Jack Who?

CHAPTER 24

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CLEARING ONE EAR of the music obstruction, Marissa inquiringly waited. After one of those heated looks that tickled her every nerve and flushed her insides, Jack spoke. “My lawyer guy just called back. The paternity test is canceled, and he’s drawing up the papers for monthly child support and temporary visitation–”

     The jangle of his phone broke in, and after checking caller ID, he answered, “Yeah, Doug?” Listening intently, he remained looking at her and then stepped out of sight. Curiously, she pulled the other earpiece out just in time to hear, “Yes, I’m still moving forward with that. Please get it done as quickly as possible. Yes, she is. I’m talking to her now about it. Thanks, bro.”

     He was right back with an apology, and this time, he stepped fully into the room as he picked up the interrupted conversation. “I’m just going to tell you what I’m thinking, and you tell me what you are thinking.”

     Warily, she gave him her silent attention, and he went on.

     “Tristan doesn’t begin school until next year. So staying with me for a week at a time, every five or six weeks, would not be hard on him in any way, you think? And about the holidays…” In her shock, his words lagged, and she gripped the handle of the exercise machine to stay upright. “My family has a huge Christmas, and I would really like him to come this year.”

     The requests were not unreasonable. Jack had missed three Christmases already. And a week every month or so, rather than a weekend every other week, was sensible as two days would be travel days.

     Thinking of her baby on a plane terrified her. Thinking of her baby gone for Christmas, even though it was almost a year away, ripped her insides out.

     Through her entire childhood, a serenity prayer plaque had a place on the kitchen wall in their family home, bearing words of wisdom that she saw every day. Now a random phrase came to mind...’give me grace to accept...the things that cannot be changed...’

     “When he flies, who will be with him?” Hearing the quake in her voice, she hastily cleared her throat and made a production of turning off the stair-master.

     “My father has a jet charter membership. An adult in the family will always fly with him.”

     Marissa knew what he was speaking of, having once heard a VIP player at her craps table explaining the benefits of paying a yearly membership fee to access an extravagant jet fleet.

     “A private plane? Is that safe? I would feel better if he flew, you know, on an airline...”

     Understanding glimmered in his eyes. A shared concern for one little boy. “It’s safer than commercial. These planes are less than five years old, and we do a background check on the pilots. That’s when one of us doesn’t do the flying ourselves. We’re paranoid freaks when it comes to plane safety.”

     Thrown off track, she inquired, “You fly? As a pilot?”

     “Not anything big. Just smaller planes.”

     “Did you fly yourself here?”

     “I hadn’t had enough sleep, so no. Seriously, I only fly on occasion when there’s not a better option.”

     In trying to convince her, he was only causing more misgivings. It seemed that private planes were always making headlines–and not in a good way.

     Assessing her reaction, he added, “You could come with him if you wanted. The pilot could fly you right back, or you could stay a few days. Or whatever, until you are comfortable with it.”

     Tristan’s visitation was inevitable, and she nodded in acceptance while at the same time, considering a stipulation about the flight. It would not be unreasonable to request that Tristan fly on a commercial airline. Right?

     Jack went on, interrupting this silent speculation. “Also, I was thinking, he should have my last name. If we do it now before he starts school next year–”

     Her eyes whipped to his face, and his words wisely halted. She knew that, just as inevitably as some form of shared custody, Tristan would also end up with Jack’s name. He was a son carrying on a bloodline. It wasn’t so medieval that it wasn’t right.

     However, it was too overwhelming to take in right now, and she descended from the electronic stairs, needing out of this room that now reverberated with disturbing words. Jack stopped her just before the door.

     His hands settled lightly on her waist, and he tilted his head to hers. Brown eyes melded deep into the mirrors of her soul, and although she could feel the breath of the kiss, it did not come.

     Sweeping his fingers up, he caressed, the touch pleasantly burning through the thin shirt that clung to sweaty skin. His palms stopped, and his breath paused and then released with a sigh when he cupped the curves restrained by the sports bra. Dropping his eyes to this destination, he gave up one hold, using the fingers of that hand to brush from collarbone to cleavage.

     “Reminds me of the day we met.” The words of recollection were soft, and his dark regard came back to her face.

     “How so?” She wasn’t flirting, but the look in his eyes made her inquiry breathless. Genuinely, she sought to understand how today’s attire of boxers, a tank-top, and a bra that flattened her chest, could remind him of the day when she had, with such care, dressed for the Hang Fest in hopes of ‘hooking up.’

     “You were flushed and sweaty.”

     “Gee. Thanks. I remember being embarrassed that I was hot and sweaty.”

     “I liked it. Looked like you had already rolled out of my bed.”

     “I wish you wouldn’t say this stuff...”

     Truthfully, she loved it. With simple words, or simply a look, he could make her feel sexy and desired. However, that all changed when the relationship changed. Now, these types of comments made her feel toyed with.

     “Why?”

     “Just don’t, okay?”

     “Okay.” He promptly dipped for that kiss that was so close.

     In a room full of strength building exercise paraphernalia, she fell weakly against his chest, savoring the brushes of his lips and tongue on hers. The sound of a car race in the other room was a stark contrast to the quiet sounds of their kissing.

     When he straightened to his full height and seemed about to leave things there, she protested again, “And that. Why do you do that?” A slight lift of his brows was his silent invitation to continue. “I wasn’t done. You don’t get to do that. Just because you are stronger and taller.”

     A rippling movement of a smile touched over his freshly kissed lips. Catching a hold of her hand, he straddled the weight bench in two strides, his seat bringing him significantly to her level. “All yours,” he invited.

     Tranced, she lifted an ankle over the bench then lowered onto it. Her hands rested on his shoulders, and she breathed him in but only leaned her forehead against his. Her gaze played in chocolate irises, and she found there was a truer definition of eye-fuck than the one she and Olivia had jokingly tossed out all these years.

     Finally, she kissed him with all her heart and every bit of her soul and with boundless passion.

     How could she crave him this deeply despite what he was doing to her life? It was then she speculated why he pulled back earlier. Was he this conflicted? If so, did that mean he cared for her? How could he and still wreck her world? Because of these questions, the kiss felt as wrong and weird as it felt good, and she paused with her head against his again.

     “What are we doing? Where are we going with this?” In despair, she verbalized her innermost soul search.

     The seconds spanned, then in a dry drawl, he returned, “I don’t know. You should be careful, playing a rapist like this.”

     In that moment, she almost hit him. When she thought back on it, she was never sure she hadn’t because she shoved away so hard and so fast. Before she could actually get away, he clamped onto both wrists.

     “I’m sorry, Marissa. Fuck, I’m so sorry...”

     When she jerked again, he released his hold, and freed, she paused. They were both standing with one leg on each side of the bench. Again, he apologized when she should have been the one apologizing for ever threatening him in the first place. Yet, some stubbornness held her mute. It was then that she understood that she had hurt him as much as angered him with her words that day. However, he had hurt her first.

     “Okay.” She acknowledged the apology but unable to accept it yet, whispered, “I need to– I need– to go–”

     With that said, she bolted.

     Tristan turned from the television as she sprinted through the den en route to her room.

     “Hey mom, check this out! So dope!”

     Pulling up short, she detoured and came to stop between him and his game. “Quit saying that!”

     She was beginning to feel like the echo effect of a rap mix. First to his father, and now to him. Don’t do that. Don’t say that. Who was she becoming?

     “Mom?” The game controller slipped forgotten into his lap, and his lip actually quivered. “I won’t say it. I’ll stop.”

     Rarely, had she ever said a harsh word to Tristan. Never had she seen a kid so well‑behaved, and sometimes she wondered if it came from not being exposed much to other kids. He lived in an adult world.

     “Thank you.” The desire was strong to run over and to bear hug away the hurt she had just caused, but she didn’t, and she didn’t know why. When she pulled her attention from her son’s dejected face, it fell on Jack who stood in the spare room doorway wearing the same expression as Tristan.

     Firmly squaring her shoulders, she turned to the hallway. Behind her, Tristan wondered in a small voice, “What word, Momma?”

     Pausing, she spoke without turning back, “Nothing, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

     Her own home had become hostile, and she had lost count of the times in just a couple of days that she had used her bedroom as a hideaway.

     Jack’s voice mingled with Tristan’s as they played their guitars. Slow choppy notes followed steady ones. Jack let her be for a while and then, with a quiet rap at the door, came in to tell her that Tristan was eating a sandwich.

     “You want anything?” His inquiry was caring, concerned.

     Yes. You. Us. How I thought we could be.

     When she ignored him, he backed the few steps to the threshold but paused before leaving.

     “Marissa? I swear I never used the word dope to him. I think he must have heard me on the phone talking to Dax.” Although she did not know the person he was speaking of, she found his humbleness comforting, and she let her gaze sink into his brown eyes.

     “Why is he calling me ‘Mom’ now?”

     When Jack asked what she meant, she explained never hearing that particular proper noun until the previous day, and that now, she’d heard it numerous times.

     “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. I’ve been referring to you in that way. Like saying, ‘Let’s get your mom ice cream.’ I will make sure I start saying Momma, okay?” When she only shrugged, he whispered, “Marissa? I hate seeing you so stressed and sad.”

     Somehow, he had closed the distance between them, and his kiss lacked any of the fiery passion of a couple of hours ago. It was sweet and comforting with an assurance of something she couldn’t quite grasp.

     “Jack?” Reaching for him when he pulled back, she admitted, “I’m sorry for saying that about the–” Now that she was not infuriated, she could not say the R word. “Sorry about saying I would use some lie in your past against you. I wouldn’t, you know.” She didn’t think.

     “I’m sorry I got mad at you for saying it.” Picking up her hand, he rubbed the palm with his thumb. “I would do anything I had to do to protect Tristan, and that’s all you were doing. And I know–I’ve come to realize that this is moving fast. That you don’t know what kind of person I am, and if I could even be responsible with him. But, I promise you, I swear to you, I will be a good father.” His earnest gaze was on her, but she couldn’t look at him just yet. “I grew up in a close family. There were always kids around, and even when we were kids, we looked after our cousins. Lately, I keep my sisters kids all of the time, taught them to swim...”

     “I know, Jack.” When he ran out of steam, she felt the need to fill in the gap. “I would be fighting you every step of the way with even the slightest custody, wouldn’t let you be here with him, wouldn’t have let you take him out yesterday, if I didn’t know so.”

     The clank of a crutch echoed in the hall, and as Tristan was moving much easier, stronger and faster each hour, they barely had time to jump a space apart on the bed before he appeared in the door.

     “Finished my lunch,” Tristan proudly announced, and asked of the game he’d quickly become addicted to, “Who wants to race me?”

     Curving an instinctive smile when she saw he was unconsciously swinging his crutches around as he stood, she knew that it wouldn’t be long before he was riding the red bike Jack had promised him. Or, playing basketball with the shorty goal brought in from the car yesterday along with other prized items, like a black hoodie and the wash on tattoos that now decorated his tiny arms.

     “Come’re, sweetheart. Jack and I need to talk to you.”

     Interested, he obediently closed the distance, and she held his crutches as Jack pulled him onto the bed. Over Tristan’s head, she sought silent substantiation from Jack and took in a deep fortifying breath.

     “Remember we talked about your daddy a couple of times?”

     Tristan had been quick to figure out that a true family unit began with a Momma and a Daddy. Possibly, from his shows, or maybe he had rationalized his grandparents relation to her and deduced from there. In whatever way it had happened, he had been curious enough to question things she was not ready to answer at his young age.

     Nodding, Tristan tilted his head upward to Jack. “My daddy lives in Cally Fornya”

     The pronunciation of California threatened to crack her up every time. To her, ‘Cally Fornya’ screamed stripper stage name.

     Jack reeled with the tot’s revelation for a different reason. She saw the surprise in his eyes. He had never expected Tristan to know even a minute detail like that, and his look locked with hers.

     “And he likes to sing! Like me!”

     Another spark lit Jack’s eyes, and although the emotion wasn’t clear, it was good.

     “Tristan,” stroking his back, she waited until he looked to her. “Remember I told you that when you got bigger we would talk again about your daddy? Well, you’re bigger, and we are going to talk now.” Instinctively, realizing the seriousness, that this talk was about to change his life, his eyes grew large and his bottom lip tucked under his teeth in a nervous gesture. “When you had your surgery, I called– I mean your daddy–”

     Heaving a breath, she blurted, “Jack is your daddy.”

     Transfixed, his eyes stayed on her face before comprehension dawned, and his wide dark gaze searched hers. Transparent, the emotions went through his eyes like a slide show.

     Stupefied. Happy. Wary. Wonder.

     Her hand slid to his shoulder in support. When Jack’s hand rested on his other shoulder, Tristan swiveled, and she was no longer privy to his feelings. Instead, she watched Jack’s face, and the tenderness playing over his features.

     Quietly, they let the news settle on him and then softly, Jack said, “If you have any questions, you can ask me or your mom– ma.” Hastily, he added the last syllable.

     “Do I say Jack or Daddy?”

     “What do you want to say?” Jack’s eyes anxiously met hers as he voiced the question to his son.

     “Daddy.”

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