by Lisa Gillis
Weathering Jack Storm
Lisa Gillis
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
©2013 Weathering Jack Storm by Lisa Gillis
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Dedicated to my CA girls; to the real Randi; to the many rock star beta readers who shaped the story into what it is; to my sisters who are my Olivia; to my very supportive parents; and my perfect little world-Scott, Jett, Tarah, Rachael.
. .
Silver Strings Series
G-Strings Set
Book 2
Table of Contents:
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
EPILOGUE
ROCK STAR READS
Connect
CHAPTER 1
“TEXT ME, THE SECOND you get there! And call me ASAP?” Olivia’s eyes shimmered, and Marissa felt her lids stinging as they stood hugging on the tiny porch of her home.
The new luggage, Jack had surprised Marissa and Tristan with, strained at its seams and lined the hallway just inside the front door. Since Jack hadn’t been able to find a set in any one of Tristan’s favorite themes, Tristan had ended up with a variety; a rolling Hot Wheels duffel, a bandit backpack, and a rolling Scooby backpack.
Jack appeared, bustling at high-speed, the mode he had been in all morning, and grabbed up all three of Tristan’s bags before shouldering around Olivia and Marissa with a grin. The smile had rarely been off his lips in the last hours, and Marissa knew he was anxious to be back in LA, and seemed just as anxious to have them there with him.
Them. They. Us. Words that still seemed unfamiliar in relation to the three of them as a tiny family unit—even though she had dreamed of it for so long. He bent, slightly shuffling his own bags in the trunk of the rental to make room for theirs, and when she finally tore her eyes from the pockets of his jeans, she found a broad smile had joined Olivia’s teary countenance.
“I’m so happy for you Rissa! Gosh, what am I going to do without you guys? Without my little guy?” Olivia had spent a quarter of an hour saying her goodbyes to Tristan while showing him how to use the new drawing app she purchased and added to his electronic tablet.
“I will take good care of ‘em,” Jack promised, having walked by in time to hear these mournful words, and he even paused to pull Liv into a light hug. Olivia actually blushed and had to rivet her own gaze from him as he bent for more luggage.
This time, Marissa was the one who knowingly smiled. Liv might be married, but who could be immune to Jack?
“And you take care of my dog,” Marissa told Olivia. Bally would be joining them in California within the next couple of weeks, but until then, the dog was boarding with Liv. Tristan had spent a day with Olivia picking out new toys for Bally and adding them to the rest of the lab’s things at the home away from home.
Watching Tristan’s face at the airport was as exhilarating as the upcoming trip. Marissa had only flown once before, but this experience was vastly different from the get go. Jack turned off of the main terminal access road and, almost immediately, small jets became visible on the tarmac and inside open hangers.
“Do you see hanger numbers?” he inquired while squinting through the windshield. “We are looking for forty-five, but I don’t see numbers...”
“There!” She pointed to a metallic eleven glinting in the sunlight.
“Do you have a passport?” Jack inquired as they rolled closer to the designated number.
“Do I need one?” Airport security was ever changing, and she panicked thinking requirements possibly had changed for domestic flights.
“You will need one,” he answered, stressing the ‘will’ with a curve of his lips. “And Tristan too. We have ten Europe dates on this next tour.”
Parking the car in front of hanger forty-five, he popped the trunk and hopped out. Jack hoisted Tristan, piggyback style, before grabbing as much luggage as he could carry. She followed suit, and they headed to the tiny entrance in the back of the hanger.
Before they closed the distance, the door burst open, and Jack’s father, wearing a broad grin, advanced on them. Quick greetings were exchanged, and he gallantly insisted on divesting Marissa of her load, leaving only the messenger bag hanging on her shoulder. Inside, Jack deposited Tristan on a chair next to his mom, and the men went out for the rest of the things.
“Hi Marissa,” Jack’s mother greeted, and pulled Tristan into a warm hug. “And hello Tristan. Are you ready to fly today in an airplane?”
Tristan was quickly sugared up with a kiss or two from this new grandmother, as well as powdered donuts and hot chocolate. Watching the two of them, Marissa threw away the hot chocolate packages and filled herself a cup with hot water, then dumped in a package of instant coffee.
The room was outfitted as a comfortable lounge, but instead of settling in one of the cushy chairs, she paced. Jack and his father were carrying the bags through, to another door leading to the actual hanger. Hovering on the threshold, she marveled at the glossy white jet and wanted to show it to Tristan, but her son was deep in conversation with his grandmother.
The luggage was in a neat line, largest to smallest, and she wondered if they organized it to load by weight. The glare refracting from the runway beyond the large opening was bright, and a couple of men appeared from that direction. They shook hands with Jack and his father, and the younger of the two climbed into the plane.
“Mariss?” Jack asked as he walked among the luggage, “What do you want up front with you, and which bag does Tristan need with him?”
Stepping forward, she indicated the bags in question, and when Jack began to toss the others up to the plane, the guy began to stow them into the rear.
At this time, Jack’s mother and Tristan emerged, and Jack’s father turned from his conversation at hand. Kneeling to Tristan, he gave him a hug and teased of the crutch, “You don’t even look like you need that anymore! You about ready to throw it away?”
Tristan nodded with a shy smile.
They boarded, Jack again carrying Tristan, and she tried not to gawk in awe at mocha leather seating which included a long couch type seat and two recliner type chairs. The leather was complimented by wood grain walls and plush carpet. Right away, she noticed her stuff, as well as Tristan and Jack’s, on the couch, and that is where the three of them seated themse
lves.
Jack’s mother took a seat in one of the thick chairs, and his father in the chair across. The plane began to roll, preparing for takeoff, and she tried to manage Tristan as, constrained by his seat belt, he twisted to look out the window behind him.
“Okay, we obviously did things backwards here,” Jack laughed, and a trade of seats was quickly made. Tristan moved into the seat across from his grandmother, happily able to see out the window next to him. Jack moved into the middle space next to Marissa, and his father took Jack’s spot.
For some reason, she could not keep her eyes from straying to Jack’s father. Something seemed familiar about this family, as if she knew them, had been with them before last night. Finally, she shrugged it off as fate. She belonged with them even though she was not yet comfortable with them.
Tristan began to alternate his attention between the window, and the television flat against the wall. Jack and his father were laughing over some redneck reality show. Jack’s mother was writing in a spiral notebook when she wasn’t engaging Tristan in conversation.
The plane descended into the Denton airport on the outskirts of Dallas. They all debarked while some of the luggage was unloaded. Jack with Tristan had just emerged from the restroom when a woman who looked to be in her fifties breezed into the lounge area of the hanger with a courtesy knock.
“Yoohoo?”
Yet again, Marissa felt a fleeting familiarity.
The woman introduced herself, formally putting out her hand to Jack’s mother. “Hello, It’s been years, I’m–”
“Of course!” Jack’s mother warmly greeted the other woman. As the introduction progressed, Marissa was left trying to control her amazement when she associated the name with a renowned pop star of years back. Mrs. Loren went on only to be interrupted, “This is my son Jacks–”
“Oh, my stars, you were just a baby the last time I saw you!” The woman gushed, and Marissa had the rare pleasure of seeing Jack turn red. “And now you look so much like your father back in the day! Matt had that same dark, almost black, hair!” The aged pop star continued, and now, strangely enough, Jack’s mother flushed and her eyes glowed with a glimmer of irritation. “Does Matt still have dark hair, or is he gray like the rest of us? I don’t know about you Jules and your beautiful red, but I am gray under this blonde!”
“Um...” Jack’s mother seemed reluctant to speak of her husband to the woman, and quickly derailed the conversation. “This is my grandson!” Tristan was hiding out behind his father, and his grandmother urged him forward.
“Ooh, now he is the spitting image of Jack the last time I saw him. The festival in Glasgow was it?” The woman was crooning over her son and protectively, Marissa moved nearer.
“This is Jacks’ fiancée, Marissa.” Jack’s mother continued smoothly as if she hadn’t been interrupted.
“Hello Marissa. A pleasure to meet you–” At this point, the door leading to the hanger swung open, and to confound the situation even more, Jack’s father looked as if he wanted to back quickly out before being noticed. However, it was too late. “Matt Loren! It has been ages! Just ages! I could not believe when my pilot mentioned that you were circling for a runway. I had to stay and say hi!”
“Hello, Tracy.” Jack’s father clasped one of her hands in both of his, but the former pop star maneuvered it into a hug. Pulling back, he asked, “What brings you to the DFW area?”
“I just did a cosmetics promo.”
Their voices faded as everything clicked into place like a jigsaw puzzle that she had never known was missing pieces. The woman took her leave, and a collective relief settled on the room. As Jack and his family began their goodbyes, Marissa again scrutinized his father.
“Marissa.” The man draped an arm warmly about her shoulder. “Take care of these boys. Don’t let ‘em get into too much trouble.” He winked at Tristan.
“You are Matt Loren!”
Seemingly taken aback by this outburst, he moved away enough to study her face then turned quizzically to Jack.
“You are Matt Loren. I cannot believe I did not see this last night! You are Matt Loren!”
Jack’s father, Matt, seemed to be trying to control the quirk of amusement on his lips, and Jack’s mother, Jules, sent Jack a strange look, her husband a confused look, and Marissa a sympathetic one. The sympathy, Marissa quickly understood when her limbs felt weightless for a moment, and she knew she must look as shocked as she felt.
Matt Loren was a rock legend. His hits had easily ridden out the decades long after each of his bands stopped touring. The songs were regular rotations both on the classics stations and nineties alternative.
Trying to recover, she stammered of the two bands Matt Loren was most known for, “I grew up listening to Jewelweed and After Hours...I can’t believe...This is crazy...”
Her eyes sought Jack’s, but he was in some eye battle with his mother who seemed to have won because he looked away first and then down at the floor.
“Let’s get you guys on the plane so you can get to LA before dark.” After bestowing a warm smile on her, Matt took control.
“Your song ‘I could be’ is my favorite.” Marissa couldn’t seem to shut up, and mortified that she had extended what was already an embarrassing moment, she bolted for the door.
Jack’s parents seemed reluctant to let them go, their eyes lingering fondly on Tristan.
“This is a surprise for when you get to your daddy’s house.” Jules showed a colorful shopping bag to Tristan then hooked it and another over Marissa’s hand. “And this is a housewarming for you and Jack.”
Accepting the proffered ginormous shopping bag with a thank you, Marissa watched as Matt and Jules Loren warmly embraced her son, and their own son. Then, after a quick hug to Marissa, they were admonished to board so they could “get home before dark.”
Marissa safety belted Tristan into the same chair he had earlier vacated, and instead of taking the seat beside Jack, she sat in the one across from Tristan.
“Want a drink?” Jack stood at the mini bar, catching her eyes in the mirrored wall as he offered.
“I do!” Tristan informed, sparing only a glance from his rummage through his shopping bag. “Look Mom!” Tristan tossed the swim trunks and Bandit beach towel aside in his excitement upon discovering an assortment of blow up toys, diving rings, and various other pool fun.
To Tristan’s astonishment, Jack folded out a table from its armrest compartment and set two juice boxes atop it. A few minutes later, Jack set a mixed drink in the cup holder on the arm of her chair and returned to his seat with his own.
The pilot stepped out of his nook long enough to inform them that they were about to taxi, and once they were in the air, Marissa addressed the elephant in the cabin.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you–” Jack was about to say ‘tell you what.’ That much she felt. But whatever crossed her face caused him to abort that tactic and try her own shenanigans against her. “I thought you knew.”
“How would I know?” Agitation caused her to lean forward in the seat as she made the incredulous inquiry. “So, is your name Storm or Loren?”
“Storm is an alias. Professional name. DBA.”
“DBA?”
“Doing Business As.”
“So your name is still Loren.”
“Jackson Matt Loren.” The admission grudgingly came, and he tossed back the contents of his glass.
Jack Storm. Marissa Storm. Tristan Storm. All had filled her head for days, and it was hard to wrap around another name. Jack Loren. Marissa Loren. Tristan Loren.
“This is what you wouldn’t tell me last night.”
When he fell silent, as if he were going to let it drop, a realization occurred, and she looked up from an intent study of the French manicure Olivia had insisted she have prior to the meeting of the future in-laws. Her heart hammered as her next question came out as accusative as the last.
“Did you think I would be all
weird last night around your parents if I knew?”
When this speculation provoked a quirk of a smile, much like his dad’s she was discovering, she wanted to lunge across the cabin and slap it off. Because, of course, she had acted all weird, a half hour ago, upon discovering the truth. Now, she was the one to let it drop.
Studiously ignoring him, she peeked into her shopping bag finding a ginormous thread count sheet and comforter set. The accompanying card explained in a humorous tone, Jack’s masculine decor, and that, until she found time to redecorate to her and ‘Jacks’ mutual liking, maybe this could suffice.
From her corner vision, she noticed Jack eying the cream-colored set, and couldn’t help but wonder if his mother had been perceptive enough to realize that a change from the bedding that other women had been in would be welcome. Cramming the stuff back into the bag, Marissa snatched up the drink, gulping it down.
When she next looked over, Jack was asleep, and she wondered if he were faking it since she heard none of the slight snores that normally accompanied his exhausted sleep. If she had not felt so keyed up, she would have napped.
The previous night had only a few sleeping hours in it. After the parents had departed, and she and Jack had gotten dirty in the tub, they had then stayed up still a couple of more hours still playing.
The rumble of turbulence on the underbelly of the plane effectively ripped away her erotic memories, and she let her gaze glide around the interior of the cabin.
Was this her new life then? Private planes? Famous names?
The new found security of not mentally allotting every penny of her paycheck to some bill or necessity before it even hit the bank was somehow counterweighed by an insecurity she did not understand. A feeling that was so foreign that a couple of times both yesterday and today she had verged on what must be a panic attack.
Forcing long slow breaths, she closed her eyes to the lavish surroundings and her hotter than sin fiance while struggling to stave off the next attack.
CHAPTER 2