Jack Who? (Silver Strings G Series) (14 page)

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 are 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, and 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 then softly, Jack asked, “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.”

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 quote 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 in 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 deserts 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 these bites she became carried away with, but obviously 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 so that his passenger could easily view the flavors, which put him face to face with her. 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, 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. She knew that Jack, who she was learning came from a well to do family even before making it big in music, 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 jibed. 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 and if that would affect their future. As quickly as the thought came, it angered her that she was especially self-conscious when it came to him.

“Mariss, if anything, you are 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 is 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 a 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.” Then, sporting the brow and smirk combo, he stepped outside.

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 t.v. 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 in surprise midway to his mouth 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. 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.”

PRACTICALLY VAULTING THE
arm of the couch in one of those stage moves that she recognized from watching videos of Jackal, Jack crossed the room to the kitchen bar and returned directly back with the envelope in question. Holding the note visible to both of them, he silently read her handwriting:

‘
I’ve missed five years of his life. And they were hard years for him–’

‘
You are a good mother.’

“Pretty sure right here I said ‘the best.’” Pointing at that particular part, he tipped a smile.

‘I know my life is not the life for him. I would stop touring. Am probably about to do that anyway. Changes in my band. Many meetings.’

‘
Don’t want six states between me and Tristan. Don’t know what to do.’

‘
So much time wasted. I want it all.’

At last, he spoke again. “The important part is the last part.”

Her nerves were so coiled that a loud buzz had begun in her ears like when pregnancy had caused spells of high blood pressure.

“I was trying to tell you that I’ve become greedy with this whole father thing.”

For a few silent seconds, his gaze rested on the paper and then it fell on her face. The eyes she looked into were as dark and sweet as the chocolate she always mentally likened them to, and when he spoke, they glistened,

“I was trying to say that I want our son. And his mother too.”

Her mind went into motion processing faster than the processor of the laptop on the desk, which caught her panicked gaze. At last, she was brave enough to return her look to Jack’s eyes.

“When I met you, when we–”

When Jack paused here unable to find what he thought were the right words for their fevered liaison in a tour bus bunk, she felt the familiar warmth that even after all of these years flooded her senses when she let herself go there.

“Mariss, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But, my band was taking off like crazy. Then, every time I would be so insane that I was going to come see you or do something about what I was feeling, something would happen that kept me busy, kept me too tired to think. And you would go to the back of my mind where it was easier to deal with.”

The paper fell to the table as he stood and paced a few steps.

“Then after a few months, I was nuts with wanting to see you. I had thought a lot of the what ifs, if only you were close enough to date, but you weren’t and beyond that...” In an unconscious action, he picked up a photo of Tristan and smiled before returning it to the shelf. “Then I ended up asking you to come out.” Loosely he referred to LA. “I didn’t even know I was going to ask you. It just came out.”

Her mind went back to that night, with remembrance of how surprised she had been and insight that although he had been just as surprised by the invitation, he had also felt the connection enough to think of her often.

Jack’s eyes held unwaveringly on her face. “I thought you felt the same way, and a part of me didn’t care if you did. Because if you didn’t, I thought I could talk you into seeing me just because of who I was. Then I could trip you, make you fall for me.”

Hearing this sentence made her wonder if he even realized he spoke in verses of his songs sometimes.

“But you dissed me hard.” A wry grimace played on his lips. “I never got over you. That you wouldn’t come.”

“You know now why I didn’t though...”

Nodding, he tried to explain, and his words came in short sentences. “I built this big thing in my head of us together after I saw you at the hospital and for the last couple of weeks now. I think I love you. I know I love you. And the other day, I was on my knees about to pop the question.”

Already following his random pacing and trying to follow his random words, she watched transfixed by the emotion feeding the fervor in his words.

“What?” The word was a surprised whisper when he fell silent, and she blinked needing the assurance that she had not fallen into one of her fantasies.

Crossing over, he returned, sinking to the sofa.

“I was. Remember I knelt beside you? And, I don’t know how it got so screwed up. What did happen in the screw up is I came to my senses. I know that was an impulse thing.”

Before she could fully feel hurt from that last statement, he explained, “I do want to marry you. But I know we need to work out a relationship between us before. We need to stop doing things backwards.”

“I’ve done the same thing.” The confession spilled out, and now she was the one staring at the floor as she thought over her words. “For so many years. Felt fated to you somehow. Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep at night, I would imagine us as a family. I felt like I knew you before you even came to the hospital that day.”

Having confessed her fantasies, she went on to divulge her humiliation. “And then, that day on the phone that you disconnected our call, I didn’t know that guy. You were not who I thought you were. After that, I guess in the back of my head I was always afraid that guy would show himself again.”

Her gaze searchingly sought his, and before she could speak again, he did.

“I don’t know why I say the shit I do sometimes. I don’t know that guy either. Unfortunately, I have to live with his screw ups.” Playing in her hair, he softly said, “I don’t want you to be one of those things I screwed up.”

“I’m not. I’m one of those things I screwed up.”

“You’re not. You’re not, Mariss.”

Her heart pounded as always when his head closed the space to hers. The kiss was tender and sweet, and before it could fuse into fire, he pulled slightly back but maintained contact with his fingertips massaging the back of her neck.

“I had this plan kind of. But tell me what you think, okay?”

Warily, her shields went up against this plan since he had used almost the same words in the exercise room concerning Tristan’s custody.

“I need to be in LA for another six months at least. At max, a year. But I don’t want to be away from you guys anymore. The week I left the hospital seemed like a year. Can you and Tristan move to LA? And then after that, we can move back somewhere closer to here if you want.”

A surge of emotions and questions shocked through her. “Are you still asking me to marry you?” The query was bold, but she was tired of the confusion.

He had trust issues. She had avoidance issues. Issues she wanted to be done with.

“I’m asking if you want to get married one day. Because I know I want to marry you soon. But we need to build a relationship. And, your proposal should be spectacular. So this is not it.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed at the absurdity. But the solemn, loving look in those dark eyes, as well as the devout expression made his non-proposal work.

“Are you laughing because you’re happy? O
r because I’m a stupid jackas–”

“Jack! Don’t ruin this by cursing. I will always look back on this as my real proposal.”

“Not after you experience the real proposal.” The promise was accompanied by that lift of his dark brows and the smirky expression she knew so well and loved– the look she always wanted to kiss off his face...

And she did.

“So?”

Her back was on the sofa, and he came up from that epic kiss long enough to toss that one syllable word and punctuate it with another touch of his lips to hers.

“So what?”

It wasn’t coy. She had no idea what he was going on about. While waiting for her answer, he propped on his forearms and unwittingly pulled one of Tristan’s shirts from inside the sofa. Throwing it aside, he placed his lips just beneath her ear.

“Are you guys coming back with me to LA Friday?”

“Friday?”

Pushing up enough to stare into her face again, he searched her eyes and she pushed his hair from her eyes.

“I have this thing I have to go to. Album drop party. But if you can’t go, I can take the ‘lingerina’– “

The wrestling match ended with him finding the second of Tristan’s shirts in the couch and playfully using it as a chokehold.

“Okay. Yes. I’m there.” Making a production of coughing out the answer, she grabbed the shirt when he released it from her neck and slapped at him with it. “Thought these things took background checks. Can you get a background check in a day?”

“I could if I really wanted. But, I don’t have to. It’s already done.”

“You snooped me?”

This felt like more of a violation than internet stalking on a gossip site. A background check involved credit and finances. Still, she should have expected it would happen after calling up out of nowhere claiming to be the mother of his son. She learned different with his next words.

“I had my lawyer put it in motion the other day and put a rush on it. So that you could start going to stuff with me.”

Right there and then, her heart exploded with love, and she pulled him down expressing it in one passionate kiss. Even while they had been fighting, not speaking, he had seen the problem as temporary. He had still seen a future with her.

She could never get enough of just kissing him; could never imagine a day even years down the road, that she would not want her lips to his, the tease of their tongues.

But she didn’t mind when his attention strayed lower.

Her fingers clenched in his hair as he divided that attention equally, unequally, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was each swirl of his tongue or tug of his teeth felt more fiery than the previous.

Her shirt bunched beneath her arms, her bra hung unclipped, and her jeans vee’d open, but she stopped the hook of his hands at the waistband.

“We’re parents not hook ups...”

It didn’t make sense. She was trying to say that Tristan was stealthier than usual these days now that he did not lean on his crutches as much. However, she was incapable of a sensible sentence with him doing that...proving with a finger that clothes were no barrier...

Lifting his head enough that she could see the smirk she loved, he reworded, “We are parent’s hooking up.” With that, she was pulled to her feet, and when her strides were not fast enough, scooped into his arms and carried to the bedroom.

Bridal style.