by Lisa Gillis
TRISTAN LAUGHED AS IF he were already on a Disneyland ride as the plane quickly dropped in altitude. With a slight jar, the wheels noisily connected with pavement then rapidly roared to a coast before steering off the main runway and to the awaiting hanger.
Through the cabin speaker, their pilot announced the arrival, and in the cabin, the seat belt lamp blinked off.
Seeing that Tristan was safely in Jack’s arms, she grabbed up the personal things brought on the plane. Jack picked up his own bag. As he patiently stepped aside waiting on her to go ahead to the door, she indicated the large shopping bags from his mother. “Do you want me to–?”
With a shake of his head, he explained, “Whatever we leave will get brought to the car.”
The mentioned car was a high-end black SUV idling on the tarmac with its hatchback yawning open. Their luggage was being loaded. True to Jack’s word, after a clasp of Jack’s hand in greeting, the driver sprinted up the plane steps and returned with the shopping bags. The hoodie Tristan had insisted on wearing, only to discard midway through the trip, was also in the young man’s hands.
Tristan found it funny when the guy tossed it into the backseat and ‘accidentally’ over his head.
Introductions came next. She shook hands with the guy who was introduced as Jack’s assistant, Dax. Closer up, he appeared to be in his young twenties. Moving away, he loaded the shopping bags with the luggage and swung the hatch closed.
Dax climbed into the driver’s seat. Jack fumbled at the passenger door before sheepishly catching his error. Politely holding the rear door open for her, he then climbed in behind her.
“Where to?” Dax inquired as he navigated out of the large airport.
“Chris,” Jack answered while leaning an ear down to hear Tristan who was softly and shyly speaking.
“Is this Cally Fornya?” Although he was asking Jack, Tristan’s eyes strayed to her for confirmation of Jack’s affirmation.
Tristan was gleeful with the answer, and automatically she looked to Jack to share the moment. But, after smiling down at Tristan a moment, Jack looked away to the sunset drenched city beyond the window.
Dax shot friendly grins in the rearview as he inquired about the flight. Then, the conversation bouncing between Jack and Dax revolved around names and places she did not know.
A quarter of an hour later, the car slowed in front of a large iron gate. Dax punched something into his phone, and the gate swung open. When the car came to a stop, Jack popped the door and stepped out.
With a ruffle of Tristan’s hair and a glance at her, he announced, “Be right back,” and loped to a side entrance of the home.
Slightly annoyed at being left confused, she watched Dax transfer their personal belongings into a sleek sports car parked to the side of the drive.
“Is this Jack’s house?” As he spoke, Tristan crawled over her lap to look at the large brick structure. When she didn’t immediately answer, he prodded, “Is it mom?” Tristan possibly confused her situational agitation for anger at his shortened use of her name, and he hastily corrected, “Momma.”
“I don’t know sweetie.” Her fingers forked through his hair smoothing the strands Jack left sticking up.
Feeling restless, she stepped from the car to better take in her surroundings.
Dax was close enough to hear Tristan’s inquiry, and as he grabbed the last of the luggage from the SUV, he spoke through the vehicle from the backside. “This is Chris Platt’s house.” When she stared blankly, he slowed en route to the car. “Guitarist for Jackal.”
Feeling like an idiot for not knowing the members of the band, she shook her head as if to clear it. “Of course.” Inserting a fake giggle, she lied, “Jet lag I guess.”
Dax slammed the trunk of the sleek car, and it was then she noticed the personalized plate above its bumper.
J-A-C-K-A-L
Confirmation, of the vehicle belonging to Jack, came only a minute later. Jack emerged from the house along with his bandmate, who was, if possible, just as hot as Jack.
Stopping short, Chris played at being stunned stupid by her appearance causing a flattered flush to creep up her neck. The guitarist’s greeting was an enigma. “Now I see why he didn’t want me to come out and meet you!”
Marissa sent a brief questioning glance Jack’s way, but he was leaning into the car, and she quickly turned what she knew would be hungry eyes away from his backside.
The day of watching him load and unload was taking its toll on her libido. She was ready to bang his bones. Yet, because of some weird vibe in the air, she was also highly annoyed with him.
Chris began to move forward again, then lightly rested his hands on her shoulders. “Welcome to LA! We are all happy to have you!” Leaning forward, he kissed her cheeks before she could even catch her breath or wonder why Jack had discouraged the evening’s introductions with his bandmate and friend. “You ever need tips on handling this crazy shit here,” with a flourish, he indicated Jack, “I’m your guy.”
“Damn Platt,” Jack grumbled while straitening. “Get back in your cage dude...”
“Oh you would like that wouldn’t you?” Chris was now fist bumping with Dax. “Fine, man. Take her home. Hide her away.”
Jack shot her an unreadable look as he passed taking the few steps to the SUV and Tristan. “Ready, buddy?”
“Holy fuck! Is this–!” Chris, stunned stupid again, this time by Tristan.
“Language...” Jack warned his friend.
“I mean holy smokes. Little dude! You look just like–” Here Chris broke off seemingly embarrassed and nervously looked from Jack to Marissa.
“His daddy?” she prompted, for some reason at ease with Chris.
“Yeah.” Chris bumped fists with Tristan, and his attention was still on the little boy’s face as he spoke off to the side, “Didn’t know if he—you know, knew.”
Jack shook his head and shared a look with Dax as if to silently say, ‘See why I didn’t want him out here?’ Aloud, he inquired of Dax, “So, you going back to the house, or what’s up?”
“I got things going if you don’t need me.”
“Sure. Hey, thanks for giving us a ride.” Jack plucked Tristan from the SUV, carrying him and his crutch to the car although it was only a few steps, and she admired his perceptiveness when it came to his son. Tristan was barely using the one crutch these days, but he was no doubt embarrassed just the same to hobble around in front of new acquaintances.
Since they were obviously taking the ‘Jackal’ car, she moved around to the passenger side but found it locked. Instead of unlocking it from the driver side, Jack was suddenly there and gallantly opened her door himself.
After a round of parting phrases, Chris disappeared into his house. Jack voiced a start command and the engine rumbled to life. Feeling Tristan’s astonishment, she turned, and sure enough, his eyes were bugging.
“Did Daddy use a key?” His wide gaze suspiciously narrowed as he tried to solve this mystery.
Jack grinned, but again he did not turn the expression to her. Following the SUV out of the circular drive, he verbally conversed with his car again until music thunked through the speakers.
The twisty residential roads spilled into a boulevard. Streetlights were flickering on, and car brake lights were bumper to bumper on the interstate he merged onto. Tristan fell asleep.
Shadows were beginning to fade into grayness with evening well on the way to becoming night. She could handle silence between them. Although it was uncharacteristic, they were both tired.
What she did not like was feeling invisible. He was not acknowledging her presence in any way, and she was feeling insecure enough about this trip and their new relationship to let this go without a confrontation.
“Is something wrong?” Twisting slightly in her seat, she eyed his profile.
“Wrong?” Finally, he briefly met her eyes, but did not rest a hand on her leg or any of the other normal Jack moves.
“What’s wrong?” Determination
fueled the quiet demand, and she alternated her gaze from the windshield view of this strange, crowded city to the emotions crowding his face.
“Nothing?” Blithely, he continued with the denial game.
“You’ve been weird since we landed.”
“It’s nothing,” he insisted. Just when she became convinced she was paranoid, his outburst came. “It’s just–you went all fangirl on my dad!”
Startled into silence, she finally found her tongue. “It was kind of hard not to! When it was dropped like that on me.”
“I know.” At this, he sounded regretful and guilty. “But damn Mariss, I thought you were going to ask for autographs or something!”
“It caught me by surprise! Damn Jack!”
Was he embarrassed by her behavior? This implication hurt her feelings. Intensely. Up until now, she had only seen a Jack who went out of his way to be considerate of her and Tristan’s feelings.
Seething silently, she tried to hold back tears. What was it with crying lately? Why was she always on the brink of tears? She was tougher than this. Sternly, she pulled herself together and even let a scowl scrunch up her brows for good measure.
This time, instead of voice commanding the stereo, he put out a finger to shut the volume down.
“I guess it just gets to me because you are all into his stuff and not mine.” The husky words were quiet, almost petulant.
Immediately, her eyes dried and jerked in astonishment to his face. In that way she was becoming accustomed to, she found one of Tristan’s moody expressions darkening his dad’s features. It probably was not fair to Jack that because of years of experience with Tristan’s moods, at times like this, he was an open book to her.
“I’m into your stuff...,” she protested. While it felt stupid to reassure an adult about such trivial things, she understood. Many times she had not felt like an adult especially when it concerned people she loved. How childishly she had handled ‘winning Jack over.’ For emphasis, she firmly repeated, “I’m into your stuff.”
“No. You’re really not.”
“That’s not true! Stop saying that! I have everything of yours!”
“Not listened to,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Look at your playlist. My shit has half the listens of—anything else...”
Confounded, she could only stare certain he had been about to say half the listens of his father’s then at the last second had chopped the specifics off.
“Jack...” In her hesitation, she tapered off momentarily thrown by the entire conversation and the fact that he was not meeting her eyes. His expression was presently a mirror of Tristan’s the day the little boy figured out that she had trashed a few of his dozens of art scribbles affixed to the fridge with magnets. “Jack, that’s just not true...”
“Look, it doesn’t matter. Do you want to stop for something to eat or get Tristan home to bed?” His eyes remained on the city lights and sights beyond their bubble.
The way he said home lit a warm glow in her heart, and yet a piece felt chipped because she had unwittingly hurt his feelings. What he said was true. She didn’t care for his genre of music, and the only reason she ever listened to his band was to hear his voice.
The idea of him snooping through her playlists searching for his own works, looking for her approval, made her feel cherished. The notion that what he found had hurt him crushed her.
“It does matter.” Ignoring his question about food, she enlightened, “For weeks after we met, I downloaded and listened to every Jackal album available. When I found out I was pregnant, I obsessed on your stuff, twenty-four seven. Then, I just couldn’t anymore. It hurt. Not my ears. My heart. Yet sometimes I would still...” The gulf of loneliness in her memories was suddenly strong. “Maybe during these last couple of years I didn’t blast it in the car on the way to work, but I spent nights with those albums on loop so that I could hear your voice.”
This garnered his intent attention, and her pleading gaze sank into his earnest dark one. Tracing a finger over his second skin of warm worn denim, she softly jibed, “Let’s get home so I can go all fangirl on you...”
CHAPTER 3
JACK SLOWED AND THE IRON GATE rolled open. The outside lighting and the glow from a few windows allowed only shadowy glimpses of a home that appeared to be a multilevel stone and glass structure.
“Home sweet home,” Jack drawled, and the sweet smile he sent her way did little to calm her nerves.
He was quickly learning the emotions behind whatever he saw in her face, or perhaps he knew that a kiss was at least a temporary cure for most everything.
Gently, his lips moved against hers, in reassurance, in apology, as a mark of this new phase, or just because. She actually wasn’t sure why he kissed her and didn’t care. His tongue tickled her lips before pushing past to tease hers. When her fingers curved in an instinctive hold to the back of his neck, she thought she felt him smile.
His hand braced on her seat as he leaned, but as she met him more than halfway, it moved, sliding through her hair.
Jack could kiss like no one she had ever known. And, regretfully she had known many. She moaned quietly into the current ministration, clutching him tighter, and when reflexively she sucked, he groaned, shifting in his seat.
His slight movement brought her thoughts to what caused it, and she had a flash image of tearing open the fly of those very expensive jeans and in this very expensive car giving him everything promised in that part of the kiss.
Reading her X-rated thoughts and purposeful kiss, his throat rumbled with that special sound that a bigger mouthful always brought.
"Are we at Jacks house?"
What she always imagined happening in this instance included jumping apart in embarrassment. Tristan had never seen even a small kiss.
What actually happened was her body protested even her son’s interruption, and stole a few more seconds of nearness. Jack was the first to ease apart, but in that way that was becoming common, he did so slowly, giving her a chance to resist.
"Yeah T.J., we are here," Jack answered as they took in Tristan’s drowsy and disgruntled face.
The tiny frown quickly cleared when Jack exited the car and leaned the seat up to extract and carry him. Following them up a steep curve of stone steps, her eyes searched her son’s, but all animosity had vanished from their innocent depths.
The plate above the decorative door handle flipped up with a press of Jack’s thumb, revealing a keypad. To Tristan’s wide-eyed astonishment, Jack punched at the numbers then swung open the door.
A gentleman, even at this late hours with a forty pound child on his arm, he rested a hand on her waist urging her forward first.
Directly in the center of the airy foyer was a table with mail piled high, similar to the set up in her less elaborate hall. To the left, a staircase curved up the wall. To the right was a unique sofa that had Tristan gaping again.
The upholstery was furry and black. A long tail came off the curved arm of one end, and a growling panther head complete with whiskers and teeth, from the other. The legs, of course were panther paws.
The staccato echo of shrill barks filled the room.
“Rusty! It’s Rusty, Mom! Rusty!”
Jack scrambled to keep Tristan stable, lowering him to the floor as he squirmed, and routinely passed her his crutch. Normally, in the piggyback situation, Tristan would balance on Jack’s back while she handed the crutch over, but on this night, the tot hastily snatched it from her hand.
Amazed, she watched as the walking aid very briefly touched the ground between steps. Tristan was practically walking. The need for the referred physical therapist would be brief.
Jacks eyes flickered to her face with concurrent thoughts, and just when she felt that sync of shared emotion, a loud thwack of metal to tile snapped them from this close trance.
The next sound was the quieter thunk of Tristan’s tiny body hitting the floor. The unceasing shrill bark of Rusty was back
ground noise as they fell to their knees beside their son who let out a long whimper.
Before they could help, he pushed himself to a sitting position cursing, "Dammit!"
Jack’s startled eyes flew to her face then narrowed in speculation. Possibly, hers did the same because Jack defended, "It wasn’t me!"
"Well it wasn’t me..." Not that she would ever admit. The occasional curse word had passed her lips within her son’s earshot.
Tristan was rubbing his elbow, and she offered, “Want me to kiss it better?”
As she placed a couple of kisses to the elbow area, Jack did a check for visible injuries, then helped him up, and wrapped an arm around his knees lifting him. Reaching beyond the barrier, he picked up Rusty.
Although not a pup any longer, the dog was still the same ball of energy that she remembered. Calming in Jack’s arms, he peered at Tristan and even offered a lick at the tiny hand petting him between the ears.
Jack stepped over the blockade, and explained that anytime he was out of the house, Rusty remained corralled or crated due to some unfortunate accidents.
Following him, she hurdled the gate and found herself in a huge modern kitchen.
Setting Tristan on the counter top, he put Rusty in his lap and advanced to the fridge. “Hungry?”
They decided on frozen pizza, and as Jack readied and put two into the oven, she monitored Tristan with Rusty, eyed Jack’s every move, and glanced around the beautiful room.
Lighting hung from a high ceiling. Stainless steel appliances, and a rich medium wood broke up the shiny black expanse of counter tops. Beyond a large glass sliding door, twice the height of Jack, the night was black. The floor was the same tile as the entry foyer, and appeared to extend into the next room, which was a step lower.
Glancing at Tristan, she wondered how he was going to fare with the stairs and the split-level rooms until he was walking better.
Although Jack had instigated it, having Rusty on the counter didn’t seem sanitary, and she eased Tristan and the dog down into a chair at the table. Jack was whistling as he cut the pizza, and Tristan’s lips were pursing as he tested the elusive sound.