Weathering Jack Storm (Silver Strings G Series) (17 page)

Marissa pulled her cover-up on, then waiting at the glass door, she watched Jack gather up Tristan knowing she would never grow tired of the sight of paternal Jack.

JACK INSTRUCTED HER
on setting
both the pool alarm and the house alarm systems before they went to the second floor.

Once Tristan was tucked in, Jack grabbed her hand. As they passed her room, she stopped, and he protested, “Sleep with me for a while?”

“I just need to put my phone on the charger.”

He moved on, and after docking the device, she showered quickly rinsing the pool water from her hair. After drying, she put her limbs through a pair of her own silky pajamas. Wearing Jack’s things the last couple of nights made her feel thoroughly possessed in a good way, but she had yet to wear any of her new lingerie purchases until now.

The reflection she beheld in the mirror was one of sexy curves spilling slightly out of the garment and tousled wet hair hanging well over her shoulders.

In the darkened master suite, Jack was already in bed. His sleepy focus was on the screen of a television protruding from a lift cabinet at the foot of his bed. His eyes reflected the flickering action movie as they slid appreciatively over her attire.

Slipping between the sheets and snuggling close, she asked, “Does Dax have a girlfriend?”

“Who wants to know?” Jack teased tugging at her hair, but she felt his noodled posture tense slightly.

“Somebody was standing at the door while we were in the pool.”

“Probably Dax then. Maybe he forgot something then decided it could wait when he saw what was going down.”

“You said Dax was as good as gone.”

“He always is. Never gets in the way.”

This matter of fact statement obviously spoken from experience bothered her as much as thinking of Jack on that island with someone else.

“It won’t happen again.”

Twisting at the firm tone in his voice, she assured, “It wasn’t Dax. It was a woman. That’s why I asked if he has a girlfriend.”

Muting the action movie, he let the remote fall onto the bed. “I’m pretty sure he and Randi have been sneaking around. It was probably her. Don’t worry. He wouldn’t bring some stranger in.”

“Why are they sneaking around? Why don’t they just come out with it?”

“I don’t know, Mariss. Don’t care.” Rolling, he pulled her into an embrace and relaxed for sleep. “Oh,” his voice was already drifting just out of a doze state, “channel eleven is Tristan cam.”

The erratic sleep schedule, a schedule that she was beginning to suspect was normal in this house, had her exhausted. She was also keyed up. Curious, she extracted herself from his sleeping arms enough to retrieve the remote. When she double punched the ‘one’ button, she smiled to see their boy sleeping in the glow of the car carousal nightlight.

Flipping again, she stopped on what looked to be another broadcast of Jackal’s drop party, but this time they were also captioning her with Jack.

As clips of her and Jack were shown, she was astounded to see that she appeared as glamorous as any celebrity that had the fortune, or misfortune, of being a headline. Seeing a candid shot of the two of them locked in some type of flirty stare, she was double glad that Jack had coached her on that slight paste of a smile.

Leary of randomly touching the screen of a remote that looked like a small electronic tablet, she searched the display for the volume control and eased it up.

“...but are things really as they appear in Jackma’ville?”

The next clip was of the limo door opening, and although just prior to stepping out, Marissa had a smile on her face, she was clearly yelling, “Shut up!”

Slightly disturbed at the out of context scene, she sent a cautious look at Jack who was still sleeping and bumped the volume again.

"Are we seeing a slap mark on Jack Storm’s face?" The one called Theo made a spectacle of gesturing his hands over his mouth, and of bugging his eyes at an over exposed picture of Jack as they exited the car. As the picture zoomed to the screen fifty times larger than life, there was a clear outline of fingers on his tanned skin.

"If you ask me, Jack Storm should have been slapped by some woman a long time ago!" Hilary flipped her hair with that demure female joke.

“Don’t dare hate on my boy!” Theo flamboyantly huffed, and they both laughed. “So tell me Hilary, do you believe the other smack going around?” Here, he laughed at his own pun. “That this Marissa Duplei deliberately totaled Leanna Gavin’s car?”

“I don’t know, Theo. That seems a bit farfetched to me.”

‘Thank you, Hilary’, Marissa thought, but clamped her teeth on her lip as the slanderous broadcast continued.

“Come on. Imagine it,” Theo urged. “You are a nobody from nowhere Mississippi and find yourself the fiancée of Jack Storm. How can you not hate Leanna Gavin, lingerie model, for the past she and Jack have?”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t hate her, Theo. I’m saying I wouldn’t total the chick’s car in some kind of rage.”

‘Thank you Hilary. Damn you Theo.’

“At least I wouldn’t do anything so drastic just because she is his ex. However, if she is not, then that is a whole ‘nother ballgame Theo.”

“Well let’s see Hilary. Does that look like a relationship that is ended to you?”

A still shot went up behind the celebrity gossip hosts, and Marissa felt the physical pain in her heart of a mental stab in the back.

Jack and Randi at the drop party. It was clearly last night’s party because the new Jackal album promo poster was also in the scene. Jack was leaning down to the other woman’s level, intent on what she was saying with more than a slight ‘holding’ smile on his lips. His fingers even rested on Randi’s shoulder. How had they been caught in a picture when Marissa had never seen them together the entire night?

“So, viewers, what do you think? Text 0333 for Leanna and 0666 for Marissa. Who do you want to win this cat fight?”

Obviously, Jack had kept this embarrassing broadcast under wraps all day, and this is why earlier Dax had been the recipient of Jack’s glare and had hurriedly powered off the portico television.

Muting the volume, she restrained the urge to fling the remote like a Frisbee at his head and instead tossed it to the bed as she exited. In the other room, she lay awake.

The ‘Shut Up Scene’ kept everything other ugly scene in perceptive. The audience of these shows was built on exaggerations and speculations. Jack would not be cheating on her, and he had no reason to lie to her about Miranda being his ex.

What she was perturbed about was that after numerous warnings about never letting her guard down at the party, he had let himself be caught in a picture with Randi. Couldn’t he have respectfully stayed apart from the lingerina the entire night?

“
ARE YOU MAKING
chocolate chip pancakes?” Tristan leaned his forearms on the granite counter, and Marissa frowned when she saw his knees on the barstool.

“Tristan Jack, sit down,” she reproved and waved a spatula his direction for emphasis. “And, I’m not finding any chocolate chips so we will just have normal pancakes. Cool?”

“Daddy lets me sit like this.”

“Daddy does not!”

Just yesterday, Jack had backed her up when she reprimanded their son on the stools on the patio.

“He does.”

“Well he doesn’t anymore.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I will tell him not to.”

“Mom why? You are such a bitch sometimes!”

The skillet dropped from her hand smacking the glass top stove as she whipped around in horror. “Tristan Jack! I do not know where you heard that word. But, if I ever hear you say it again, I will spank you.”

In his young life, he had only had two spankings, which amounted to several swats, but they had been as heartbreaking to give as they were for him to get.

“I’m sorry Momma. I didn’t know it was a bad word.”

“Well it is. A bad, bad word.”

“Then why does Daddy say it?”

How she wanted to pry and ask exactly what Daddy had said, but she restrained the urge and instead said, “It doesn’t matter who says it or why. What matters is that you do not say it for any reason.”

“What are we not saying?” Jack sauntered into the room going straight for the fridge. A pair of drawstring shorts, possibly swim trunks, rode low on his hips.

As that was the only article of clothing covering that fine body, she was slightly addled when she tore her gaze away and spoke. “Huh? Oh. If we are not saying it, then I can’t tell you can I?” For the sake of not arguing in front of their son, she swung away with a smirk that she hoped rivaled any of his, then picked up the skillet and turned back. “You think we can go to a grocery store today?”

Sliding a cup of orange juice to Tristan, he set the carton down instead of pouring his own into a waiting glass. Taking the three steps that separated them, he wound his arms around her squeezing her tightly to him. “What are you hungry for, Mariss?”

The memories of last night hit in a happy haze, but other than an acknowledging grin, she ignored the connotations of his words as well as the added implication pressing into her backside. “Eggs. And we need peanut butter. And healthy snacks. And–”

“Okay, but unless you need to go to the store yourself...” Seizing her phone from the counter, he asked, “Do you care if I...?” She shook her head. In a playful argument about privacy a few days ago, she had removed the code. His thumb moved around on the screen. Passing it to her, he explained, “Just order from the app and it will be here tomorrow. Or send Dax after anything you need now.”

“Today we are still having pancakes, right?” Tristan confirmed.

“Pancakes? Is that all you eat T.J.? Pizza and pancakes?” Jack went after him next with the bear hug arms.

Tristan nodded. One of his rare bashful smiles surfaced upon knowing that he was being teased like a kid. Then, he asked, “Do you have chocolate chips, Daddy?”

“Chocolate chip cookies? I think...”

“For the pancakes,” Marissa clarified, and Jack zoned into space for a few seconds.

“My mom used to make those for me...” Snapping back to the present, he moved his head in a regretful shake. “I don’t, but we will put it on the list.”

Tristan began to flip the kitchen television to one of his stations. Jack lounged on the counter beside her and distracted the batter mixing. Offering up his juice, he raised his brows when she drank it all down. Realizing what she had done, she offered a humorous apology.

Twisting long enough to pour another glass to the brim, he turned back and offered it as well, but began to sip it, himself, when she refused.

“So what is the bad word?” Covertly he whispered between sips.

“He called me a bitch–”

Marissa wiped at the spewed juice that wet her arm, as Jack consequently began to choke. Tearing off a paper towel, she continued the cleanup and waited until he caught his breath before continuing the story.

“And he said he learned the word from you.”

“No. No effing way.”

“You said it Daddy.”

They both gave a start when Tristan interjected into what had begun as a hushed, cloistered conversation.

“I shouldn’t have then.” Jack addressed their small son and apologized, “It is a bad word, and I’m sorry-”

“Momma? You’re on t.v.!” Tristan’s attention was already strayed. Apparently, his eavesdropping had begun before his channel surfing stopped on one of his favorite stations.

The picture filling the screen was of her and Jack, hand in hand, descending the front steps of this house to the waiting limo.

Jack practically leaped across the bar for the remote and had the channel switched in seconds.

Her limp fingers let the whisk drop into the batter as she searched his face, not for an account of his actions just now, but seeking understanding of something much more disturbing.

“How in the holy hell? Jack who took that picture?”

“Bad word Momma,” Her four-year old conscious piped in, but she barely heard and didn’t even acknowledge.

Confusion clouded Jack’s features before they cleared, and he shrugged undisturbed. “Oh anytime something is going on, Jerry is always out in that damn tree.”

Tristan’s eyes bugged out in perfect animation of her internal emotions, and yet their departure on the drop party night suddenly made sense.

Jack had captured her hand as if all were blissful between them, despite the fact that she had just hit him, and despite being blindsided by their son with news of her booty calls. He had known they would be photographed.

Dishing up the first two hot pancakes, she eyed Jack as he averted his gaze and fished flatware from a drawer. Setting the plate and syrup in front of Tristan, she decided to probe into the troubles that had her tossing and turning all night.

“Why did you change the channel? I wanted to see.”

“No you didn’t.”