Weathering Jack Storm

by Lisa Gillis

  “Tickled my mouth with it. He did it too.”

  “So, you did go somewhere else.”

  “Nope. While we were eating lunch.” Then the confused pucker lifted from his brows. “Daddy had to drop something off, but I waited in the car. Don’t worry, he came right back. And, I could see him through the window.”

  While Tristan ate, she grabbed her phone and punched Jack’s icon. When she got his voicemail, she ended the call with no message. Checking the time, she saw that most likely he was still doing radio interviews.

  “Mmmh. What you got there squirt?” Dax wandered by Tristan sniffing appreciatively. “Thought I smelled pancakes!” Cruising by the stove area, he then pulled open the microwave door. His disappointment in finding it empty was evident for a second before his face cleared and he reached for cereal.

  With an apologetic gasp, she straightened from her slouch against the counter top where she had been absently watching. Dax. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t—let me—it will only take a minute to–”

  “Nope. I’m good. It’s cool.” Continuing his cereal preparation, he poured on the milk. Then, between crunches asked, “You have a good night?”

  “Yeah.” Smiling, she began to wash up the dishes even though the housekeeper was due shortly. “Thanks for,” her glance strayed to Tristan’s curious eyes, “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Instead of carrying his bowl off to do his own thing as he normally did, he took a stool at the island. “You okay?”

  “Tired. Stupid Rusty.”

  “Rusty doesn’t mean to wake you up. He just gets excited when the mail comes,” Tristan pronounced in his usual defense of the dog.

  Dax continued to study her over his bowl. “Because I just wanted to apologize to you about last night. Jack seemed mad. About Em. And I get it. That things have changed now with–” His eyes went to Tristan who was back to watching cartoons on the kitchen screen. “With a little one around. I just didn’t think that, you know, since it was so late, that it would matter–”

  “I thought you and Randi were a thing.” Unable to listen to his halting apology and picture him with Emmajesty, she interrupted.

  If her words were rude, she didn’t seem to care. Stewing on the woman’s tour ultimatum had only made her angrier. Now, knowing the woman had slutted her way inside the house was revolting. The possibility that she was tipping the paparazzi off was infuriating.

  “Randi?” Dax took a second to adapt to the quick subject change then curved a wistful grin. “Randi? I wish. Why? Has she said anything about me?”

  Sorry that she had created that spark of hope, she gentled her words. “No. I just had that feeling. I mean, once I saw—I thought it was Randi that I saw.”

  Suddenly, she realized how much sense it made that Emma had just appeared with no knocking or doorbell that morning of their tour disagreement. The other woman had already been in the house.

  “No. I like Randi a lot. But she’s out of my league. I really thought Em was until—Well Em and I are just hanging out, you know? She is out of my league too.”

  “I doubt that,” Marissa dryly intoned, and uncomfortable with the conversation, picked up her phone.

  With a tight smile to Dax, she hit her voicemail prepared to listen to her mother rant over only being called once since the California move. Instead, it was her brother leaving the message.

  Her mother had been checked into the cardiac care unit the previous morning and was scheduled for surgery the next day.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE JAR OF THE WHEELS hitting pavement woke her, and as turbulent as some of the flight had been, Marissa marveled that she had slept through the last part. Tristan, who was buckled in the connected seat, appeared to also be waking up.

  This plane was smaller than the one on which they had arrived to LAX, weeks ago, with Jack, but just as comfortable. Upon hearing about her mother, Jack had promptly made the arrangements with the jet charter company he belonged to, overriding her protests that she would fly commercial.

  Logically, he had reasoned from miles away, “Mariss, it’s paid for. No reason to pay extra by buying a ticket when it’s covered in the monthly fee.”

  No reason except the smaller jets, even as nice as they were, freaked her out.

  She hadn’t known to put Olivia on the security list, and since Tristan still could not walk long distances, they had to wait for a wheelchair that she could push to the main concourse where her friend waited.

  “Rissa!” Olivia body slammed her. “I’m so glad you are back and so sorry about your mother.” As her friend exclaimed over Tristan, Marissa assured herself, as well as her friend, “It’s supposed to be a minor surgery. I mean, I know no surgery really is, when you consider everything, but it should go well.”

  “It will,” Olivia agreed. When both looked down to see Tristan’s unsure gaze as they spoke of his grandmother, Liv quickly diverted his attention. “Guess who is in the car?”

  “Bally!” Tristan’s astute guess was an exclamation, and Marissa smiled to see his face light up.

  A breeze was gusting as they walked to the car, and the pleasant instead of scorching temperature at this time of year reminded her of LA. Olivia could not get enough of watching Tristan walk, and once they reached the car, Bally in her excitement did not know whom to snoot first.

  “So Tristan, are you still eating chicken strips, or have you gone all sushi like your Momma?” Liv followed the signs out of the airport, and onto the highway, as she continued to draw happy smiles from them both with her banter.

  Marissa cracked her window, drawing in deep breaths of the Gulf air instead of the Pacific and tried to sort out what she was feeling. On one hand, this homecoming felt wonderful even if it was for a bad reason. However, there was a niggling feeling that a part of her now belonged in LA.

  Walking into her house was strange. The walls seemed to close in, and everything seemed smaller. Despite sleeping an hour on the plane, she dropped in exhaustion to the couch. Propping her feet on the table, she sipped at the iced coffee she had ordered when Olivia had hit a drive through for Tristan’s chicken strips.

  “Mom, my channels!” Tristan wailed while flipping through a television of static.

  Olivia quickly solved the problem with a DVD.

  Jack had insisted on sending her bills to his accountant. Her pride had kept her from being happy with the arrangement, but she had been too happy with the idea of being with him to argue about anything. Obviously, the accountant had deemed active cable in an empty house a waste of funds.

  Once Tristan was engrossed in the program, Liv propped her feet on the sofa table and asked, “So. Did you talk to Jack yet about the paternity test?”

  Marissa had vented the entire story on her friend within hours of finding the letter. Now, she explained that in light of finding out about her mother, she had put off the discussion with Jack. Her curiosity was killing her to know what reasons he would give, and her anger festered knowing no reason would be acceptable, but it was something she wanted to do face to face instead of over Skype or the phone.

  “And your brother is in town? That is what worried me about your mother’s condition.”

  Marissa nodded in complete understanding. It was rare that her brother made a trip back to his hometown, even for holidays. “From what I understood, he’s living here now. Going through a divorce.”

  For several minutes, they watched the ‘Bandit’ movie until Liv pushed her own empty cup away and asked, “Are you really good in Cali?”

  Automatically, Marissa’s lips curved before she dropped the fake smile whispering, “No and yes...Sometimes. I don’t know...” Picking at her fingernails, she held her eyes to the decorative decals and the glitter adorning the polish.

  “Rissa, you know the Hang Fest night? I’m sorry for not taking you home when you texted.”

  “I know. You already said that. It’s fine.” Marissa zoned in on one of Tristan’s baby pictures frame
d on a shelf of the entertainment center as she went back in the years. “It was another lifetime ago.”

  Directly after Jack had texted, Olivia had texted that she was staying. They had met up long enough for Olivia to give her the car keys, and then if that weren’t bad enough, Liv had called Marissa for a ride home around two a.m.

  “The thing is,” Liv’s words came slow, “Dirk kept his word. I met Jackal.”

  “What!” Marissa’s chin swiveled to her friend and dread painted her heart. Had she and Liv done Jack Storm, the same night? No. Liv would have bragged had that been the case… “Why would you not have told me this?”

  “I was embarrassed. They all turned me down. The thing is, Jack said he was married.”

  Marissa felt physically sick. Had Jack been married?

  “The rest of the crew was joking around with him about it, and I don’t remember exactly what was said except one of them said ‘Married now is it? To some chick you met this afternoon?’ And Jack said, ‘We are. She just doesn’t know it yet.’”

  “You think he meant me?”

  “Was there someone else in that bed with you?!” Olivia’s words were dry and as they spoke, they furtively sent looks to Tristan who was growing heavy lidded. His feet were in his recliner, his head on the floor with Bally as his pillow.

  “He never even texted me back that night…”

  “He lives in a different world, Rissa. You say yourself that, all of the time. The point is, this love at first sight thing you seemed to have caught with him, I think he caught it back. And possibly didn’t know how to deal.”

  “When did you remember this?” Marissa demanded of Jack’s quote. Olivia had plenty of opportunities to tell her a memory of such magnitude.

  “That day he brought the ice-cream home to you. The day he and Tristan went shopping.” Marissa remembered the odd look passing between Olivia and Jack that day. Reaching to turn the volume down now that Tristan was asleep, she continued to contemplate the ramifications of this revelation. “And I wanted to say, but, well you were joined at the hip with him, then you moved. Then over the phone it never seemed right to just come out and say it out of the blue…”

  “Yeah,” Marissa conceded, then asked, “But what was the text about that morning after the drop party. About coming home if he was not who I thought he was?”

  “Just that. That morning the pictures of him and Randi all over the gossip shows. I didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into. I did know you were stubborn enough to hang on.”

  “It’s not stubbornness. I love him. And have for so long I think.”

  “And I think, despite him being an idiot male and doing idiot male things, he has loved you…for so long.”

  The doorbell rang, and she cursed whoever it was, waking Tristan from a semi nap. Peering through the peephole did not assure her when she saw the large man eying her peeling porch with a bored stare.

  “Yes?” Raising her voice enough for it to carry though the solid wood and metal, she made the inquiry.

  “We are delivering your rental. We just need a signature if you don’t mind.”

  Another peep through the spyhole found a sporty SUV in the drive and another idling on the curb with a popular rental logo on shrink wrapped on it.

  When she plopped the papers and keys on the table, Liv arched a brow. “Your man just never stops taking care of you does he?”

  Olivia stayed with Tristan while Marissa rode to the hospital. There was nothing Marissa dreaded more than pushing open the door to the sterile room her mother occupied. It was going to be hard to see her parent sick and hard to listen to the guilt trip for not staying in touch.

  “Marissa!” A fork dropped to her meal tray in her astonishment, and her mother’s face illuminated at the sight of her daughter.

  The surprises just continued. Despite an upcoming surgery hours away, her mother was in a wonderful mood. After the picked over dietary supper tray was whisked away by a hospital attendant, Marissa grew uncomfortable under her mother’s scrutiny. However, it was not unexpected. It was time for the guilt trip.

  “Marissa, why did you not say anything about Jack being a very successful musician? A rock star even. Right?”

  Marissa warily eyed her mom, and took a seat on the tiny sofa in the room.

  “You could have told me, you know. Years ago even. I would have understood.”

  “You would have thought I was some stupid groupie.”

  “I wouldn’t have. I would have understood,” her mother insisted, and her eyes went beyond Marissa to another place. “I was always drawn to musicians. Loved one dearly. I waited tables, did odd jobs, supported him. While he practiced, hunted down shows, and hoped for his big break.” Snapping out of the trance, she declared, “I’m so happy that won’t be your life.”

  When Marissa only stared, appalled, her mother exclaimed, “I’m talking about your father!”

  “Daddy?”

  “Marissa, your father and I were never married. He was stubborn with his music. Put it first even when it wasn’t putting food on the table. I couldn’t deal with that after a while. Then when he changed, got a steady job, and wanted to come back, I guess I couldn’t forgive him for before.”

  Her childhood flashed back. In the light of this stunning revelation, so many things made sense, and with new understanding of old memories, her parents’ breakup made sense.

  “Of course, I guess Jack having already made his way comes with its own ups and downs. Your brother was showing me some of the things on the ‘innernets’ that you have been dealing with.” Her mother’s words were sympathetic, and her chest heaved through a few silent seconds. “Just be very sure that is the life you want before binding to it.”

  Usually, it grated on her nerves when her mother mispronounced internet, but this time she had more important thoughts. The shock and awe of her mother’s confession, and her own inner concessions.

  Jack was her world. She loved him with all her heart. She could not imagine falling out of love with him. Yet, their life together, in a few short weeks, already had not been easy.

  Every day came with some sort of outside interference, whether it was the assistant that lived with them, the rude publicist, his family, the demands of his band and its members, and now the tour.

  Jack Storm shared the same body with Jack Loren.

  Now, he had gone behind her back and paternity tested Tristan at the first doubt his family showed—something that she could not even properly confront him about because she never saw him.

  These were the thoughts rotating round and round in her head creating more thoughts. Like the colors on the pinwheel Tristan had begged for as they walked the beach one afternoon with Olivia. Only her thoughts over the next days weren’t too colorful.

  Each day, when she talked, Skyped, or sent a text to Jack, she kept the doubts to herself.

  ♪♫¨♫♪

  When her mother had been recovering at home for a week, and when Tristan’s was cast free and walking without tiring, Jack brought up flying them to meet him on tour. Sadly staring at the phone, she made excuses to stay where she was.

  Almost a week later, it was more difficult to make excuses to his face, but she did, falling back on her mother’s health the day and night that he had come to see them. Feeling like a heel, she watched him roll out of bed, dress, and trek to Tristan’s room for a goodbye hug.

  In a post-show two a.m. phone call, a few days after that, he pressured her harder. The pain of missing them was obvious in his voice, and she missed him terribly, but she swallowed her own emptiness. “I need a favor.”

  “Anything. You know that.”

  “I was thinking of staying here until the tour is over.”

  Jack was quiet for so long that she wanted to take the words back. From the den down the hall, she heard Tristan singing, and she knew that he was hopping and dancing around to the song on his show.

  “Wait, where are you?” Jack asked.

  The
disorientation was something she had heard before. As the tour progressed through so many cities, and he grew wearier, he would become confused over what day it was, or whether it was morning or afternoon. Now, he was wondering if she was in LA or Gulfport.

  “Gulfport.”

  “Why would you want to stay there until the tour is over?”

  As she tried to gather the courage to tell him she needed a break from LA, and as she tried to hold back her hurt at the DNA test, his growl rumbled through the phone. “What the hell?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered into the speaker. It just feels better here. I think I just need a break.”

  “From what?” he exploded, and reflexively she pulled the phone a few inches from her ear. “From swimming pools? And shopping? From mani’s, pedi’s, and makeovers? From a sick ride to drive you all those places and a driver if you don’t feel like it!”

  The anger bleeding into her ears seemed irrational. Scorn dripped from his words, and she felt shocked that her simple question had released that degree of ugliness.

  “Is that who you think I am? I was never that girl, Jack...”

  Ignoring her indignation, he smoothly shot back, “I’ve got almost ten thousand dollars on a charge card, plus a new car note that says you are.”

  How dare he come up with some total, and in doing so, have thrown in purchases that she never would have made had it not been expected of her? It certainly hadn’t been her idea to spend what she considered a small fortune on her outfit for the drop party. Also, she had not asked for or expected a car—especially that one!

  “Fuck you!” The hyperventilation and pounding of her chest was a silent addendum to her curse.

  “No Marissa. Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you. Fuck you!–”

  Pressing the end button to save her ears from any further four letter words, she let the phone fall from her hand and dropped her head to the bed. The volatile anger threading through his curses was shocking.

  The words would not stop rattling her brain. In a tailspin, the conversation had gone from one of his typically sweet phone calls to strings of four letter hate.