Jack Who?

CHAPTER 25

♪♫••════════CHAPTER 25════════••♬ ♭

JACK'S FACE RADIATED an aura of so many emotions. His eyes were glowing as they ran gratefully over her face, and he gently pulled Tristan's shoulder to him in a tentative hug. Tristan turned, throwing both arms around Jack's neck, clamoring to his lap. Easing up, she left the two alone.

     Moving about in the kitchen, she assembled a large salad and raked part of it into a serving bowl, before putting the rest in the fridge to chill for supper. Because she had ended up binge eating the ice cream the previous night, and had not completely worked off the loaded breakfast burrito this morning, she shook a few drops of olive oil and vinegar in lieu of her favorite ranch salad dressing.

     Before settling at the bar with the light lunch, she dumped the red beans, soaked since early morning, into the slow cooker. Next, she tossed in a large sausage link, along with heavy sprinkles of creole spice.

     Ironically, just as she finished her last lettuce leaf, Jack and Tristan proposed an ice cream trip. Again. The amount of ice cream brought into this house was maddening. She gained a half a pound every time she walked near the freezer.

     "Coming with, Mariss?"

     Mariss. At the last use of that endearment, she had been in his arms. Well, her legs had been in his arms...

     "Come on Momma. You need to get out of the house." Tristan peered from over the couch where he was powering off his game, and she burst into agreeable laughter. As humorous as it was to hear that quotation from a four-year old, he was right. Her last outing had been that unforgettable-but-forgettable date with Joel. A night that played in her mind, not because of Joel, but because of Jack.

     Tristan prattled on from the back seat of Jack's Audi rental about what flavors he wanted in his three scoops, and Jack, after playfully lending counsel, glanced from the road to her, then back again.

     "What flavor for you?"

     "Banana pudding." It was one of her favorite desserts, and the frozen version was just as delicious.

     "Good choice," he approved. "All scoops or just the first?"

     "The one and only scoop."

     "You are not seriously getting only one scoop?" His tone dripped disapproval.

     "That's all she ever gets," Tristan piped, leaning as far as his seat belt would allow toward the gap between the two front seats. "If she gets any scoops. Most of the time, she just eats bites of mine." The last part was a disagreeable grumble.

     Marissa twisted her head surprised. Her son had always generously shared the bites she became carried away with, but obviously he harbored a secret grudge.

     "I promise to stay out of yours you little ice cream miser," she teased releasing some of her slight animosity in a sigh.

     "I think you should have a scoop of peach with the banana," Jack stoically advised, the smirk dancing in his dark eyes instead of on his lips

     "That doesn't sound good."

     "Trust me, it is," smoothly, he came back in the tone of a flavor connoisseur.

     "I just want one scoop. Is that a freaking felony?"

     Jack laughed, and she loved hearing the sound again. Here, in the car, almost to the shop that boasted over two-hundred flavors of homemade ice cream, it was too easy to pretend they were a real family and not just bonded by blood.

     The feeling pervaded as they walked into the cold building with Tristan riding piggyback on Jack. Once inside, Jack turned to allow his passenger an easy view of the flavors, which put him face to face with her.

     She studied his features, wondering if they were back to the way things were before the fight, or if their words were still wedged between them. And she wondered where she wanted them to be. She didn't want to be hurt again, and yet, she wanted every piece of him she could have, until having him was no longer an option.

     Having Jack in her world, lending his support during a vulnerable time had temporarily deluded her, and she now realized that much. The way sex had become a meaningless thing the second they argued had opened her eyes. The texts coming in every other hour on his phone, the calls he took to the privacy of the patio, all of this and more drove home the fact that there was another life waiting for him on a different coast. Rock stars married models, not casino workers—even when the casino worker was his baby momma.

     Even after having plenty of thinking time in the car, Tristan took another ten minutes to narrow his choices down to three. All the while, even throughout her serious thoughts, she and Jack indulgently smiled and made faces as the teenager holding the empty scoop grew more and more impatient with his tiny customer.

     Once they were in the car, she began passing Tristan napkins along with precautions against making a mess. Jack shrugged it off. "It's a rental. So what if they throw an extra charge on for cleaning. We had fun, and that's what's important."

     Turning away from the drippy tot, she lightened up. Jack, she was learning, came from a well to do family even before making it big in music. He would never understand the equal ratio of money to fun. Maybe Tristan would grow up with a healthy balance.

     She was finished way before they were, and she clenched her empty container, refraining from begging a bite from each of Tristan's flavors. As if reading her mind, Jack passed his over. "Try this." When she shook her head and voiced a polite refusal, his persistence manifested once more. "Red Velvet... Come on. You know you want it..."

     Ignoring the teasing lilt of his voice, she curved a smile but was firm. "No. Really I don't. But thanks for wanting to share." Here, she shot a look at Tristan before she could stop herself, slightly hurt that her kid resented the sweet bites he had once given with sweet smiles.

     "Watching your weight?" Jack joked. Suddenly, the dawning crossed his face, either from her expression or from the clues in their time together. "You are watching your weight!" Incredulous, he shot another look to her, this time down her figure as he pulled to a four-way stop.

     "True dat." Tristan surfaced from his bowl long enough to verbalize through a bite.

     Jack lifted one of those dark brows bouncing a dumbfounded look through the rear-view to the back seat, and she wanted to giggle. This gangster talk, or whatever slang Tristan was quickly picking up from 'listening to Jack on the phone,' was as hysterical as it was annoying to hear. The most amusing part was watching Jack learn how fast kids sponged up their environment.

     "She weighs every day and writes it down." Swallowing his bite enough for a whole sentence, her son sold her out, and she indignantly glared.

     "No way." Displaying flat disbelief, Jack assessed her again, particularly her waist and legs, instead of her chest, which was his common eye-candy.

     She had to wonder if he thought she would be fat one day. As quickly as the thought came, it angered her that she was especially self-conscious when it came to him.

     "Mariss, if anything, you're too skinny. I thought that stress had you underweight..."

     "Too skinny." A gurgle of a laugh was on her lips. "That's such a line."

     "A line? Not one I ever used," he scoffed, as he swung a left turn.

     No doubt because all of his women had been skinny models. She bit back the retort and instead said, "Well you just did." Adjusting the dash vent to blow cold air directly on her flushed face, she continued, "There's not a girl alive who doesn't know. When a guy says that, he is wanting in your pants."

     "Jack couldn't fit in your pants."

     Sucking in an aghast breath, she stared ahead unable to even look at Tristan. Only a few times had she made such a careless lapse. Of course, this latest was after practically accusing Jack of not censoring what he said around Tristan.

     "His legs are way too long."

     The observations continued from the rear seat.

     She was mute, and she closed her eyes for a blinding moment from Jack's extreme enjoyment of the situation.

     "I can't believe I said that!" Her hushed whisper was directed to Jack once they were alone in the kitchen. She dropped their spoons and sticky cardboard bowls into the trash.

     Jack only grinned as he lifted out the bag and with a twist, sealed it. As he headed to the outside can with it, he turned, "Do not say another 'dope' word to me." Sporting the brow and smirk combo, he stepped out.

     After measuring rice into the steamer, she stretched on the couch, reclining on the opposite arm from where Jack currently sprawled. The sounds of Tristan and Jack racing lulled her into a doze, and eventually they all felt the crash of the sugar rush.

     She woke with her legs on Jack's and carefully extracted herself, then stood staring down at father and son, so alike, especially in sleep. From his recliner, Tristan stirred, and as if by instinct, Jack also shifted. She was positive that she wanted to experience this feeling every day.

     The red beans and rice turned out 'so dope,' according to Tristan, and Jack's eyes met hers before she voiced a correction. Jack's earlier advisement, and possibly his first verbal collusion as a parent, was to ignore the new words concluding that as long as the expression was not being heard around him anymore, Tristan would stop. To call him down on it would only imprint it in his head.

     She and Jack were conversing as normal again, and as they laughed over the latest banter with Tristan, they also ignored the bites dropped to Bally. At least their son was no longer in the habit of feeding the dog with his fork.

     Across the room, the newscast flickering on the muted tv screen drew her eyes. When she looked back, Jack had found closer entertainment.

     "What is this?" He was inspecting a scrawled up envelope, and his fork stopped midway to his mouth in surprise as he read.

     Reaching across the bar, Marissa plucked the conversation Olivia had advised her to jot from his hands. With a quick look at Tristan, she mumbled, "Nothing."

     "It's not nothing. Why did you write that down?"

     "Because Olivia told me to."

     Confusion shaded his features, but at this admission, the inclination quickly became suspicion, and saying nothing, he resumed eating.

     The reprieve was short.

     The second Tristan was tucked into bed with three stories, Jack joined her on the couch. Somehow, she had fallen with the best of them and had become a hardcore addict to the race car game.

     "Want to play?" Wheedling the question, she lifted her controller.

     As if he hadn't heard, he resumed the inquisition. "Why did you write that stuff down?"

     Giving up, she cast her game piece to the sofa table and considered her words.

     "Olivia said I could have taken what you said all wrong. That I would see things more clearly if I wrote them down."

     Relaxing his posture, Jack bent to rest his arms on his knees and focused on the floor. When he turned his attention to her, his eyes were soft, and his words were gentle.

     "And did you?"

     The gulp in her throat threatened to choke out her breath. After reading over it while cleaning up in the kitchen, she was no longer certain Jack had spoken of full custody in that horrible argument. Exactly what he was speaking of, she could only guess. And guessing only made her hope. And hopes had a way of being dashed.

     "I think I jumped to conclusions."

     "I know you did."

♪♫••════════════════••♬ ♭