Bang (7 page)

At first she thinks Terry is going to refuse to toast with her altogether. When he finally clinks, it's hard enough that Mari's wineglass vibrates in her hand.

Jack stays in his seat. He raises his eyebrows at Mari as Barb starts dishing out casserole. Mari tells him to pass the green beans.

Chapter Five

Jackson doesn't realize something is going on between Mari and Ter until Meredith gives him a heads-up after dinner. “I'm not saying he's about to poison her drink or anything,” Mer says as they put the candles on the ice cream cake. “But I think he might be about to poison her fucking drink.”

Jackson mulls that over. Then he nods, reaching down to catch Rocko's collar before he can scarf the candle that just rolled onto the floor. “Okay.”

Mer huffs. “Fine, don't tell me. Pass the matches.”

They don't have enough of any one kind of candle so instead they put together a hideous mix, all sizes and shapes plus one lone polka-dotted nine. “He's turning a multiple of nine,” Meredith points out. “So really it's fine.” She switches on the singing candle holder they've had since Jackson was ten, then picks up the cake and ushers Jackson ahead of her through the swinging door.

Jack lets the thing with Terry lie through two slices of cake and a round of coffee, watching Mari chat with Arielle, her hands flying as she tells a story about Sone. When Terry finally goes outside for a smoke, Jack shrugs on his jacket and follows.

“What's up?” Terry asks as Jackson walks over to join him underneath the neglected basketball hoop. It's chilly now that the sun's gone down, that true fall bite in the air that smells like woodsmoke and cold. Then Terry's lighter flares, and everything just smells like cigarettes.

Jack wrinkles his nose and holds out his hand. “Pass it.”

“You start up again?” Terry asks. When Jackson doesn't answer he hands it over anyway, some vestiges of little-brother obedience left. Jackson remembers being five and convincing him to eat worms. “How you feel?”

“Feel fine,” Jack says, which is the truth at this particular moment, or at least close enough that he trusts his brother to fill in the blanks. “Look, I need you to lay off Mari.”

Terry snorts. “I'm not laying
on
Mari,” he says, taking the cigarette back. “I didn't say anything.”

Jack shakes his head. “You said enough.”

“She shits all over you,” Terry says, so mildly that his actual words are a shock. “You realize that, don't you?”

Jack blinks. “The fuck?”

Terry shrugs, sucking on the cigarette. The other dudes on the track team used to call it his blowjob face. Then, in a rush like he's been waiting to let it out, “Look, I know Mom and Dad buy her whole partner-of-the-year routine but at least one person in this family needs to say it. You and I both know she wasn't sleeping on the floor in your hospital room, or whatever the hell fairy tale you're telling.” He blows out smoke. “I get how you feel about this woman, Jack, I do, but she's bad news. She's always been bad news. And you're mush.”

“And you don't know what you're talking about,” Jack argues, fur on his back bristling—
know how you feel about this woman
, Jesus. He's never said it out loud before, to Terry or to anyone else. Was years before he could even say it out loud to himself. “You have no idea, so—”

“Hey, assholes.” That's Mer, standing at the sliding door with her skinny arms wrapped around herself. “We're doing presents.”

Jack glances over at his brother, then away again. “Coming!” he calls. To Terry, “Just lay off, okay? I don't need this right now.”

Terry shrugs, grinding out the cigarette. “Like I said,” he tells Jack. “Wasn't ever laying on.”

After presents it's a nightcap of Crown Royal for his dad and another beer for Jack and Terry and Arielle. Mari shakes her head when Barb offers—it's an old pattern of theirs, him and Mari, so that somebody's always sober enough to drive without them ever having to talk about it. It's a good thing too, not 'cause Jack's drunk but because he's exhausted all of a sudden. Since the shooting, he gets tired way more than he did. “You kids want to stay?” his mom asks, when she catches him hiding a yawn behind his hand.

“Nah, we'll head out soon.” Jack looks at Mari across the family room. “You've gotta get back to Sone.”

“Andre has her,” Mari reminds him. She keeps her dark eyes locked on his. “Up to you.”

Jack thinks about that. It's ten thirty. Even if they leave right now they won't get back until midnight, all those dark empty roads.

“If you're fine with it,” he tells Mari. This is an old pattern too, or at least it used to be, back when they were still kids in their twenties and Mari came over here all the time. “Set up your old bed.” After she got engaged, Jack was embarrassed by it and how transparent it was, her sleeping on the camper in the living room and Jack lying awake and hoping. She hasn't stayed over in six years.

Mari nods. A little while later, he notices her get up and pour herself another glass of wine.

Everyone stays until well past eleven, getting bogged down in a game of President that Mer insists they start. Their parents had strict TV limits, so the Ford kids grew up playing a glut of board games and cards, week-long tournaments of Risk and fifty different versions of Battleship.

After a while Jack's mom heads up to bed, then Jack's dad. Terry starts making noise about taking off after the next hand. He's been quiet since he and Jack came back inside, talking to Arielle and no one else, a red flush to his neck that makes Jack think he probably snuck an extra beer in there somewhere. Meredith notices too.

“Okay,” she says, setting down her cards. “Ter, I'm gonna drive you guys home, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Terry sets his hand down too. “Might as well.”

Jack looks down at his cards, the highest of which is a ten. He's been Asshole for six straight rounds. “Yeah. Let's call it.”

Meredith and Terry both live close by, Meredith down the block five minutes in one of those vinyl-siding townhouses that was thrown up as part of the new subdivision, and Terry a little farther away in an apartment near the edge of the city. Jack watches as Meredith's taillights head down the darkened street. She honks twice at the end of the block, then turns the corner and disappears.

Jack heads back into the house and finds Mari hovering in the door to the kitchen. She's been quiet all night too, that haunted, hunted expression on her face that makes him want to protect her—from his brother, from every other fucked-up thing in the world. Jack clears his throat. Now that it's just the two of them standing here, staying feels like a mistake, like they should have made the drive back to Stockbridge. Jack doesn't know exactly what to say. “You tired?” he asks finally, and Mari nods at him from across the living room. “You want me to set up the pull-out?”

Mari shakes her head.

“Okay,” he says slowly, watching her in the half-dark. She looks like she's waiting for something. She looks like she could destroy him with a word. “You wanna come upstairs?”

Mari nods.

So.

Jack's old bedroom's at the far end of the hallway, away from his mom and dad; still, the old staircase creaks, their two discrete sets of footsteps unmistakable. He thinks of being in high school, trying to sneak girls in and out of here after curfew. He's over thirty fucking years old. His shelves have got medals from track meets he won back in high school, a poster of No Doubt on one wall. Mari's been up here lots of times, since she first started coming to his parents', but she never misses the chance to make fun of him.

Until now. “Hi,” she says quietly. She sounds unsure.

“Hi,” Jackson tells her.

There's a long silence. Jack sits down on the bed because he isn't sure what to do. Mari stands in front of him and frowns.

“So, Terry definitely hates me now,” she says finally. Then she swallows. “You didn't have to lie to your mom.”

Jack doesn't say anything. After a minute Mari pulls off her shirt and there's no more talking.

They make out in silence, Jackson's back against the pillows and her in his lap. Her mouth tastes like wine and ice cream cake. He puts both hands in her hair and hangs on, feeling the bones of her jaw move. She's a more aggressive kisser than he thought she'd be, Mari. She's sloppy. After a few minutes she reaches back to unhook her bra and Jackson has the pleasure of feeling her up in his childhood bed. Her nipples are like stones under his palms, hard and brown. When Jackson rubs them the right way she pants in his face.

“Okay,” she says, lips glancing off his cheekbone. “Okay, we need to, like—Jack.”

“Yeah,” Jack mumbles. He has a mouthful of breast, one tight nipple and then some. She's heavy and soft and Jackson wants to suck as much of her as he can, eat her flesh right off her bones. He feels almost dizzy with greed.

“Jack,” Mari repeats, nuzzling at his ear. But instead of following it up by moaning or sticking her hand down his pants, she says, “Why did you invite me?”

That stops him. He looks up at her, dazed and blinking, hooking a finger in her belt loop in case she gets any ideas about climbing out of his lap. She smells like kissing, like skin. “You asked to come up,” he says dumbly.

Mari shakes her head. “No, like, to the house. To the party.”

“Wanted you here,” Jack tells her, because he's tired and because it's the truth. “Always want you here.”

“Yeah, but—” Mari traces a finger along his jawline, gentler than he's used to from her. “You didn't have to lie to them,” she repeats, so quiet he can hardly even hear. “You lied to everybody. You didn't have to do that.”

Jack shakes his head, dropping his face until they're close enough that he can feel her eyelashes scraping his face. Her body is warm against his. “It wasn't their business,” he says. “That was shit between you and me.”

Mari doesn't answer for a minute, and when she pulls back she looks sadder than he's ever seen her. “It was
my
shit,” she says finally. “Not yours. And you covered for me.” Her voice sounds like she's reading a rap sheet,
these are the crimes this individual has committed.

“Mari.” Jack doesn't know what to say. He wants to tell her it's fine, but the truth is he doesn't know if he believes it himself. “I wanted to be with you,” he hears himself tell her. “I wanted be with you, and that's why I brought you here. You know that.”

“I do, I know.” Mari cups his face in two cool hands. Jackson has never seen her look at him quite the way she is now. “I just don't understand why.”

She leans down and kisses him before he can answer, soft, wet mouth and those gentle hands sliding back to hold his head in place. Her palms cover his ears and the world goes quiet. It reminds Jackson so strongly of the shooting—the weird deafness that comes after gunshots, his heartbeat in his ears—that he almost forgets her question.

“Okay, stop,” he says, sitting up fast and snatching her wrists away. Mari's mouth drops open in surprise. “Do you want to be here, though?” he asks, jiggling her lightly. The shot of adrenaline he just got is making him bold. “Here, with me, right now?”

Mari nods, then swallows and nods again. “I—yes. Yes.” Her hips open against him the slightest bit. “Of course I do.”

“Just tonight?” Jackson presses. The weight of her in his lap is distracting, heavy and hot. “Or more than that?”

“More.” She's just letting him hold her there now, her wrists gone slack. “More.”

Jackson licks his lips, finally cluing in to the fact that she's paying less attention to his words than his hands. Slowly, he pulls her arms up over her head. Mari lets him yank until her elbows are locked, completely docile.

Jackson watches her. “Is this it?” he asks quietly. He's so hard he's aching. “Is this what you like?”

Mari swallows again, sharp enough that Jackson sees her throat move. Then she nods.

Fuck. Jack feels his cock twitch dangerously, so violent he knows she must be able to feel it too. “Yeah?” He can't entirely keep the wonder out of his voice. It feels like a total surprise but also something he knew about her somehow, something he sensed before they started doing this. “You gonna let me do this to you?”

“Yes,” Mari says, gasping as Jack flips her over, pressing her wrists down into the pillow. The bed hits the wall with a noisy thunk, and both of them wince. “Please,” she says again, tipping her face up so he'll kiss her. “I want, I want—”

The rest of it gets muffled with his mouth on hers and Jackson is sorry even as he's biting at the soft edges of her tongue—wants to know everything she's thinking, wants to open her head up and walk around inside until he's sussed out every secret she's kept since the first day they were partners. Her knees open up wide so he'll rock. Jack grinds himself against her, gathering both wrists into one hand and reaching for the button on her jeans even as he's realizing they're right back where they were a week ago in the motel room, no condom and nowhere to go.

Mari's realizing too. “I don't,” she starts, then breaks off in frustration, pushing her hot self up at him as he pulls down her zipper. The bones of her wrists grind together in his grip. “Shit. We are not smart about this.”

“Dumb cops,” Jackson agrees, sliding his hand into her jeans. She's so hot it nearly kills him, what feels like a cotton thong gone tissue-thin and damp. He squeezes before he can completely think it through. Mari gasps.

For a second, Jackson looks at her.

Then he pushes her wrists back into the pillow with one hand and squeezes between her legs again with his other. Hard.

“Fuck,” Mari whines, bucking under his hold. He's got her pinned in two places now, above and below. “Oh, Jackson, fuck.” She sounds shocked.

“Mine?” he asks, squeezing again. He can feel her heartbeat under his palm, his fingers biting deep into soft skin. Then, so softly, “This mine?”

Mari's teeth are chattering. “Jackson,” she repeats, twisting in his grip. “Fuck, fuck, Jackson.”