High Risk Love (20 page)

“Zing. Boozing, womanizing, harassing, carousing,” Her eyes flicked between us. “None of it.”

I gave her a smile, felt the falseness of it on my lips. Back to pretending now. But what did it matter? “You know the last two were ‘sing’ not ‘zing.’”

“Close enough for the ship I run,” she said, and then snapped her fingers, taking me by surprise. She turned her back on us and walked away, barking orders in a tone that reminded me all too much of Reggie on the warpath.

“Shit,” Jasper muttered. “I didn’t think she’d be such a hard ass.”

Me, I didn’t care. We went to work, did our stunts; the world moved on as if Mexico and Jasmin had never happened. For me, it was torture, dreaming about Jasmin, catching a whiff of perfume I thought was hers and searching for green eyes around every corner. Everyone around me was fine; I was the one unable to function.

Our week in Vancouver came and went with no excitement, no ‘zing’ as Sienna put it. Jasper and I talked about nothing important despite his announcement that we needed to hash things out. On the surface we skated, talked about weather, locations we’d been on, jobs that were coming up. He was planning on going back to Europe, I had several shoots in Hollywood, but those didn’t start for a week.

I had time to kill.

And Seattle was just a short jaunt away. Jasmin was so close; did I dare go see her?

“Don’t do it,” Jasper said, startling me out of my thoughts.

“What are you talking about?”

He was packing gear and clothes for his flight; he was leaving that night on the red eye. “I can see it in your face. You’re actually thinking about going after her, aren’t you?”

I scrubbed my face with my hands. “I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t sleep, food tastes like shit.”

“Do what you normally do when bad things happen,” he said, throwing his shaving kit on the top of his bag, light green eyes flashing. “Get laid, get drunk, and get over her.”

“It isn’t that easy.”

Jasper gave a grunt, his head down as he stuffed his bag. “Hell, it isn’t like you love her.”

I stayed silent, almost afraid to move. His head snapped up, eyes wide and shocked.

“Is it?”

“I think. Maybe. Yeah. Fucked if I know. I ain’t never been in love before,” I said, feeling my gut roll at the thought of never seeing her again.

He let out a grunt and then started to laugh. “Seriously, you’ve got to be kidding me. Fine, do whatever you need to do, but don’t come crying to me when she breaks your heart.”

I snorted and threw a pillow at him. “Since when have I ever come crying to you, smart ass?”

After that, he let the topic drop, though his eyes watched me all too closely. An hour later, the front desk rang our room to let us know his cab was waiting. He stood, then reached across and grabbed my arm.

“If you really think you’ve got a shot with her, much as I think you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, go for it.”

I stared at him, wondered what had happened to the Jasper of a an hour ago.

“Why the sudden change? Before, you told me I wasn’t good enough, shouldn’t even bother.” I restrained myself from smacking him.

He shrugged. “I figured she was just another piece of ass you were planning to toss out once you were done with her. You and me aren’t good enough for women like her, but if she’s willing to give you a second chance . . . well, who am I to say it won’t work?”

“I accused her of something she didn’t do. I told her . . . .” I closed my eyes, seeing her face and the hurt in her eyes as I screamed at her, seeing the fear in them as I pummeled Reggie. “I told her I couldn’t trust her.”

Jasper’s cab was waiting, but he stood there, looking at me for a full minute. “You told her about me. That’s why you flipped out on her.”

Ah, fuck.

“Yeah. I did. I told her because I didn’t know how to make it right, because I knew you were right to blame me. You’re my little brother! Goddamn it, if I can’t protect
you
, how the hell am I supposed to look after anyone else? I told her and she didn’t judge me, or you, or even our piece of shit father.”

Now it was out. I waited for him to explode, to lose his shit, and tackle me to the ground, pummel me into a bloody pulp. I’d let him; I deserved it.

“And then you yelled at her because you thought she tipped me off that she knew.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t even flinch.

I couldn’t even look him in the eye. “That’s the gist of it.”

“Man, I can’t . . . .” He put his hands on his hips, his face one of mixed emotions that moved across him too fast for me to identify. “I came here in part to tell you I was wrong. That’s why the fucking therapy. What happened was just the fucking shithole of our life. You’ve got the scars on your body to prove it; you did keep me safe, the best you could. My scars just aren’t so visible. Let the past fucking go.” He paused and let out a big breath. “I am.”

“You fucking well aren’t,” I snapped before I thought better of it.

“At least I’m trying.” The exasperation was heavy in his voice. “More than you can say, douche bag.” His lips quirked at usage of our favorite childhood name for each other.

I slid my hands through my hair. “That’s it then. Just let it go?”

He shrugged and sucked at one of his canine teeth. “Yeah, let it go. Don’t let it burn you up.”

I grunted. “Don’t wallow in someone else’s shit bucket. That’s what you’re telling me?”

Laughing, he bent and picked up his bag. “That’s about it. Good advice, whoever gave it to you.”

At the door, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “She’s the one who gave you that advice, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Jasper smiled, really smiled for the first time in years. Behind it I saw the boy I’d tried so hard to protect, the boy with our mother’s eyes. “Then I think you’d better get your ass to Seattle and win her back. Because if she’s willing to put up with your shit and mine, maybe she’s worth fighting for.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, tossed it to me, and then stepped out the doorway.

The door closed behind him with a click, and I sat on the edge of the bed holding the paper, the napkin with Jasmin’s information on it. He’d kept it for the last week without telling me. Maybe he knew me better than I knew myself.

Could I do this? Blood pounded in my ears, worse than any stunt I’d ever pulled, any prank I’d ever been caught doing. Fear raced along my spine making me lightheaded.

Fear nothing.

Before I could change my mind, I dialed the number, holding my breath. Would she be happy I called? That wasn’t likely. Would she yell at me? I’d deserve it, all of it, and I’d take it if it meant I could be near her. Could I handle being her friend, watch other men touch her if that was all she was willing to give me? The plastic case creaked under the strain of my hand.

Finally the call went through, the phone rang three times, and then clicked over to a recorded message. Her voice both eased my anxiety and tightened the need I had to see her, to touch her again. To beg her if I had to. Fuck, I’d lost my mind.

“Hi, you’ve reached Jasmin, please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If you’re calling about the '69 Falcon, it’s already been sold. Thanks.” Her voice trailed off and the machine beeped for me to leave a message. I hung up the phone.

The only reason she’d have sold her brother’s car is if she lost her job. And the only reason she would have lost her job was because of me. But she’d done nothing wrong. My phone rang, startling me, and I answered it thinking it was her.

“Jasmin?”

“No, this is Sienna. You did good today. Let me know if you ever need a job. I was surprised by how down to earth you were on set. Much calmer than I was led to expect.”

I shifted the phone on my ear and started to pack my bag. “Yeah, thanks, I appreciate that. I’ve gotta go.” I started to lower the phone when she squawked.

“What?” I asked. “I’m trying to pack here.”

“Listen, I need someone on my next movie. It starts tomorrow in Texas. It won’t take long, a few days at most. I thought you might like the job.” Her voice was hopeful.

“Call Hugh LaMer. He’s got a break between movies right now.” I hung up the phone, not caring if I was rude. All I cared about was getting to Seattle as fast as I could.

Jasmin

A
pparently word got around to anyone who was looking for a photographer that I was a slut, that in order to get the job, the pictures and the shoots I wanted, I’d do anything and anyone. Whatever reputation I’d had as an up-and-coming photographer was totally and completely ruined.

Barely a week had gone by since I got back from Mexico and the only consolation I had was that Paul hadn’t been hired for my old job.

Apparently Kevin felt Paul was too sneaky and underhanded. I’d outright cheered when Lily told me.

Now I sat in the house Ryan and I had bought together, staring at the woodstove where I’d burned all the pictures of me and Jet. A week and I couldn’t forget my time with Jet. Or the way he’d looked crawling out of Tina’s bed, or the way he’d yelled at me. I vacillated between hating him and hating that I’d never see him again.

I wasn’t sure which one was worse. Both left me empty, like a hollowed out gourd with nothing but a thin shell holding all my emotions back.

The '69 Falcon had sold in three days. The money would keep things floating for a month, long enough for me to find another job. But it seemed pointless, just another stupid dream, a piece of metal that Ryan and my dad had loved.

Footsteps echoed through the house and I turned to see Lily standing in the opposite doorway, watching me.

“I’m worried about you, Jasmin.” She stepped into the room, walked right up to me and took my hands in hers. She was warmth against my cold. “Why haven’t you turned the heat on? Or at least lit up the stove? You have lots of wood.”

I pulled my fingers out of her hands. “Haven’t been home much.” I didn’t want to tell her the woodstove needed repairs that I couldn’t afford.

“We should go out, maybe walk down by the docks or something.” Her eyes pleaded with me. I could see that she thought I was in a funk. But it was far worse than that.

“Do you think Ryan was right, do you think we should even bother chasing our dreams? Because I’m thinking maybe he had it wrong. That dreams are just there to chase and fall down on and break yourself into tiny little pieces.” My voice softened with each word until I was whispering.

Lily sniffed, a tear tracking down one cheek. “I . . . I don’t know.”

We stood there, caught between grief and shattered dreams, neither of us able to move forward.

“Lily, I need to be alone for a while. Can you give me a few hours?” I gave her a smile that I knew wouldn’t reach my eyes, but for now we could pretend.

“Sure, absolutely.” Her eyes were tight with worry as she backed away.

The house went silent again with the click of the door shutting. So quiet and empty. Hollow, like me.

“Ryan, you were wrong. There are no dreams worth chasing.” My words echoed in the big room. I hated the way I sounded, the way my voice bounced around the walls.

Something in me broke, and I let out a scream that echoed through the house. I reached out, grabbed the closest thing to me and threw it. The lamp hit the wall, ceramic base and light bulb exploding in a shower of frosted glass and dusty pink shards. There was nothing of value, nothing that would change the hurt spooling through my soul.

The next lamp shattered just as easy as the first, then the figurines my mother had left me. Pointless, useless things that would never bring back the people I loved. My mom’s Norman Rockwell plates hanging on the wall were next, the pictures breaking up into unrecognizable pieces that joined the remains of the lamps.

Distantly, I knew I was out of control, but I didn’t care. So much was gone, lost, what did a few trinkets and memories matter anymore?

I spun, my eyes searching the room for something else to break, to prove that none of it mattered. To prove that gone was gone, there was nothing bringing anyone back into my life.

In the corner of the room sat the white sheet covered piano, drawing me to it. I strode over, and yanked the sheet off. My anger turned to sadness. How long since I’d played? Not since Ryan’s diagnosis.

My fingers whispered along the ivory keys, feeling the familiar dips and rub marks in the old piano. Our mother had taught me to play, and Dad had taught Ryan the guitar. We sang together, played together, made music together. But now the music was gone and I was alone, and I had nothing but the emptiness.

For those few days in Mexico, I’d thought maybe, with Jet, I’d found a spark of life again. I closed my eyes against the tears trickling down my cheeks, as if that would make them less real.

My fingers moved on the piano, plucking notes from memory, the sound filling the house as I played. Eyes still closed, I sat, leaned into the piano, drew the music around me, heard Ryan in my head playing the guitar, my parent’s voices joining in. This was why I didn’t play. I stopped with a gasp, eyes popping open wide.

This had been my dream all along, to play piano, to sing with Ryan.

There is only one person who can teach you to live again, Jazzy.
Ryan’s voice whispered through me, as if he stood at my back, ready to sing with me.

Warmth spread through my limbs, the heat of understanding lighting me on fire.

It wasn’t Lily, or any of my friends that would teach me to live again. It wasn’t Ryan’s voice, egging me on. It wasn’t even Jet, though he’d shown me the path I needed and encouraged me.

I had to decide. Was I going to live, really live, or just let myself rot inside, wither up and die?

One or the other. There was no grey area, no fine line to dance along as I’d tried to do while in Mexico. Either I lived, or died in my heart and soul. What was it going to be?

The silence of the house mocked me, as if it knew I would run away again, scared of the unknown, of the future and the risks it would hold if I tried to step out without anyone beside me.