Breathe Again (6 page)

There were few things in life that made
me nervous, though I was finding myself increasingly flustered recently by
Jackson’s presence. Singing in church was a piece a cake, and I could take a
test without breaking a sweat. Even the abandoned house at the end of my street
growing up, the one that most of the boys on the block ran away from in fear,
didn’t faze me.

When I did get nervous, though, it showed. Lip biting and
fidgeting and hair twirling weren’t unusual, but pacing was something that I
saved for truly rare occasions.

It was a rare occasion that September afternoon. I started
wearing down the already threadbare rug next to my bed as I paced back and
forth, staring at the phone in my hand. Josephine had practically shoved it
into my hand and forced me to go upstairs. I wasn’t allowed to go back to work
until I made the call. Every time I mustered the courage to press the green
button, I somehow ended up pressing the red one. I wished I could talk to
Josephine or Darcy instead, but they all refused to talk to me until I called
my mother.

It wasn’t like something bad happened. In fact, the good news
should have made my mom feel relieved about my decision to move to California,
but I was realistic. I knew exactly how the conversation would go. And so, when
I finally did push the Talk button, after almost an hour of stalling, I was
prepared for exactly what happened.

“Hello, Melanie,” my mother answered, after only two rings.
There was no hint of emotion in the voice that came through the phone; it was
flat, almost professional. This was no surprise to me. Lydia Devlin rarely
showed any type of emotion to anyone, even if their relationship was a good
one.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, sitting down on the bed. I held the phone
cautiously, with my finger over the red button, positioning it so I could end
the call easily and quickly, if need be.

Silence.

“I’ve missed you, Mom. How are things?” My voice cracked when
I said it. I hadn’t realized how true it was until I actually said the words
out loud.

“We are all very well, thank you for asking. Anne says you
are doing fine as well.” Anne was my sister-in-law, and the one person who
actually still talked to me. But even she refused to talk to me until I called
my mother.

“Yeah, I am,” I said, knowing that it wasn’t what my mother
wanted to hear. “That’s actually the reason I called. I got a really good
write-up in the
LA Times
, and I wanted to tell you. I
was hoping I could send you a copy.”

“Congratulations,” she said, her voice still void of any true
sentiment.

“Thank you,” I said, knowing that she really wasn’t
interested in the details. It didn’t matter that the write-up had actually been
a very big deal. A very, very big deal. “There was something else I wanted to
talk to you about too.”

“Yes?”

“Well,” I began nervously, my voice shaking slightly, “your
birthday is coming up, and I was wondering if I could bring you and Dad out to
celebrate.”

The silence on the other end of the phone was almost
unbearable, and though I thought I had prepared myself for anything, the actual
words that came from my mother’s mouth hurt me more than I ever thought
possible.

“We aren’t interested in coming out to see you, Melanie. We
will wait until you are ready to come home for good to see you.”

I didn’t really know what to say. Though we agreed on very
few things in life, it was still difficult for me to know that I was honestly a
disappointment to my mother.

I brought the phone away from my ear and looked at the
screen. Forty-seven seconds. My first conversation with my mother in seven
months, and it lasted only forty-seven seconds.

There had been quite a few instances in the past ten years
that warranted crying, though not all were sad. There was my brother’s wedding,
and the birth of my first nephew. There was even my own engagement, but I
didn’t even feel like I was allowed to shed tears of joy for that. And when it
all came crashing down, my eyes were dry.

So, I knew that crying over my mother’s insensitivity was
useless. It wouldn’t change anything; my mother still saw me as a
disappointment and a failure. I had heard plenty of lectures during my life
from my mother, and I took most of them to heart. I went to church on Sundays
and made dinner for my family on Monday nights. I cleaned our home without
complaining, and played the piano, just like my mother wanted. But none of it
mattered. I’d already ruined any chance of being the daughter that Lydia Devlin
had hoped for in me, the most beautiful of her three daughters.

I took a deep breath to steady myself and looked up at the
clock. Jackson was picking me up in an hour, and getting ready for our second
date of the week would be the perfect way to keep my mind off everything. That
night, that perfect night with the wine and cheeseburgers and
Casablanca
,
had been almost three weeks prior, and he’d asked me out again immediately. I
said yes without hesitation, though I knew it would have been better for
everyone if I just called it off. It wasn’t going to end well, I knew it even
then, but I couldn’t do it.

I’d gone shopping again, and filled my closet with a few
other things that I found secondhand. If we did actually get photographed
together, there was no way I was going to let Jackson be seen with someone who
couldn’t at least dress well.

I chose a navy dress that night, paired with a black
cardigan, since it’d been a little cooler out. I didn’t have time to fix my
hair, so I threw it into a low, messy bun, styled into disheveled perfection.

Jackson arrived early again, this time with a handful of
multicolored wildflowers.

“You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Mellie,” he said when
I opened the door, though it took him a few moments of silence to get the words
out.

“Thank you,” I said, barely acknowledging the compliment,
before inviting him inside again so I could put the flowers in water. I placed
them on the counter before we made our way out the door.

I didn’t want to be annoyed at him, but the conversation with
my mother had truly bothered me. I hated even more that I’d let her bother me.
She had nothing to do with my relationship with Jackson, and I really did just
want to let it go.

He took me to a small, authentic Mexican restaurant in
Venice. It was quiet, and there weren’t too many people inside. I wondered if
he did that on purpose, if he knew exactly where to take me so that we wouldn’t
have to deal with any crazy fans. I’d been living in California for over seven
months now, but I’d yet to eat Mexican food as authentic as the tamales I ate
that night, and I doubted I could ever go back to Taco Bell after that.

I listened intently as Jackson talked about his hometown and
family. He grew up only an hour away from where we were, in a small, overly
safe “town-city,” as Jackson put it.

“What about your parents, do they still live there?” I asked
as I took a bite of rice and beans.

He put his fork down to take a drink of the beer in front of
him. “My mom died when I was sixteen. My dad still lives there, with my
youngest brother.”

I brought my hand to my mouth in chagrined shock. “I’m so
sorry, Jackson, I had no idea.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I wanted you to know. If I
didn’t, I wouldn’t have told you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Jackson wasn’t
finished talking. “It was right after I started acting. Breast cancer. She died
the day after my first movie came out. It was obviously hard on all of us, but
she got to see me play my first part, and she was so proud of me.”

“You say
us
, how many siblings do you have?” I
asked.

“My parents had four boys, myself included. I’m the second
oldest.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip from my margarita.
“Four boys? That must have been . . . loud growing up.”

I watched as he threw his head back, laughing. Jackson
laughed. At me. Again. The sound of it, that full-bodied laugh, straight from
his soul, caught me unprepared. It scared me, and I frowned.

“What?” he said, once his laughter died down and he noticed
the strange look on my face.

I just shook my head, forcing myself to take my eyes away
from him. “Nothing.”

“What is it?” he said, the laughter gone from his eyes.

I looked at him nervously. “It’s just that . . . nobody’s
ever thought I was funny before.”

“That’s a lie,” Jackson said immediately.

I just shrugged, returning my attention to the plate in front
of me. I felt Jackson looking at me, but eventually he started eating again
too.

“It was loud growing up,” he said, pulling me from my
thoughts. “I don’t know how my mom did it, but she did. And she was so happy.
My dad was to. He never remarried, he was so heartbroken when she died.”

I reached across the table, taking Jackson’s free hand. “I
really am sorry, Jackson. I can tell how much you loved her.”

Jackson stared at me, and I refused to look away this time.

“Love,” he said.

“Love?” I asked, not understanding.

“Just because she’s gone doesn’t mean I don’t still love
her,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I looked at him, somewhat unnerved. “Of course,” I said.

He let me eat in silence for a few minutes before speaking,
and when he did, it was the last question I wanted to hear.

“Will you tell me about your family?” he asked. I knew it was
an intentional question. I hadn’t mentioned my family much, but I really didn’t
want to talk about it. Especially not after the conversation I’d just had with
my mother. I put my fork down and wiped my mouth with my napkin, but kept my
eyes on the plate in front of me.

“No,” I said finally.

His reaction proved that he wasn’t surprised by my answer.

“So, tell me then. Why are you so . . . indifferent when I
tell you that I think you’re beautiful.”

I glanced up at him. “You noticed that?” I asked.

“I notice everything about you, Mellie Rose,” he said, not
moving his eyes from mine.

I slid my finger around the rim of my empty margarita glass,
but eventually I sighed, resigned.

“It’s the same question as before,” I said. He cocked his
head, looking at me curiously. He had no idea what I meant, of course. “Back
home, I was always just the pretty one. My entire life, I’ve been pretty or
attractive or beautiful. Everyone in my family knows it, and everyone in my
little town knows it. I’ve always known it too. It’s impossible not to, when
you’re constantly told that the only thing that makes you unique, the only
thing that makes you special or worth anything in life, is how beautiful you
are.” I said it in one breath, wanting desperately to get it out there without
second-guessing myself. I knew that saying it was the end of one chapter and
the start of something new.

Jackson was looking at me with a mixture of fascination and
awe and confusion. I’d never said those things out loud, though I’d always
known them.

“What do you mean, just the pretty one?” he asked, though
there was no trace of anything but gentle curiosity in his voice.

“My older brother, James, was always the smart one, my sister
Samantha the caring one, and Emma the funny one. I’m the pretty one. Nothing
more and nothing less.”

We stayed quiet for a while, just letting it all sink in. I
was the first to break the silence.

“I’ve been told that I’m beautiful a lot in my life, but
nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do when you say it. I just wish
sometimes I were more than just beautiful.”

He didn’t speak at first, just watched me with those blue
eyes that saw straight through me.

“I think you’re beautiful, Mellie,” he said finally. “More
beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen. But you’re more than that. You’re much,
much more than that, to me.”

Jackson wanted to go for a walk after
dinner, so I let him take my hand and we walked along the beach. I’d never been
to Venice, and I couldn’t help but find the characters amusing. He indulged me,
stopping whenever I wanted to watch a performer, coming with me when I wanted
to look in one of the eccentric stores along Muscle Beach.

I knew it probably wasn’t the best idea, but Jackson put on a
baseball cap and those same dark aviator sunglasses he wore the day he found me
outside the café, and for a while it didn’t seem like anyone would notice.
Maybe it was just Los Angeles and they were used to it by now, but I actually
thought we would get away with it. I knew there were at least three bodyguards
following us, though they didn’t make it obvious.

We ended up walking all the way down to the pier, and we were
so engrossed in our conversation that I didn’t notice the fingers starting to
point in our direction. He held my hand tightly, and was looking down at where
we were walking so he could hear me better (yes, I’m that much shorter than
him), so he didn’t noticed them either. Not until the first shriek came,
anyway, followed by the screams of over a dozen people, adults and children
alike. I didn’t know what to do, just clutched Jackson’s hand in horror as they
surrounded us.

He slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me in close
before motioning to the bodyguards that had been following us inconspicuously
all night. They tried to dissipate the crowd, and Jackson refused to let go of
my waist, but there were too many people. I started getting dizzy as they
screamed, and I tried to pull my hands away from Jackson so I could cover my
ears.

A few of them had cameras, and I looked down, hoping they
wouldn’t catch my face. I knew it was pointless, that it was going to happen
eventually, but we hadn’t really had a chance to talk about it. We were too
busy getting to know each other, who we really were. Jackson had seemed like
such a normal guy, but now I didn’t doubt that this was most definitely a part
of his life.

I felt an elbow jam into my ribs, hard. It knocked the wind
out of me, and I doubled over, clutching my stomach. I was afraid I was going
to lose my dinner all over the streets of Santa Monica, but they didn’t let up.
I even felt someone tug on my sweater, popping the buttons off of it. I turned
into Jackson’s chest, and he wrapped an arm around me.

“Shhhh, baby, I got you,” he whispered, holding out his other
arm to keep everyone away from us. They just kept yelling his name, and I
squeezed my eyes shut, knowing that I was dangerously close to crying.
Thankfully, most of them only had iPhones or small cameras, but I did notice
the flash of some more-professional cameras in the crowd.

As quickly as it started, it seemed to end. His bodyguards
surrounded us, though the screeching and yelling were still there. Jackson
started dragging me toward the street, and I noticed a black Escalade parked at
the curb. He threw open the door, then picked me up as if I weighed nothing and
put me in the backseat. I had no idea where the car came from, but I was beyond
relieved to be hidden away behind the tinted windows.

I was close to hyperventilating, so I lowered my head between
my knees, hoping that it would help the wave of nausea surging through me. I
felt Jackson next to me before he touched me. He started rubbing circles on my
back, leaning down and whispering in my ear.

I felt my heart slowing, as if it could hear Jackson all on
its own. As soon as I sat up, my breathing back to normal, he had me in his
arms again.

“I’m so sorry, Mellie,” he said, his lips pressed up against
my ear. He pulled away, looking me over, frowning when he saw my torn sweater.
“Did they get you? Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, but I still couldn’t find my voice. My ribs
really were sore, but it wasn’t too terrible. It was more my confidence that
was shaken.

“I’m taking you back to my apartment. I want to make sure
you’re okay,” he said, and then let the driver know where to go.

I shook my head again. “No, it’s okay, Jackson. I can go
home. I’m fine.” I wasn’t sure that I was ready to go to his apartment. I
didn’t know if I would ever be ready to go there, not after tonight.

He studied me with his mouth set in a firm line. “Please,
just let me look you over real quick. And we need to talk. I’m so sorry,” he
said, pulling me close to him.

He didn’t let me go for the rest of the trip back to his
apartment. I felt him kiss my forehead and my hair, but he didn’t look at me.
He just stared out the window silently as we made the twenty-minute trip back
to his complex.

I didn’t know where he lived. Up until then, he hadn’t
brought it up and I didn’t really feel comfortable asking him. The driver got
off at Wilshire and pulled up to a large, luxurious-looking high-rise. We drove
up to a gate, which opened before we could even stop. The driveway went under
the building, into a parking structure full of BMWs and Land Rovers. There was
no doubt in my mind that Jackson wasn’t the only celebrity living in this
complex.

We pulled up next to an elevator and Jackson tugged my hand
gently to pull me out of the car. I looked around nervously, afraid that all
those people had somehow followed us here, but the structure was empty. We got
in the elevator, and I stood, biting my lip and twirling a piece of my hair.
Jackson still had my hand, but he wasn’t looking at me.

We rode the elevator all the way to the twenty-third floor,
where it opened into a large, very white hallway. He pulled me toward one of
the doors near the other end of the hall and led us inside.

I’m not sure what I expected, but Jackson’s apartment was a
lot warmer than I thought it would be. Maybe I’d just envisioned a cold
bachelor pad, but this was far from it. There weren’t a lot of personal touches
around the place, which made me suspect that either the furniture had been here
when he moved in, or he’d had a designer come in and do it all for him. There
was a lot of dark wood, and the couch looked really comfortable. It wasn’t too
empty, but it wasn’t too full either. It actually felt kind of homey, in a
weird way.

“Come here,” Jackson said, leading me to the couch. He sat me
down, but then headed to the bar at the other end of the room instead of
sitting next to me. He pulled a bottle of whiskey down from one of the shelves
and turned to me with an empty glass. I nodded, and he brought them back to
where I sat.

He poured us both glasses of Jack, though his was twice as
full as mine. I watched as he downed almost the whole glass in one gulp before
finally sitting next to me. I sipped mine slowly, letting the burn of the
alcohol fill my nostrils. It was a welcome distraction, to be honest.

“Are you okay, really?” he asked, his eyes now firmly on me.
I stared down into my glass, watching the liquid swirl, and nodded slightly.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Mellie,” he said, reaching over and putting his hand
under my chin. He wasn’t rough, but he pulled my face toward him firmly.

I could feel the moisture pool in my eyes, and once again
blinked back tears before they could fall.

“I am,” I said quietly. “Someone knocked me in the ribs, but
I feel okay now. Just a little sore.”

He kept his eyes on me and took another sip from his glass.
Finally, he nodded.

“I’m sorry that happened. I wasn’t thinking; that was a
stupid thing to do.”

“It’s okay, Jackson, really. I wanted to see the beach and
you took me. It’s my fault, if anything.”

He slammed his glass down on the table. “It’s not your fault,
goddammit. It isn’t mine either, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like it. I’m the
one who brought you out there, knowing full well what could happen. I was an
idiot for thinking that it wouldn’t. These people can spot me from a mile away.
I just don’t know why they have to care so much.”

I could see the hurt and pain in his eyes, so I pulled myself
closer to where he sat on the couch and put my arms around him. He stiffened
for only half a second before wrapping me in his arms. I breathed him in, his
whisky and mint scent, and felt safe again.

That terrified me.

I pulled myself away. “I should go, Jackson,” I said quietly.
It wasn’t that I wanted to leave, but I knew that I had to. I couldn’t be
there, pretending I could get involved with someone like him.

“Please don’t go,” he whispered, and I could hear the
vulnerability in his voice. I just couldn’t understand why it was so important
that I stay.

“Jackson, I shouldn’t be here,” I said, though I could feel
my chest start to heave. I placed a hand over my heart, telling myself to
breathe, that it would be okay. That
I
would be okay, but I knew it wasn’t
true. “I don’t belong here.”

“Don’t,” he said, grabbing my hand from where I had placed it
on my chest. “Don’t say that. You do belong, here with me. It’s these people,
these vultures that just can’t let me live my life how I want. For the first
time, I regret my career. I resent it, knowing that it’s what will hurt you in
the end.”

I pulled my hand away and covered my face, putting my elbows
on my legs. “Jackson, I’m not right for you. I’m boring; I have no prospects or
true talents. I’ll just be a burden on you, so just let me go.” It killed me to
say it, but I knew that I had to. I was beautiful, sure, but that didn’t mean
much when the man you wanted to be with was one of the most desired men in the
world.

“Stop,” he said loudly, desperately. “Just stop it right now
and look at me, dammit.”

I couldn’t. I just kept my face covered with my hands and
tried to tell myself to breathe. I’d known this man for all of a month, and he
was already threatening the walls that I’d built around myself. Around my
heart.

I felt Jackson’s hand on mine, pulling it away from my face.
His other hand moved back to my chin, forcing me to look at him again. I
couldn’t do it; I couldn’t look into his face and his eyes and just walk away.
He saw through me, through the red lipstick and the pearls, through the
composed demeanor I’d built my life around. He saw me, and he knew it. He would
be my undoing.

As soon as I lifted my eyes to his, I saw the change. I saw
the resolve build, right then and there. Before I could tell him no, before I
could push him away, he had his lips on mine.

One hand pushed him away, while the other clung to him for
dear life. His tongue broke through my barrier, and I let it, kissing him like
it was the very air I needed to breathe. Before I even knew what I was doing, I
pulled my leg up and over Jackson so I was straddling him on the couch.

“Mellie,” he said hoarsely, pulling away from me much too
soon. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine. We both panted,
still clutching each other. It seemed like everything touched except for our
lips, and it felt like every part of my body was on fire.

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to say yes; he knew I
wanted to say yes. I also knew that if I did, it would eventually destroy me.
But I wanted him, desperately, and the thought of not giving in was almost as
painful. So, instead of saying anything at all, I just pulled him back to me.

It was all he needed. I felt myself lifted into his arms as
he began carrying me back toward the bed. I broke the kiss, but only to move my
lips from his mouth to his neck. I felt his arms shake as I began kissing and
sucking the tender skin behind his ear, but I wasn’t afraid that he would drop
me. He would never drop me.

The walk from the couch to the bed seemed to take a hundred
years, but we finally made it. He laid me down softly and got on top of me,
propping himself up on his elbows. But then he just stopped. He looked down and
smiled at me, though the look in his eyes was anything but chaste. His leg was
nestled between mine and it was driving me crazy. I could still feel him all
the way down to my core. I wanted him, so fucking bad it almost hurt.

He obviously wasn’t about to make the first move; he just
watched me, and when I thought he was about to start kissing me again, he just
nuzzled my neck with his nose.

“God, you smell amazing,” he said, nipping my ear with his
teeth.

I was a goner. I didn’t even know what I was doing anymore; I
just started to slowly unbutton his shirt. He pulled his nose from my neck and
watched my face as I undressed him. I could have looked away; I normally would
have. But I was feeling especially brave for some reason, and returned his gaze
full force. With every button I undid, I ran my fingers under his shirt,
causing him to shudder. I loved knowing that I had that power over him.

I pulled his shirt off slowly, and then pulled his undershirt
off over his head. I’d seen him shirtless in movies, sure, but there was
nothing that could compare to seeing him in the flesh. Just feeling his bare
skin under my fingers made my head spin, and I ran my hands over his solid
stomach and chest. He had to have been the most beautiful thing I’d ever
touched, and I savored the moment, not knowing if it would ever happen again.

I bit my lip and risked looking up at him, still propped
above me. His hooded eyes bored into me and I scooted up the bed so I could sit
up. Maybe it was the whiskey or the adrenaline that was pumping through my
veins, but I felt bold, sexy. He made me feel sexy.

I ran my hands up his back, feeling the strong, hard muscles
in his shoulders, before tangling my fingers in his hair. I pulled him toward
me and put my lips up against his ear.

“Undress me,” I whispered, so quietly that I wasn’t even sure
I said it at all.

It was all he needed. He pulled me up against him, pressing
my lips to his, and almost tore my sweater from my arms. My dress was
sleeveless, so he paused to nibble on my shoulder before unzipping the back of
my dress and slipping it over my head.