Weathering Jack Storm

by Lisa Gillis

  “Oh really? And just what is it you have in mind, Jack Loren?”

  A flush that had nothing to do with the blush of alcohol heated her skin when she read the husky inflection in his voice and the heat in his eyes. Good things would follow, and a prickle of desire manifested as goose bumps on her skin.

  “All in good time, Mariss.” After picking up the larger glass shards, he disappeared into the house.

  Her gaze wandered the constellations trying to remember which was Big Bear, and which was Orion, and the Dragon. Or had he said some were one and the same?

  Jack appeared and first used a handheld dust buster on the shattered fragments before setting an unbroken glass on the table next to their lounger. With the flourish of a waiter in a five star restaurant, he poured the wine letting the spillage fall from a foot above the glass.

  When he stopped at the halfway mark, she lifted a brow, but said nothing as the cushion dipped with his weight and he resumed his seat. One of his bare feet entwined with hers. Instead of picking up his own drink, he picked up the guitar and began to play.

  She hadn’t heard the song much, but it was significant enough to her, that her eyes riveted immediately to the notes encircling his arms.

  “Think of a new verse?” she wondered while reaching for her glass.

  “Maybe. Maybe a whole new song…”

  Which according to his past explanation would mean—

  …and there it was.

  Encircling the stem of this new wine glass, clinking against the base as she tipped and twisted the glass for a better look—was a ring...

  The band was shiny and black, as was the stone. Once, in a hotel jewelry shop, she had admired and even tried on a black gold set with a black diamond ring. This one was very similar.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it, but how did…Jack how did you know?”

  “I know a little bit about you, Mariss…”

  “I guess you do…” she answered, but in amusement remembered the appalling story of a hotel boutique sales girl. The young woman had flagged Jack down when he went into the store alone and revealed everything she, his fiancée, had looked at that day—including some extravagant jewelry that he had spoiled her with later that night.

  “What I really want to know…” Calloused fingertips ran down her cheek. “And, I’m almost scared to ask…”

  ‘The questions that hold forever answers; the hearts that give unlimited chances…’

  ‘One love returned as two, destiny, fate, and one sweet truth.’

  “Marissa, will you marry me?”

  He was on one knee next to the chair, and she stared in shock from one oddity to the next. From Jack massaging each of her fingers in his and to the still half-filled glass of—

  It was not the wine they had been drinking. It looked to be champagne. The bubbles gradually made their way to the surface, and the wind seemed to suspend a gust waiting on her answer.

  “I will, Jack. You know I will.” Leaning forward, she dragged him back into the chair with her kiss, and spoke against his lips. “But that ring—do I have to carry a champagne flute with me everywhere I go now?”

  “So funny, Mariss…” Grasping the glass by the stem, he took a glug. “To you, and me, and Tristan. Whatever and whoever life has in store for us. I love you Mariss, and I want to share it all with you.”

  Passing the glass to her, she pinched it between her middle finger and thumb. “To you and me Jack. And our everlasting love that perseveres through everlasting,” here she stopped, unable to say crap at this momentous moment. Instead, she drained the last of the bubbly liquid.

  “Now, how do I get this ring on!”

  The sexy smirk she could forever stare into, and would, the rest of her life, curved, and he took the glass from her hand.

  “Wait!” Putting her fingers out to halt him, she implored, “I want a picture of it. Just like that.”

  Tristan cam was on Jack’s phone, and she actually had to go into the house to find her own. When she returned, the glass was again over half full of bubbly, and he shrugged with that boyish sparkle. “Makes a better picture, right?”

  After a dozen attempts, they ended up with half that many of the glass and themselves in the same picture.

  “Drink up Mariss, if you want that ring…”

  Searching those dark mischievous eyes, she called his bluff, “Drink up Jack, if you want to put that ring on my finger.”

  He drank it half down and offered it to her for the rest. She had already drank more than she had in a while, but how many times did a girl get engaged? Well, if she didn’t count the first time.

  Using a flat edge knife from their smore cooking earlier, Jack hit at the glass stem effectively breaking it in half and freeing the ring.

  Eagerly, she held her hand out wondering if it would fit, but Jack stopped just before the first knuckle. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, my heart knew that you would be my wife. Marissa Loren. And thank the deity above for sending Tristan to make sure we ended up together.”

  The metal slid against her skin, over the first knuckle, and she stopped it just before the second. “I love you Jack. Always have, you know.”

  “I know, Mariss. And, I’ve always loved you right back.”

  The ring was a perfect fit.

  CHAPTER 42

  “YOU SURE YOU WANT to do this?” The stool on which Jack perched glided smoothly across the foot that separated him from the fully adjustable chair she was poised upon.

  “I’m sure.” A smile of reassurance curved her lips, but her eyes darted nervously to the array of sterile instruments just an arm’s length away.

  “You don’t look so sure,” Jack worried. His eyes fell on the ring he had adorned her left finger with just a few weeks before.

  He knew what ‘sure’ looked like in her eyes. ‘Sure’ had radiated from her entire expression, had infused her complete countenance on that night. And thank the heavens for that, as he had been on his knees asking the most important question of his life.

  “I’m sure Jack. Now shut up. You’re making me nervous.” She craned her neck to peer at the stencil on her torso, and he remembered how she had flinched with the first swab of antiseptic. “Tell me about the tour.”

  They had come off the states tour only a week ago. The European leg was the next, and last with Jackal, and it was less than two months away. The cities and landmarks that he had experienced several times through his life with his family, or in his tours or travel, would be new to her and Tristan, and he anticipated seeing it all again through their eyes.

  His words tapered off when a technician approached. “All set?” The guy gently smiled while rolling on latex gloves. Jack felt his own face scowl but couldn’t stop it. Maybe the question would be better put to him.

  No, he was not all set, or ready to watch some other man’s hands on Mariss. Yes, the dude looked a little too eager. Jack tried to convince himself the man was just an artist beholding a blank canvas of the highest quality.

  An eager smile curved her lips, and had he not known her so well, the nervous twitch would have gone unnoticed.

  “Let’s get this party started,” she pushed her smile wider, but it fell the second the purr of the inking tool broke the silence.

  Jack’s fingers were already laced warmly with hers, and he clenched his hand in a gentle squeeze while putting a finger up to the guy who had just finished donning glasses.

  “Mariss, my honey, we can walk out of here right now if you want–”

  “Jack, just stop! I want this now, more than ever.” Her eyes went limpid, and he imagined her thoughts going back to the night he had proposed, to the song they had finally completed, then sang together. Then those beautiful irises clouded. “Do you want me to get this tattoo?”

  It had been talked about for weeks. Why he was making a big deal here at the last minute was anyone’s guess. What he did know was that he didn’t want to see the wince of pain on her
face. He wanted to protect her from all pain, but the best he could do was hold her hand through the unavoidable pains of life.

  “You are going to rock it, Mariss. Sorry for holding the party up. Let’s get it started.”

  She reclined as instructed, and he put her hand to his lips as the first flicker of fear and discomfort diluted her eyes. Gradually, she relaxed as he spoke of the Italian ice cream shop in Venice and a pot cafe in Amsterdam. The artist even reprimanded her for laughing as the needle made its passes over her abdomen, and Jack immediately paused the humorous tales of one of his childhood visits to France.

  ♪♫¨♫♪

  “You are rocking that tattoo, Mariss,” he told her a week later in the shower while in the midst of helping her with the bandage change.

  “You’re such a liar.” The water splashed the tile around them as she gazed at the scabby area.

  “No, I’m not. Does that feel like a lie?” He loved the various expressions that would cross her face when he pressed against her like this.

  Sometimes surprise. Sometimes pure desire. Sometimes the slightest annoyance if she was exhausted.

  “No,” she moved against him and stared dead into his eyes. “That feels like a hard–”

  Shit, no matter how she finished—that sentence would be eargasm....

  ♪♫¨♫♪

  “You are so rocking that ink.” His eyes roved over the smooth painted skin his fingers trailed over.

  The area had been fully healed for a week now, and he had not been able to take his eyes from it and the rest of her all day as they traversed Disneyland with Tristan.

  The bar of music notes curved from just below her shoulder blade to just below her bikini line.

  “Yeah?” The shirt she had just pulled off dropped to the floor as she approached the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. Things got even more interesting when she unclasped the bra, letting it glide down her arms.

  From the closet, he stilled watching every movement. The slide of her hand over the decorated waist, the trail of her fingers becoming obvious that she was teasing him.

  Clothing was the last thing on his mind as he moved out of the closet, closer. From the mirror, her eyes traversed his bare body in a way that heated the blood coursing through his veins to a pleasant simmer. As soon as her eyes dropped a little lower, he knew it would be a boil.

  “Mom! Dad! How long does it take to put your suits on?” The door burst open with this rant, and he barely had time to turn away from their son.

  “Tristan Jack Loren!” Mariss covered her chest with her arms while sternly reprimanding the boy who was backing out of the room with his hands over his eyes. “You know to knock!”

  Reluctantly, Jack pulled his swim shorts on. It was in his best interest to keep his eyes off of Marissa as she pulled her shorts off and her suit on.

  Tristan kept a watchful eye on them for the first few minutes of swimming, before seeming to forget the incident in a game of volleyball.

  When he and Dax ‘lost’ by the game point to Marissa and Tristan, the little boy jumped up, fist bumping all around. Wading out of the pool, he declared he was going to get a drink to celebrate. Jack could never get tired of watching him move freely about and saw that Marissa was doing the same.

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, he tugged her to the island and settled her with him to view the short legs sprinting across the patio. Bally, noticing her young master was out of the pool, ran up the incline, until her paws were out of the water, pausing to shake every few seconds. Rusty, noticing Bally was up to something, hurried from beneath a lounger to follow.

  “No running, Tristan,” Marissa reminded, but Jack noticed her tone held an undercurrent of awe. If she felt like he did, then they both would be content to watch Tristan run around for the rest of the afternoon.

  Dax rose from the chair he had straddled after the game and took a few steps toward them, before spinning around and heading into the covered portico.

  Jack had seen that shadow on his friend and assistant’s face before, and it was never good. Letting his fingers trail down Mariss’ back, he idly eyed the last drops of water drying from her skin, and knew whatever news Dax had concerned her. If that were not the case, his assistant wouldn’t have chickened out at the last second.

  She had amazingly adjusted to this insane life.

  On tour, she had kept Tristan away from any sort of debauchery. After each show and appearance when he finished paying the debt he owed to fans with pictures, autographs, and attention, he had eagerly joined the two of them for their routine meal in a hotel or in the bus while watching t.v.

  Shortly after being fired by the label, Emmajesty had texted a few ‘you will be sorry’ threats to both of them. It was not something either of them had shrugged off, but Mariss had dealt with it without becoming unhinged.

  When the lingerie shot of her leaked and printed side by side with one of Randi, she had understandably been frustrated, even angry, but had gradually begun cracking jokes.

  She had easily become the darling of the paparazzi during the last few weeks that they had been home, rewarding the unobtrusive ones with a smile and a comment.

  They were a week away from being out of the country for two months. Whatever had come to Dax’s attention would be over and done with by the time they returned—married.

  Instead of coming straight back to the states, she was planning a small wedding in a Denmark castle. Afterward, Olivia was taking Tristan home with her, while he and Mariss honeymooned in Australia.

  With the honeymoon on his mind, he dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “Sure you don’t want to take the whole crew of dogs and kids to Kim’s Beach?” The Australian coastal destination, highly spoken of in his circles, was an exclusive hideaway from paparazzi, but he had never traveled there himself. He and Marissa had ooh’ed and ah’ed over the internet pictures while making the reservation.

  “Our honeymoon?” Those blue eyes raked over him like he was insane, then she sighed. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive that long without Tristan. We’ve never been apart more than a day.”

  “I know. It will be hard for me too. But that is what Skype or Facetime is for.” He brushed at her wet hair, studying her face. “I’m serious though. Just say the word and he comes with us.”

  The smile that curved her lips warmed his soul and the words completed his heart. “I love you Jack.”

  “I love you, Mariss.”

  ♪♫¨♫♪

  “So?” Jack nervously fiddled with the towel around his neck.

  Upon exiting the pool, he had not even gone up to dress. Instead, he searched out Dax.

  “I’m sorry. You don’t know how much it kills me that this is my entire fault...”

  So, it was another repercussion of Emma.

  Jack squared his shoulders and demanded, “What?”

  Dax passed him an iPad, and Jack mentally steeled himself for whatever gossip or snapshot he was about to see. When the triangle play button on a video lit the middle of the screen, his stomach dropped somehow sensing that this would be the outdoing of everything in his whole life that had gone public.

  Instinct put his bare feet in motion, carrying him out of Dax’s room to the hallway. The house was quiet, so apparently Tristan and Mariss were still upstairs dressing. The music room was his destination, and the click of the door latch behind him marked his privacy. Here, among his material loves of this world, the guitars, and their paraphernalia, rather than his physical loves, Mariss and the son they had created, was his haven for now.

  Glass against glass clinked as he poured a shot of vodka, and downed it. Only then did he press play.

  As the image went into motion, his chest pounded so hard that he considered whether he was experiencing a heart attack. Shaky hands brought his phone into his sights and he pressed a speed dial.

  “Doug, I need your legal expertise dude. Can we talk in the morning?”

  Finishing the call with
his lawyer’s voicemail, he exited the room, and instead of turning to the stairway, he stood lost in heavy thoughts. With a heavy heart, he twisted the knob without knocking, flinging open the door to the guy who had been a best friend and a surrogate little brother to him for the last few years.

  Dax looked as if he had been waiting, and before Jack could speak, he hastened to assure, “I’ve emailed the websites that have it so far. It should start disappearing soon. I’m sorry Jackson.”

  “Me too. Dax. I promise you I am. So sorry about this. Get your stuff and get out.”

  “No problem, man.” Dax was agreeable, and Jack knew the other man had been expecting termination. Still, a slight gleam of fluctuating hope immediately extinguished from Dax’s expression.

  Clutching the iPad, Jack passed through the den where Tristan was already on the video game.

  “Want to take a turn Daddy?”

  “One game only, Tristan.” From out of sight in the kitchen, Marissa raised her voice to make sure the order was obeyed. “It’s bedtime right after your snack.”

  “Dad said we could play HORSE,” Tristan tried to work his favorite game of hoops into the pre bedtime negotiations. The basketball game had quickly become a favorite, and just recently, Jack had raised the goal from Tristan’s learning height to the sport’s specifications and the tiny boy had no problems sinking his shots.

  “You heard Momma.” Jack forced a grin and picked up a controller. Normally, he would have added his pleas to his son’s and bought the extra quarter hour. He loved watching Tristan dribble a ball, but this evening dark things loomed ahead.

  The clack of buttons and exclamations of both triumph and frustration filled the room. Marissa bent to set the bedtime snack on the table, and with a look to make sure their son’s attention remained occupied with the video game, let her goods dangle a few extra seconds before straightening.

  It was disconcerting to know that their evening was about to be screwed. Once he told her what he had to, not only would she would not be in the mood, but she would feel crushed, devastated.