In Too Deep (5 page)

Chapter Nine

Two years ago.

I had frozen on the sidewalk and watched Dane walk away as I processed his last few words.

The fight about Jackson’s smoking habit.  The trip to Italy with Sloane.  That was five months ago, when Jackson told me the affair first started.  I’d thought the infidelity lasted only three nights in the downtown W.  Three nights over the course of four months.  It had taken every painstaking fiber of my being to forgive him for that short but shattering period of time.  Jackson had been weak and I had been forced be strong.  Strong enough to take him back and get past those terrible four months.

But now I knew the truth.

He had first slept with Gabrielle long before that.  Almost two years ago.  Had she even fucking been eighteen yet? For the second time, I was horrified, blindsided and betrayed by the man I loved.

In the dark of our bedroom, a near-empty bottle of Bordeaux on my nightstand, I stared at nothing.  I had tried to convince myself that Dane was lying but then I thought about Sawyer.  I remembered how he’d acted strangely in Ibiza, right before Jackson’s proposal.  “
I know a lot of things
,” he had said, drunk and morose.  “
Things that you’d want to know
.”

He was referring to Gabrielle – to that night with Dane two years ago.

My heart twisted as I thought about Sawyer forcing Dane to keep his mouth shut.  It was for my sake.  I was friendly with everyone in Jackson’s boys club but Sawyer was an actual friend to me.  With both Jackson and Sloane prone to overdrinking at parties, he was my savior – my replacement date-slash-best-friend with whom to laugh and dance when everyone else was too drunk to get out of their seats anymore.

“Lara?”

The light flicked on and my dark gaze moved toward the door, where Jackson stood.

“Babe?” he frowned.  “What are you doing?”

“You slept with Gabrielle two years ago.”

Jackson froze.  “What are you talking about?”

“I ran into Dane McNulty on Park Ave today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  And he told me that he saw you at the W with Gabrielle Winter –
two fucking years ago,
Jackson,” I snarled, my voice reedy as I pulled the words out of my tight throat.  I swallowed hard, furious with the remorse creasing Jackson’s brow.  It was the same one as last time and I wanted something new.  I wanted him to look broken, devastated, like me.  “What the
fuck
, Jackson?” I ripped my body out of bed.  “What do you have to say for yourself? You said it started with Gabrielle when I was in Italy with Sloane but that was this fucking
February
, Jackson, and now I’m hearing that you first fucked her two
years
ago?” I shoved him away when he came to me, so hard that he stumbled backward.  “What the fuck was she, Jackson? Seventeen?”

“Eighteen.”

“
Fuck you!
” I screamed.  I was wild, unhinged.  “Don’t you fucking dare act like this is hurting you, this is hurting
me
.  This is humiliating
me. 
I believed you.  I believed everything you said.  That you’d never hurt me again, that you loved me – ”

“I do love you, Lara, please just fucking listen to me for a second,” Jackson pleaded firmly.  Tears blurred my vision as he held me tight.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t want it to count like that, Lara.  That night two years ago – that was the year the fund had that fucking disastrous January, we were down three percent, I was stressed the fuck out and I didn’t want you to see me looking like a wreck at home so I booked a hotel room to just cool off for a few hours.  All I wanted was to smoke without you getting mad at me.  And before I could even get to my room, I ran into Gabrielle and her friends in the bar downstairs.  They were all drunk, they started flirting with me and I – fuck, I don’t know, I thought they were all twenty-one since they were drinking!”

“Please!” I fought out of Jackson’s grip to wipe the hot tears streaming down my cheeks.  “Like that makes it any better that you
fucked
her that night!”

“I didn’t
fuck
her that night, Lara! I… I got drunk, okay? I was stressed out, I had just spent millions of dollars renovating the apartment for us and suddenly business fucking nosedived.  So I got drunk and I let her flirt with me and I… let her come up to my room.  We drank together, we talked together, and we…”

“If you didn’t fuck, what did you do?” I demanded.  Jackson’s jaw flexed.  My lip curled at his stone expression – like he was preparing for my wrath.  My heart slammed against my ribcage.  “What did you do, Jackson?”

“I let her suck my cock.”

“You son of a
bitch!
” I thrashed against him, pained cries escaping my throat as he gripped my forearms, trying to hold me still.

“I’m sorry, Lara, it meant nothing, I swear to fucking Christ! I barely remember that night,” Jackson rasped as I fought him.  “I’m sorry.  I wish we could pretend this never fucking happened.”

“How?” I screamed, tearing myself away from him.  “How do I know you aren’t lying again? How do I know it meant nothing if you did it again later? How am I going to
marry
you when you have no idea what you’ve done to me? I can’t even begin to describe the hurt right now, the – ” The knot in my throat stole my last words.  Tears drowned my eyes as I stood there, speechless, too wounded to fight.  Though when Jackson tried to come near me, I pushed him back.  When he tried again – I shoved him harder.

“What can I do, Lara?” he asked, desperate.  “What can I do? If you tell me what to do to make it right, I’ll do it.  Okay? I’ll do it because I need you, Lara, you’re my wife.”

“I’m not your fucking wife,” I spat.  Jackson stepped back and put his hand on his stomach, as if my words had speared him there.  He was quiet for a second, his blue eyes clouded with anguish.

“Do you want to leave me?” he finally asked.

Yes,
I wanted to answer.  But instead, I glared with contempt for two seconds before crumbling to the floor, sobbing.  I wanted to leave and I didn’t.  I loved him and I didn’t.  I had no idea what to do.  But as I imagined my life without Jackson, I felt my heart become a cold, heavy rock in my chest.  It felt like it had stopped beating.

“I don’t want to leave you.  But I don’t know how I’ll forgive you,” I muttered.  Out of tears, my dead stare bore into the ground.  “We’ll love each other again like we always do but there’s always going to be a dark hole that’ll never be filled because I’ll never understand why you did what you did.”  I looked up at him, wanting to hurt him with my next words.  “I know you love me, Jackson.  But you don’t love me as much as I thought you did.”

A dark satisfaction spread through my chest as I watched him wipe his eyes before any tears could fall.  He shook his head, his mouth parted as he tried to speak but came up empty.  We stared at each other in silence for a full minute before he found his words.  “I would die for you, Lara,” he finally said.

Please,
I wanted to say, but instead, tears sprung to my eyes, my body remembering the night of the intruder before my brain would.  It was no lie.  Jackson would die for me.  He almost did.  Lip trembling, my eyes dropped to his ribs, where he had been stabbed.  Feeling myself soften, I repeated the words that would remind me why I was angry.  “You’ll never know how I feel.”

“I can,” Jackson immediately offered.

My face contorted.  “How?” I demanded.

Jackson drew a deep breath.  He ran a hand down his face and sat at the edge of the bed.  “It was just sex,” he said into his hands.  “If you had sex with someone besides me, you’d get it too.  You’d fuck him but in the end, you’d still love me.”

I stared, unblinking.  I couldn’t possibly be hearing what I thought I was.  “What are you saying right now, Jackson? Are you telling me to have sex with somebody to get back at you?”

With a look of resignation on his face, Jackson looked up at me and said, “Yes.”

Chapter Ten

There were rules involved with our deal.

The next morning, when our eyes were dry and the offer was still on the table, I accepted.  I showered and got dressed for my day while Jackson sat up in bed.  I imagined that he stayed there for the next few hours, pained as he drew up the terms of our agreement.

After several bridal appointments with Sloane, we went for dinner in SoHo.  We were on dessert when Jackson called.  I excused myself to the bathroom to answer.

“It can’t be any of the guys,” he said before I could even say
hello
.  “My friends.  Their friends.  Their employees.  Anyone who runs in the circle or has anything to do with it.  Find someone who has nothing to do with my friends, fuck him and tell me when it’s over.”

I was quiet for a second, letting it all sink in.  “What, just once?” I asked, my voice hard.  It was Jackson’s turn for silence.  I could practically hear him gritting his teeth.

“Do you really need it more than once?” he finally asked.

“You did.”

He exhaled with frustration.  “Lara.”

“You fucked her three times.  As far as I know.  Maybe it was more.”

“It was three times, Lara, and fine.  Fuck whoever it is three times.  But I don’t want this hanging over my head, so get it over with fast, give a fake name and don’t bring him into our home.  I have a lot of shit going on right now.  The whole Monarch disaster is driving me insane.”

I rolled my eyes.  The upcoming Monarch hotel was bleeding Jackson’s money every day its grand opening was delayed.  The restaurant and lounge inside wasn’t up to par and the hotel refused to open its doors till it was remodeled.  But I knew from Sawyer that some new partner had signed onto the project, and that their investments would all be put to good use soon.  So in comparison to Jackson and my relationship, the situation barely qualified as disastrous.  Not to me at least.  “Don’t worry, Jackson,” I said bitterly.  “I’ll be sure to fuck someone tonight.

He started about four different angry sentences, finishing none before giving an animal-like snarl and hanging up.

And for the next five minutes, I stayed in the bathroom.  Holding my phone, staring at my reflection in the mirror, I wondered how the hell I’d gotten here, and if Jackson and I were by far the two most fucked up people in our circle of friends.

~

After parting ways with Sloane, I sat in the back of Jackson’s car, Beck waiting around in the driver’s seat as I bounced my knee and tried to think of where the hell to go to pick up a stranger.  It was the oddest situation I’d ever been in and I wished desperately that I had someone to consult with.  But I didn’t so sitting anxiously, I simply tried to think of neighborhoods that Jackson and his friends would die before stepping foot in.  Times Square? No, even I couldn’t bear to go there.  The East Village? Too many college kids.

It took me another ten minutes to finally decide on Brooklyn.

It was perfect.  Brooklyn was full of trendy but low-key bars and beautiful, young people, none of whom would know Jackson.  He and his friends regarded the borough as the place where others went after popping out three kids and deciding to become “grass-fed, organic people,” as Sawyer put it.

Within twenty minutes, I was on Water Street in DUMBO.  I was risking it – if Jackson’s friends
were
to hang out anywhere in Brooklyn, it would be posh and polished DUMBO – but I wanted to have drinks at a nice bar, so I stuck with my choice.  If I was going to sleep with a complete stranger, he should at least be a put-together man of taste.

My buzz dying, I rushed into the first restaurant I saw.

It was a sexy, dimly lit place with brick walls and a beautiful, reclaimed wood bar.  Soft, amber light glowed throughout the long, narrow room, somehow managing to soothe my nerves.  Not completely, but there was booze for that.  Taking a seat, I ordered a Manhattan, knocking it back so quickly I had to shudder.

“Whoa, hey, I take pride in my drinks,” the bartender laughed, setting a coupe glass in front of me.  “This one’s on me, but you have to savor it.  Really enjoy it.”

Tipsy, I nodded, all the while considering him as a prospect.  He was handsome, well groomed, probably an aspiring actor like most New York bartenders. 
Eh.
  For no reason I could identify, I passed. 
Too pretty
, I finally told myself.  Sipping my drink, I looked around.  The handsome-ish guy next to me stared in a way that reminded me of hormonal high school boys, and that turned me right off. 
Come on, give me something good
, I prayed to the non-existent God of one-night stands.

Hm. 
The chef who emerged from the kitchen was indeed attractive – fit, blue-eyed like Jackson, but with a shaved head and tattoos peeking out of his rolled up sleeves.  He would certainly be a departure from my usual tastes.  But again, for no real reason, I quickly dismissed him.
  Of course you’re going to make this as hard as possible,
I groaned at myself, a second from giving up on the mission.

But then, my heart jumping into my throat, I spotted him.