Jack Who? (Silver Strings G Series) (8 page)

JACK STAYED ALL
day. When Tristan woke, he waited while she saw him, and she didn’t try to read anything into the decision. It seemed sound. Tristan would only be confused if some strange man were with her.

Her steps were much lighter after seeing her son alert, even though his eyes were bleary instead of alight with his latest mischief. Bravely, he even smiled upon seeing her, and talked some between Jell-O bites. The oxygen had been removed; the tubes hung discarded over his bed, and she watched in relief as his small chest expanded and contracted beneath the hospital gown. Beneath the covers was a miracle of modern science. She had peaked at the bandages in her last bedside visit while Tristan was sleeping, and although there was no visible change in his tiny legs, she knew there was a big difference. The pain medication caused him to quickly fall asleep after eating, and eventually, a nurse ran her out of the room.

Jack seemed to hang on every detail, even asking what flavor Jell-O and inquiring if Tristan liked that flavor the best.

She felt good about their son’s prognosis and eagerly nodded when Jack offered to hunt down the cafeteria and bring some food back.

While watching him walk away, her eyes honed in on the fit of his jeans, and her fingers unconsciously curled into the gel case of her phone. When he disappeared from her line of vision, she stared at her hands and wondered what exactly was going on between the two of them. Was he feeling this same closeness, as if they were inherently joined by more than one night of sex and a son?

From her pocket, her phone pounded his ring tone. People all around rubbernecked. Some frowned with disapproval, and some smiled in amusement at the screeching guitar riff and rowdy scream. Quickly fishing it out, she jabbed at the screen and spoke, “Hey, what’s up?”

Considerately, Jack gave her a rundown of the food choice, and she found it difficult to select while being too engaged by the sound of his voice.

“Cool,” was his acknowledgment when she finally spoke. Then, “What to drink?”

“Tea,” she chimed while happily imagining the icy caffeine drink after doing carbonated canned caffeine and hot coffee all day. “Unsweet.”

“Unsweet?” His exclamation rebounded without pause.

“Yes, if they have it.”

“You sure you are a southern girl?”

Her already growling stomach rumbled at that husky barb. “Last time I checked I cud still get a ya’ll on better’n any gurl in this neck o the woods.”

The stress over Tristan was obviously compounding with nerves due to Jack’s presence and what seemed mild flirtation between them. Before she could blurt anything else equally ridiculous, she bit her lip.

His response was not disappointing; his voice dropped another pitch and decibel. “That’s for damn sure, Mariss.”

Her stomach lurched again. Although she was not sure what he meant, or if he even meant anything, his comment seemed sexy and flattering.

And the last time she had heard him say Mariss had been five years ago…

In the pause that followed, the sounds of the cafeteria filtered through. She heard him phrase a polite a thank you to someone and then he spoke back into the phone, “Want desert? Never mind. Stupid question. Everyone wants desert. See you in a sec.” And with that sweet promise, he dropped the call before she could refuse whatever sweet delectable goodness he was looking at.

A prickle of awareness was becoming familiar, and several minutes later, her vision turned from absent-minded ‘people watching’ back to the hallway. Intently, she savored his approach with as much hunger as she had devoured his exit– an appetite that had nothing to do with the containers of food he balanced with both hands.

The moment his attention swung her way, she averted her eyes to the television, hopefully before he saw her mouthwatering stare.

Side by side, they flipped opened Styrofoam lids, and before the steam even fully escaped, she forked her first bite of lasagna swallowing it whole. Jack was tearing up a hamburger and French fries as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Putting a straw to his lips, he pulled a long sip from his drink and winced in the midst of it. “Either our drinks are switched, or this is the worst tea ever.” Sweet tea was obviously his preference. Mentally, she ticked off another fact about him that she had been too flustered to absorb during the cafeteria phone flirtation.

Barely pausing in the shovel of another bite into her mouth, she passed him the cardboard cup that she hadn’t touched since to placing it on the tiny table. They made the exchange. As long as it was in her hand, she took a drink and with one swallow, felt the intimacy of drinking after him. Every tiny detail where he was concerned was becoming major, and with determination, she set the distraction aside and bit off a chunk of garlic bread.

Jack ate the last of his fries, three or four at a time. He finished his meal way before she was done, and he passed over a small round container of peach cobbler before wiping out his own desert of the same. Her taste buds screamed with delight, and her brain screamed in reproach, calculating every calorie of every bite.

After their meal, she gathered the trash and tossed it into a receptacle on the way to the restroom. Once the immediate need was out of the way, she stood at the vanity taking in her reflection. The outfit flattered all the right curves, and although her face looked pinched with worry and fatigue, this was a good hair day. Immediately, she felt guilty for caring. This was a hospital, not a hang fest.

Jack was in the hallway on his phone when she pulled open the door, possibly having come from the adjacent lavatory before receiving or making the call. He was walking away, but his husky drawl clearly carried in his wake, “Love you too.”

Pivoting, she retreated to the bathroom and braced her hands tiredly on either side of one of the sinks as she steeled herself against what she had just heard.

Nothing he had done today would suggest that he was still interested in her, that he would invite her to LA all over again, and that he would want to raise Tristan with her. These things had subconsciously become her fantasy over the last few years, her ‘what if’ over the last few weeks, and her hope in the last few hours.

Taking out her phone, she sent a belated text to Olivia that Tristan had waked, was well, and she would talk to her later. Or, cry on her shoulder. The amendment came into her thoughts as the recollection of Jack’s deep voice reverberated the words that she wished could be hers,

Love you too.

Pasting a bored expression on her face, she returned to her seat and became confused to the extreme when bending to wipe breadcrumbs from her chair before sitting. Jack’s admiring gaze seemed to discreetly hover on her chest area.

Taking up their phones, they stayed quiet, intermittently pecking at the glass screens while watching a sitcom on the television screen. Before long, she noticed Jack had fallen asleep.

A new voyeuristic side of her emerged, and without shame, she studied the sleeping planes of his face. Her own fatigue dissipated as his breathing evened out and his muscles relaxed deeper into the chair cushion.

The trance she fell into, upon a study of dark brows against a tanned forehead and equally dark lashes against ruddy cheeks, felt oddly familiar.

There were piercings in his ear but no adornments. The ponytail had worked its way out of the back of the jacket and now fell over the hanging hood. Her eyes touched over his clothing knowing too well what it covered, and came back to his face. Yet again, her heart felt a touch of recognition and a tug of tenderness although she had never seen him sleep.

It was then she realized that she had seen this every night for four and a half years– the child version of those eyebrows, cheekbones, and jaw. When his mouth fell open, just slightly, the way that Tristan’s often did in slumber, she gawked in awe. Ripping her eyes away, her focus fell to his phone resting on the arm of the chair.

Withstanding the temptation for all of ten minutes, she finally broke and, with a furtive look at the slight twitch beneath his eyelids, rotated the device around to face her. Double-checking his sleeping status, she powered on the screen. Finding it unlocked, she quickly clicked ‘Recent.’

The last call was incoming, from ‘Mom.’

Naturally, he would “love you too” to his mother. Her breath whooshed out in relief, and as she was about to spin the phone back his way, she saw the most recent text. Also to ’Mom,’ but it was outgoing with no message, only an attachment titled ‘SD1101.jpg.’

The photo tag was familiar because she had sent it to him only a couple of hours ago– the requested picture of Tristan and Bally.

At first, she found it endearing that he wasted no time sending the photo to his mother, Tristan’s grandmother. For some reason, Jack’s family had never crossed her mind, and she wondered if they were curious about Tristan. In that moment, terror seized her.

What an idiot she had been. With a legal letter indicating custody interest tucked in her folders at home, she was carelessly showing off pictures of a handsome toddler while volunteering cute stories and bragging how well behaved and clever he was. A smart mother would have fibbed about what a handful he was, how horrible the tantrums were that he threw fifty times a day, and maybe a mention that he stayed sick with a snotty nose that never stopped!

As she stewed in her thoughts, Jack began lightly snoring, drawing eyes and a few snickers. It hit her once again how tired he probably was, and no matter what, she couldn’t let him become entertainment to the other occupants of the room.

He was Jack Storm.

What if paparazzi jumped out, or some teenager recognized him and uploaded a video onto You Tube of Jackal’s lead sawing logs?

“Hey, Jack,” she whispered and then remembered that she probably shouldn’t use his name just in case there were metal ears around. “Hey, wakeup...”

“Yeah?” Jerking upright, he shook his head as if shaking sleep off. “What is it? Tristan?”

“No. I, uh. Well, you were snoring a little, and I thought– I know you must need sleep. You should go to the hotel, get some.”

“I didn’t fly all this way to sleep the day away in a hotel room.” Softly and sweetly, he assured, “I’m waiting here with you.”

“You don’t have to is all I’m saying. I know you are tired.”

“As are you. Am I right?” Gently, he made the insightful observation, and it was accurate. Her night had not been spent traveling, but she had certainly spent it unable to sleep, so she said nothing to contrary. Carefully, he continued, “If you don’t want me here though, I understand. I will go if it’s stressing you, me being here.”

This was the chance to get rid of him. To make sure that she didn’t stupidly trust him again. She didn’t think he was tricking her out of information about Tristan. Nor did she think that he would deviously sit with her as moral support today and then at a later time drag Tristan, from her, back with him to LA. Yet, she couldn’t discount that he would fall as deeply in love with their son, as she had alway
s been since before birth, and act accordingly.

“Thanks for being here.” When she opened her mouth, words from her heart and not her mind spilled. “I don’t want you to go.”

~♫♪♫~

“Mr. and Mrs. Duplei. Mr. Duplei...Mrs. Duplei...
”

Awareness infiltrated
her sleeping state, of her last name spoken repeatedly, and of a warm solid pillow beneath her cheek. A slight weight rested against the top of her head, and when it eased away, her pillow shifted also.

Husky from sleep, and accustomed to being addressed in that manner for the last sixteen hours, Jack’s voice answered the summons, “Yes? Sorry, uh, yeah?”

Her eyes opened to blue scrub covered legs, white sneakers, and from somewhere above, a woman’s voice explained, “Tristan is awake.”

Jerking her head from Jack’s shoulder, she swiped a finger around a dry, scratchy eye, and pushed stray strands of hair from her face while shoving to her feet.

“They are moving him in about thirty minutes, and he should get to his room on pediatrics just in time for a breakfast tray. So just go on back when you are ready.”

Desperately, she needed the bathroom, but she was more than ready, and she was unwilling to think of Tristan awake and alone.

“Hey, Marissa…” Jack came to his feet as she was about to move away. “I’m going to head to the hotel and will be back in a few hours.”

Although her brain was still foggy from sleep, in a moment of clarity, she understood his reasoning. Just as before, it was not the right time for Tristan to see him.

Nodding, she lightly replied, “Sure.”

“Mariss?” His hand shot out, and his fingers warmly closed around hers just as his head dipped.

The kiss lasted no more than a couple of seconds, a lingering touch of his lips to hers, a light comforting brush back then forth and the slightest suction, before he eased away. In that instant, dark eyes melded to hers with a mental connection as intensely as they had years ago in that first second of their ultimate physical connection.

Without a word, he loped off.

“I cannot believe you are doing this, Marissa.”

“Doing what mom?”

Tristan, after being awake long enough to eat some macaroni from his lunch tray and to look at the activity books his gammy brought, fell into a doze leaving her essentially alone with her mother. He had slept after breakfast also, and curled on the short couch beneath the window, she had caught some sleep until her mom showed up.

“Doing that.”

“I’m not doing anything.” The false declaration was sullen, and she didn’t meet her mother’s eyes.

“I have been more than patient, thinking you might confide to me on your own. But you never do, do you?” Indignantly, her mother carried on with the tirade, “Always have to be so secretive. As if what goes on in your life is so much more important than the rest of ours.”

“I’m not talking about this right now.” Keeping her voice low, in case the little boy in the bed was not fully asleep, she turned her back as she finished the fruit from her own lunch.

“For five years you have hidden the identity of this man, and then he waltzes right into our lives and you are going to continue –”

“Mother! Stop!”

Her phone blipped with a text, and she circled to where it lay on the foot of the bed near Bandit and Tiggy.

RUSS

Sorry overslept

1:30 PM

RUSS

Should I come by or wait?

1:30 PM

My mom is here

Sent 1:31 PM

RUSS

Im guessing that’s a negatory

1:31 PM

The texts passed back and forth, and she even sent a few more after her mother’s pointed throat clear. It was hard to believe this was happening, whatever ‘this’ was. She wasn’t going to mess it up, before it even began, by throwing Jack too quickly to the wolf that was her maternal parent.

All day, she relived the kiss, over and over, and even imagined taking it farther. The anger and humiliation of the phone call and the following legal letter was not forgotten. But, if many wonderful little things could cancel out one big thing, similar to the way that five years ago they had jokingly struck a ratio of fifteen texts to one phone call, then he was well on his way to redemption.

Her mother’s insight could be uncanny, and this was one of those times. A habitual early riser, waking before daylight each morning, her mom napped each afternoon. However, today she wasn’t budging. Marissa’s father stopped by after his workday, and even that didn’t send her mother scurrying as it normally did.

A perky hospital aid delivered Tristan’s supper, and Marissa had just finished setting the tray up for easy eating when the first guitar lick blared.

Her parents’ reactions to this ring tone were much the same as the occupants in the waiting room the previous evening, but Tristan’s eyes rounded with pleasure. “Answer it, Momma! Please!”

Tristan’s reaction further fascinated her mother and father, but she quickly did as her son said.

As if she could refuse calls now...

The feel of Jack’s lips gently brushing hers had her quickly pressing the screen.

“Hi!” As she spoke, she held up a polite finger, not the one she wanted after seeing her mother’s frown, and took the call to the privacy of the hall.

“Hey!” The smile in his voice carried through the cell towers. “Coast clear yet?” Heaving a sad sigh, she responded to the negative, and he replied, “I don’t mind meeting them, you know. I was just hoping, I guess I was just thinking that...” He dwindled to a pause, and as she absently watched a patient being coaxed to walk along the hall, she heard a barely audible sigh from his end. “Is this even the right time for me to meet Tristan? Should I wait until he is not feeling so...Mariss, I don’t know what to do.”

“Well it’s not the right time to, you know...to tell him.”

With as much frequency as that last kiss between them, the various possible scripts of explaining to Tristan who Jack was to him, danced in her mind. The hospital was not one of those scenarios.

“But he’s feeling really good. I’m amazed at how good. So if you wanted to come by, hang out...My parents are about to leave.”

Spectators shouldn’t be at this momentous event. Squaring her shoulders when Jack affirmed, she resolved to rid the room of the audience. Returning to the room, she found her mother helping Tristan with his juice box, and surprisingly, not an eyelash batted when Marissa related a version of the truth.

“A friend of Tristan’s is coming by, and I’m thinking he should get some rest until then.”

A knowing look passed between her parents, and her father hastily agreed and then curved a pleased smile when her mother did the same. Obviously, they had conferred while she was on the phone, and for once, her mother was going along with his advice.

“Who’s coming?” Tristan promptly asked, as soon as hugs were dispensed and his grandparents were out of the room.

Thinking his interest was on the t.v., she had kept her voice low when speaking to her parents, but as always, nothing got by him. Gently running a comb through his hair, she explained, “A new friend. The one that brought Bandit while you were in surgery.”

“The one that plays the music?”

“Hmm?”

This question unbalanced her, and she scrutinized his tiny face wondering how he could know ‘this friend’ was a musician.

“The one that plays the music when they call on your phone.” Tristan was obviously feeling himself because the usual vexation at having to explain himself was strong.

Confusion still riddled her brain. Although she now knew he was speaking of Jack’s ring tone, she was becoming suspicious that Tristan did not know exactly what a ring tone was, and that in his four-year old mind, he visualized the caller making the sound in real-time.

A nurse bustled in humming as she checked his vitals and fussing over him with attention as most staff did. Jack rang back, and when Tristan darted a look over as she answered, she resolved to show him ring tones soon.

“You said Tristan likes Oreo Blizzards? Are they letting him eat that stuff today?”

The frozen treat conjured in her mind, and she smiled finding it sweet that Jack remembered the little things about Tristan and wanted to perk up his hospital stay. Confirming to Jack that Tristan was on a normal diet, she stepped aside for the nurse to exit, then turned to find her son’s expectant gaze avidly watching as she spoke into the phone.

“So how about you? What do you want?” Jack questioned.

“Oh, thanks, but I don’t want anything,” she assured and a warm glow radiated to every cell because he had asked. Silly, but it happened.

“Yes you do,” he argued like a big brother, best friend, or...a boyfriend.

“I don’t. Really.”

“Did you eat today?” The mindful question completed the devoted feeling.

“I ate.” In answering, she reassured that on this floor an extra food tray for the parent accompanied the patient’s tray.

Jack stubbornly insisted on getting a food preference from her and even threatened that he would pick at random from the menu if she didn’t choose.

“Besides, how will it look if I come walking in with Tristan and me something and not you?” he teased.

“Alright, alright!” Relenting, she blocked out the carbs and calories and requested a slush latte. Only once or twice had she ever allowed herself this treat, so she did not know the specific flavors. Before he could ask, she went on, “Surprise me.”

Tristan said nothing when she disconnected but continuously studied her similar to the way he would around Christmastime, or his birthday, when she came home and sneaked straight to her room to hide presents.

Nervously, she fiddled with her day old hair in the mirror.

This morning, she had showered in the room’s tiny connecting bathroom and changed into jeans with a comfortable pullover shirt. Now, she took in her appearance wishing that she had packed with the foreknowledge of Jack making this trip.

Easing beside Tristan’s tiny form, she settled on the bed to wait, her mind reeling with the odds and ends she needed to do this week, and as always today’s recollection...

Jack’s kiss...

The slight rap on the door yanked her from this reverie, and she looked down seeing that Tristan was dozing again. Jumping up, she pulled open the door and gave herself over to the familiar flutter in her stomach when Jack’s dark eyes hit her face.

Both disappointment and relief crossed his face when he observed Tristan sleeping. Handing off her frozen drink, he set the other on the stand at the side of the bed and eyed the stuffed animals at the footboard. Finally, his gaze moved back over Tristan’s sleeping face and tenderness filled his eyes.

Initially, seeing the natural paternal instinct in Jack’s expression swelled her heart, then like before, abrupt fear constricted her insides.

Suddenly, she was wishing that Tristan were not such a perfect miniature of his father, as if that would stop some of the closeness that Jack already felt. A good mother would have robbed a bank for the money, not risked custody.

“What’s wrong?” Jack’s voice was gentle.

Immediately jumping to the conclusion that her consternation related to their son, he asked about the doctor’s earlier visit. Forcing a smile, she related the positive things Dr. Millosky had to say during his examination this morning. Tristan would only be hospitalized a couple more days, and once they were home, a physical therapist would come to work with him three times a week.

“Is he the one, Momma?”

Both of their gazes whipped to Tristan, and obviously wondering what Tristan was speaking of, Jack spared a quick glance to her.

“Your ring tone.” Hastily, she supplied the explanation to ease any fears he might have of her having already revealed his identity to his son. “He’s fascinated by your ring tone.”

She wanted to run to Tristan’s side but held back only standing while Jack approached the bed.

“Oh.” Jack’s smile was tense, but he moved a shoulder in a carefree shrug. “I’m the one I guess.” Setting his cup down, he indicated the remaining one. “Your mom said you liked Blizzards.”

“Only Oreo.” Tristan’s tone was hopeful, yet resigned, as if knowing a stranger might not get his flavor right.

Jack picked up the cup, peering beyond the rim with a pucker of his brows– the same pucker that Tristan had when contemplating. “Hey! It’s Oreo!”

Tristan’s mini brows shot up, and when he sent Marissa a tolerating look, she knew that her son was not fooled by adult shenanigans. But he said nothing to Jack of this reasoning that the customer purchasing would know exactly what he ordered. Instead, he beamed a grateful smile and held his tiny hand out.

“So, how do you play that music? Drums and guitar?”

Now Jack was the one who sent her a surprised look. Even though the origin of the question confused him, she knew he must be pleased that the first conversation his son started with him was music related.

“I play the guitar part. My friends play drums, and bass.” Jack alluded to the band members but said nothing of the band itself.

Watching this exchange, Marissa wondered if she should introduce them, but Tristan beat her to it.

“What’s your name?” he asked curiously.

They politely clasped hands after their self-introduction, and she watched, amazed, as the two of them carried on a conversation for a quarter of an hour, only occasionally glancing her way. They talked music comparing song knowledge, and they talked dogs comparing Bally and Rusty. Eventually, she sank to the chair and ate her desert uncaring that it was a day’s worth of calories in a cup.

Jack remained until visiting hours were up at nine. Tristan slept some but awoke as if by instinct when Jack was about to leave. With a ruffle of his son’s dark hair, Jack promised to see him next time he came to town. At this, Marissa started, her spine lifting from the back of the chair.

Waiting until they were in the hall, right outside the door, she phrased the inquiry careful to keep it emotionless. “Are you leaving?”

“My flight is in the morning. I have a thing. I would get out of it if I could.” His dark eyes seemed both apologetic and as disappointed as she was.

Keeping her voice light, she slanged the common adage, “Well, watcha gonna do...”

“Yeah...” He quirked a half grin, rewarding her with almost one dimple. “Watcha gonna do...”

With that last phrase, he seemed closer in distance as well as height. Was it a double
 entendre? If so, what she was going to do was...

Kiss him...

When she tipped her head up, he met it before she lifted on tiptoes.

The kiss was warm and sweet, and the touch of their tongues wildly electrifying.

Despite the public venue, and their son just on the other side of the door, she took the kiss to the next level, sucking, savoring his tongue with more delectation than the ice cream earlier. His throaty rumble was felt, more than heard. He pressed against her, pushing her backside against the wall, taking his tongue away enough to tease the sweet spots on hers and then swiped it across her lips before giving it back to her to do with whatever she desired –