by Lisa Gillis
He already knew. Word had passed from Dax or any of his posse down, as usual, of that opened envelope left on the kitchen island.
“The paternity test. Okay? At first it was the paternity test,” Unsure of why she blurted it and what it had to do with the tour, she looked away back to that patch of light in a shadowy room.
His answer was prompt. “That was supposed to be mailed to Meg.” Her hand had fallen away from his hair, but he moved his fingers to a strand of hers, twisting the end around a fingertip. “I was so mad at her. Still am. But I didn’t do that test because I doubted the results. I did it because of Tristan. So that no one is looking at him wondering. Ever.”
“So why did you sneak off and do it? Why couldn’t you just say that? To me?”
“I don’t know. It was bad enough what she did. I didn’t want to bring that night up again. And maybe a piece of me was worried you wouldn’t understand.” Jack shifted, moving so that he could better study her face. “So is that what it is? You are mad about that?”
“Part of it I guess.”
“I’m so sorry about that. Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“I called you. That day when I found out. And you must have been doing the radio show. Then this stuff happened with my mom. And after a day or so went by, I wanted to talk to you about it, not the phone, not the computer—to you.”
“But when I came here to your house to see you guys?”
“I didn’t want to ruin it. You were only in for a night.”
Stepping out of bed and crossing the room, he knelt to the mini fridge while she admired the skin, muscle, and ink that was all Jack. Staring into the interior, he questioned over his shoulder, “What do you want?”
“A coke I guess.”
Jack selected a beer for himself and delivered her carbonated caffeine as he slid back into bed. They propped on the headboard side by side and drank in silence with their feet playing together.
“So, what is the other part?” His question was husky, hesitant.
“Hmm?”
“You said the paternity test was part of it. What’s the other part?”
“I don’t know. I want to be with you. But every time I think of being with you on tour...I can’t…”
“Can’t be with me?”
“Can’t think of it. Something makes me want to not think about it. I thought I was excited, and then it just changed, and now I’m not. In fact, I’m scared, and I don’t know why.”
“When you left that phone message, you said something about groupies.”
“Can we not talk about this? I will come...”
“You...” Fidgeting with the label on his bottle, he heaved a breath as if battling with himself. “You don’t have to come. I won’t bug you about it again. I told you that part of my life is almost over, and I meant it. If you want to wait...” His hand shook and he clamped it securely around the glass neck. “If you want to wait until there is no more tour—we can do a long distance thing...Lots of couples do it when it comes to tour.”
Intently, she studied the side of his face. He became statue still as he awaited her response, and his attention remained on anything except her.
“Do you want your fortune cookie, Momma? You can have it.” Tristan considerately giving her an option when he hoped for the opposite. She was always comparing their mannerisms, but because they were so similar, she could clearly read Jack.
“No.” Firmly and determinedly, she answered. “If we learned anything this month it is that we don’t do long distance well. I’m going.” Then she teased, “Besides, Jack Storm, I want to see you do this thing you do...”
Visibly, he relaxed and a smile shone on his face, the heat from it seeming to warm her through to the inside.
“On the contraire, Mariss. I can promise you that you have the Skype thing going on. Maybe too well…,” he teased with a molten look at the bare favorites of her body.
“I can promise you that I love you more deeply for that comment alone, than almost any other thing you have ever said…”
She knew without a doubt he had talked plenty of women out of their virtual clothing and into cybersex. He was just far too adept from the very first get go, and besides—he was Jack Storm.
As if reading the neurons firing in the hard drive of her brain, he continued, smoothly, sweetly. “Mariss, I can promise you that despite all the stupid stuff I do, I will always be there for you and Tristan. And, I will always be faithful to you. I will always love you.”
Overcome with emotion, words failed her, and she moved enough to lean her head against his and took another cooling sip of her drink.
After a few swallows of his own drink, he gently spoke. “I cannot imagine what it must have been like to walk in on the guy you were going to marry in the middle of it with someone else. And I swear to you Mariss, if he still lives around here, point me to him, and I will beat the everliving shit out of him.”
The idea of a scum like Kel opening his front door to a metal god, who then beat the crap out of him, had her giggling against Jack’s stubbly cheek.
“I love you Mariss. I know it must have brought back screwy memories to see those girls on me like that.”
Nervously, she continued to drink wondering if Jack was right. Had seeing near naked women on Jack’s lap indirectly slapped her back in time, to walking in on some skanky homewrecker atop Kel?
“Honey whatever you tell me, I will try to do it–for you. But I don’t really want to be that asshole musician that won’t take a picture or interact with his fans. That is just part of it. Hell, I end up doing a dozen or so ‘meet and greets’ per show.” As he made this declaration, her mind reluctantly conjured up the typical rock star and fan pictures. “But again, I swear to you, nothing will ever happen, and it does nothing for me.”
His cold, calloused fingers traced the skin around her Jackal guitar pick necklace and then dropped slightly lower to one of his favorite playgrounds. “These are the only ones I will ever want...” Closing her eyes, she savored the feel of his fingers sliding on her skin. “The only ones I’ve wanted since way before you came back into my miserable world again...you ruined me too, you know...”
Twisting, she slid a leg over both of his settling on his lap to face him for the serious kiss she was about to lay on his lips...
...“Okay, maybe you shouldn’t come on tour,” he joked. “I do have to have a level of energy for the shows...” Her lips moved to his, “And if we are doing this ten times a day...”
“Make up your mind, rock star.” Giving his lip a tug with her teeth, she stared into his sated eyes.
“I already did. And it’s not changing.” His hands were lightly resting on her rear and he caressed. “So are you guys coming back with me tomorrow? Or when?”
Nodding, she played with the damp tips of hair that rested on his shoulder. “Tomorrow.” Her gaze glazed down the arms on either side of her legs. “I just need to call–” Just in time she left out the name she had been about to say and amended, “Work. I need to call so they can fix the schedule.”
“I can get James to call. If you don’t want to.”
“Why would I need someone else to call?”
“I don’t know Mariss, my honey. Just trying to make it easy on you.”
Suddenly his inane offer made sense. “About Clayton. You know there is nothing there, right?”
“If I didn’t, I do now.” There was humor in his voice, and she looked up to see it sparking his eyes.
“Good, then. Because I really thought you were going to punch him.”
“Yeah. I was.” His fingertips smoothed up one of her legs, and she smiled at the feel. “If I had any doubts, your lack of a razor, or wax, or whatever you girls do, set me straight...” With no sense, his words swirled, and then mortified with understanding, she jerked her leg from his touch. Jack, however, curved his fingers to her calf and made another stroke. “Feels weird...”
“Stop!” Pulling back again, she qu
elled the urge to go back into the shower with a razor. “You act like you’ve never felt it before.”
“I haven’t.”
At this, she stilled, studying his face. Had all of Jack’s girlfriends managed to stay perfectly groomed in this respect?
“I don’t believe you.” Actually, she could read his face well enough that she did, as unlikely as his proclamation was. However, she wanted to draw out some answers.
“Well it’s true. I guess I never stuck with anyone long enough for them to get comfortable around me.”
“How long was your longest relationship?” she ventured, half afraid he would withdraw under the interrogation.
“A few months. Maybe a little more.”
“We’ve only been together a few weeks...” Already she had given him hairy legs, among other hairy body parts...
She eased from atop him, to lie next to him, and unobtrusively pulled at a sheet with her toe.
“No, Mariss.” His fingers were back on her legs. “We’ve been together five years. Whether we knew it or not.”
The confirmation that there was a connection all of those years, even if he was only feeling it in retrospect, had her heart aching in love. And if the confirmation were not completely in that statement, it was also in his liberal use of the word ‘wife’ instead of girlfriend or fiancée.
They kissed, tenderly, sweetly, before falling back to their propped positions to eye one another.
Suddenly, she stiffened in mild panic knowing the normal span of her work shift had long since passed. “What time is it?”
Their phones were in the other room still on the floor by the door, and she explained as she slipped out of his lap, “Olivia is watching Tristan. She will be worried. She’s probably been trying to call–”
“No,” he negated, and she turned back unable to keep from admiring him on the bed as he further explained, “How do you think I found you? She’s not expecting us back before morning.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I told her, ‘Don’t expect us back before morning.’”
“But she has work...”
“Ugh, you are so complicated.” Swinging out of bed, he playfully smacked her then said, “Go ahead. Call her if you must.”
“Woah...” Pausing in the threshold of the bedroom, she took in the ginormous suite. A baby grand piano posed lavishly on a platform. “I didn’t even know this place had rooms like this.”
“And just how do you know about the rooms in this hotel?” They were crossing the large room to their clothing pile, and he turned to give her a bemused grin.
“Because I was a hooker here before I was a dealer, or as they call them, ‘escorts’.” She deadpanned the answer, somehow keeping a straight face for all of ten seconds while Jack stopped dead in his tracks.
“You’re so easy!” She dosed him back for every time he had ever used that exact phrase on her. Most important, she effectively avoided the question. Employees received a huge room discount, so these hotel rooms had been a natural local for her past dalliances.
“Mariss? Remember when you told me you weren’t that girl?” Jack had stepped into his jeans but his hands paused on the fly, and her own hands stilled on her blouse. Her movements froze until she realized he was speaking of the phone call that had become a fight and her declaration against enjoyment of running up his charge card.
“I’m not,” she declared. “I can take that life or leave it.”
“I’ve thought a lot about my life. More than I have ever. I’m not that guy. I’ve never been truly happy with the way things are, with everything that comes with the band. I’m not that guy. And I can’t wait until I don’t have to be any more.”
She moved in for the desperate hug. With all her heart, she knew that by this time next year, they would both be who they wanted to be–together.
CHAPTER 36
THEY WERE TWENTY-THOUSAND feet up when she sent him the text.
Tristan was playing on his guitar, and Jack was texting with his manager. They were on their way to intercept the tour. After watching him sigh because every time he would put his phone away, the texts would begin anew, she formulated the plan. The next time he clipped his phone, she hit send.
Happy late birthday.
Sent 9:55 am
Attachment
Jack’s birthday had come and gone during their fight, therefore, until now, she had never surprised him with the pictures she had made for him.
When he ignored the beep, his eyes straying instead to Tristan’s chords, she prompted, “I think you got another text.”
“Screw another text.”
“It might be important.”
“And it might not.” Curving a rebellious grin, he nonetheless reached for his phone, and she watched as his face changed. His forefinger scrolled pictures. It was several seconds before his attention left the phone and landed on her.
Within minutes, to Tristan’s delight, Jack had him buckled in the fold out chair of the cockpit, and she protested, “Is that safe?”
“Perfectly,” he promised.
What he actually wasn’t saying is what part of a small plane such as this one was safe in an emergency.
“Jack, what? Are you mad?” Had Olivia been correct in her premonition that Jack would go ballistic at the thought of a photographer seeing her in her undies? “Let me explain about those pictures—”
“They are beautiful Mariss. I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you, pics or no pics.” He pulled her down with him to the sofa seating. “So that’s what the pictures were? A birthday present?”
Nodding, she studied his face wondering at the wording. It seemed odd, that he referred to the attachments in the past tense when she had only just sent them. Then again, they were both tired.
When his hands began to roam beneath her shirt, she was dumbfounded while assessing his heated expression.
“I had my birthday all planned out and it included your first time…”
“What…” But she knew what. Had he really just convinced Tristan to view their flight from up front so that they could get their mile high kicks? But she knew the answer.
“Not what—where, Mariss. Here? That chair?”
Steeling her bodies response, she retorted, “I want it anywhere where there is not a four year old behind the door.”
“Point taken.” Conceding, he continued to play with her, but leisurely.
“I love my birthday present. I’m sorry I was a jack-ass and we were apart.”
She kissed him, because she honestly could not get enough confirmation that they were together again, a couple determined to weather the storms that came.
♪♫¨♫♪
They met up with the show at a stadium in Toledo. The rest of the band had been holed up for the last two days enjoying much needed rest and relaxation.
After checking into the hotel, they went directly to the venue of that night’s show. Tristan jumped around excited to see the array of food, which included pizza. Liz and the rest of the band seemed exited to see Jack walk in with her and Tristan. They came in mass, greeting them, then lingered, and came back singularly as they all ate at the banquette style tables. Dozens of new introductions were made, too many names to remember at once.
Something was in the air. She felt in glances that sometimes quickly skittered away. However, she convinced herself the feeling persisted because she was not used to being here, and they were not used to her being here.
However, the feeling exacerbated when Reed left the table long enough to throw his trash away. Across the room, he and Liz seemed to have an altercation. He turned back to their table with a purpose and was followed by Liz who sat directly across from him shooting warning stares.
After eating, Jack migrated the three of them down a hall as a man wearing a staff shirt pointed out the various rooms that had been set up to band rider specifications.
Jack thanked him and entered the dressing room. As he unlatched a touri
ng case on wheels and began to pull clothing out, she curiously looked around. The room with adobe type walls had the feel of a gym locker room that was tastefully decorated with Ikea furnishings. Tristan flopped on the couch and began to play on his tablet, and she followed Jack to the bathroom, touching up her makeup as he took a shower.
“So both before and after the show, I will go with you guys into the hospitality room for a few minutes. Then, I have to do my thing for a half hour or so.” Steam began to fill the room, and she abandoned her primping. “Sometimes, the phones don’t work in these places. You can send any of the staff to get me or keep trying to call until it goes through. I will always answer, Mariss. Don’t worry about bothering me or anything, because you won’t be.”
Through the glass, she could see he was washing his hair. She was standing where she could see Tristan also, and her attention bounced between the two of them, but lustfully lingered more so on Jack when he stepped out and began to dry.
“Usually the hospitality rooms have a bathroom attached, but if not, and you have to go down the hall, let me know okay? Just shoot a text or something? Because if I don’t find you in that hospitality room, I’m going to worry crazy.”
As the minutes drew nearer to the show, the back area began filling up with staff, family and friends of the band, hundreds of people milling around. Before now, she had no idea that behind each show was a small show in itself.
“Keep your orange pass with you.” Jack advised of the VIP tag that would ensure she was allowed anywhere she needed to go. Then, he stooped to Tristan and indicated the identification tag on his tiny wrist. “And you T.J., buddy, do not take this off for any reason. Promise?”
Jack pointed to his own wrist to remind Tristan that he wore one also. Jack wore his in solidarity, but Tristan’s was to insure that in the event he got lost, someone would know where he belonged. The little boy’s head bobbed, and the daddy worship was clear in his eyes. If Jack wore the bracelet then it was cool.