Mr. TK Anderson, one of New York’s most influential restaurateurs.
Sadie still feels my kiss.
Good,
because I feel hers too.
And she wants to kiss me again.
Fuck yeah!
“Fuck yeah!”
“Jackson…” Tanner mutters and clears his throat.
I peer up, grinning. Really fucking smiling huge and my heart is punching my chest. “Yeah. I love the idea, Mr. Monroe.” Can’t. Stop. Smiling. “Fucking love it.” I stab at my salmon and shove a bite into my grinning mouth. “Let’s do it.”
Mr. Monroe’s frown tilts slightly on one side. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr. Daniels.” He looks at Tanner, whose eyes are wide—as if he’s sitting next to a grenade he’s not sure will go off or not. “I’m in.”
Tanner gives me a how the shit did you pull that off look then nods. “All right, I’ll draw up the contracts.”
Mr. Monroe holds out his hand to me, and I shake it.
I can’t help it. I’m floating, lighter than air, probably glowing. I laugh.
Mr. Monroe joins in while Tanner chuckles uncomfortably in his Armani suit.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I palm my phone. “I have a conference call.”
“What—Jackson,” Tanner hisses.
“We’ll be in touch with those contracts, Mr. Monroe,” I say over my shoulder as I head out of the restaurant to message Sadie back.
I’m already typing when my feet hit the sidewalk, and I hit Send.
* * *
Are you going to call him?
* * *
What would I say exactly? Hey, wanna fly across the country and kiss me until I can’t feel my legs?
* * *
I groan and fall back against the brick wall of Level78, Monroe’s most famous restaurant. “I’d be there in a heartbeat, baby,” I say while typing.
* * *
Why not? Give it a try.
* * *
“Please give it a try,” I mumble to myself as Tanner comes to stand in front of me, his cheeks slightly red from either embarrassment or anger. “What?”
He jerks away from me as if I slapped him. “What?” He motions to the restaurant. “That was one of our biggest potential clients.”
“Not potential. He is a client. Or were you not paying attention in there when I sealed the deal?” I turn to walk down Third Street. With all this excited energy, I need to move.
Tanner jogs up beside me. “‘Fuck yeah’? That’s how you seal deals now? What the crap, Jackson? That was a huge risk!”
“But it worked.” I check my phone and see Sadie’s text bubbles still going strong. “Why are you pissed?”
“You haven’t been yourself lately.” He dodges a group of tourists. “You’re detached. Distracted. You’re going out of town every weekend.”
“Jesus, Tan, since when did you become such a wife?”
“Shut up, I’m serious. What’s going on with you?”
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turn toward Tanner. People swerve around us with muttered curses, but I don’t give a flying shit. Nothing could get me down because… “I’m still madly in love with Sadie and I’m going to get her back.”
He blinks then narrows his eyes at me. “That’s it? All this for a chick?”
“Not any chick. Sadie. My Sadie.” I thump my chest. “I’m going to get her back this weekend.”
He tilts his head, looking more skeptical than I’ve ever seen him. “And then what? You’re going to hit her over the head and drag her back to New York by her hair?”
“If that’s what it takes.” I’m kidding, of course. I would never. But I will stop at nothing to get her back.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
* * *
Maybe I will give it a try, IDK. After my exhibition I’ll decide. My only focus is getting through the weekend. If I survive that, then I’ll figure out what this thing is between me and Jack.
* * *
I flip my phone screen to shove it in Tanner’s face. “She wants to give us a try!”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I dial Andrea and continue walking toward the office.
“Jackson, what’s up?”
“Andrea, book me a flight to San Diego on Friday.”
Tanner curses. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We have to work on the Anderson campaign.”
“I’ll come back Saturday night. We can work Sunday.”
Frustrated, he flips me off, drops back, and heads the opposite way.
He’ll get over it.
This weekend, I’m getting Sadie back for good.
Chapter Seventeen
Jack
The cab driver drops me off on the corner of Hawthorn and First Avenue at a storefront with a generic Art Studio sign. I grab the dozen cherry Blow Pops I managed to pick up from the mini-mart five minutes beforehand that I’ve secured together with a rubber band to make a bouquet. I straighten my tie, suck in a deep breath, and head for the door.
The welcoming room is lit with nothing but candlelight, and close to forty people are gathered. A small sign reads, “Please remain silent while waiting for entrance.”
“Excuse me,” I whisper as I squeeze through the crowd and make my way to the corner.
There’s a mix of people in attendance—some I assume are classmates of Sadie’s, coworkers, friends, and professors. I keep quiet and study the room and the black velvet wall that separates the welcoming room from what I assume is the exhibit on the other side.
My eyes take in the large stamped letters on the wall.
Insufficient Trauma
Sounds interesting.
The mood in the room is somber and a bit morose. Not at all surprising. Sadie’s always had weird taste in art. A group of guys pushes in beside me, knocking into my arm and laughing before muttering a half-hearted apology. One of them eyes the candy bouquet in my hand and scoffs.
If it weren’t for my love for Sadie and wanting to obey her wishes for silence, I’d ask him what the fuck his problem is. He and his two buddies whisper and laugh, earning glares from those around them. Including me.
Finally, the speakers above our heads crack to life and a voice speaks. Not any random voice. Sadie’s.
“Welcome to Insufficient Trauma. What you’re about to see is more than art. It’s a window. A firsthand, front-row view of the truth. My truth. Please remain silent until you’re outside the studio. Thank you.”
I recognize Ricky as he unhooks a velvet rope, allowing us entrance, but Sadie isn’t with him. The crowd moves forward through the small opening. I’m eager to see Sadie’s art, to see Sadie, to surprise her and give her that kiss she admitted to wanting.
“Front-row view of her truth?” the guy next to me mutters, and his friends chuckle. “Been there.”
“Yeah you have,” the other says.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
I should ask, but it’s my turn to head into the room and I’m too excited to see what Sadie’s been hiding behind those sheets.
The interior room is much bigger but equally as dark. Except in here, there are paintings of varied sizes with a spotlight from above illuminating each in different variations of light. The room is silent, with nothing but barely-there whispers, and dim. The lighting works beautifully with the dark red, black, and contrasting light of Sadie’s art.
The first painting is of a couple. The style is abstract, so the closer I get to it, the more it looks like random swipes of color on a canvas, but when I stand back, it’s most definitely a couple, from behind, hand in hand. I would like to believe the guy is me, and the girl has Sadie’s long, shiny dark hair, but the man in the painting isn’t blond and has some tribal tattoo on his forearm that’s barely noticeable in the moonlight. Most definitely not me.
It’s art, Jack. You can’t really be jealous of a painting.
Like hell I can’t.
I force myself to keep from frowning and move on to the next painting. The style is the same, the swipes of color making up two faces, one male, one female, side by side and decidedly romantic. The picture
after is bare feet in the sand. Pale-pink-painted toenails between larger feet as if she’s sitting between his legs. I get the feeling that the images are telling a story.
“She’s so good,” someone whispers.
I’m submerged in the story, mesmerized, and the room around me disappears as I follow along, painting after painting, listening intently to the story Sadie’s art tells. Strong hands around a tiny, fragile waist. A mixture of extreme close-ups and landscapes that show a secluded beach cove surrounded by tall cliffs with nothing but moonlight to illuminate the couple below. The progression of people moves on along the walls, five-foot-tall canvases mixed in with some as small as only six inches. Lips touching. Hands in hair, eyes closed.
And then, the story changes.
The brushstrokes become more violent. Angry slashes create an image of hands gripping bare skin.
My stomach clenches painfully and my heart punches my chest.
I can’t move fast enough, scooting from image to image.
A hand knotted in dark hair.
Powerful hands, painted larger than natural size, groping breasts.
A female face pressed into the sand, mouth open. I can practically hear her scream.
A hand down the front of her jeans.
Groping. Raping her with his hands.
My thoughts register the sounds all around me. The gasps. The whimpers of sadness. The sniffles. The mumbled what the fucks.
I can’t look away from the paintings. My fists squeeze the candy bouquet so hard, the sticks snap in my grip.
A hand over a mouth. Masculine hand crushing her fragile face.
Sadie’s face.
Saliva-soaked tongue licking at her mouth. Pushing through her lips.
My eyes burn.