Private Passions (15 page)

She gave an impatient sniff. "Are you doing
all right? After what's happened?"

"You're the one I'm worried about, you and
Dad, with them bringing all that shit up again—"

"I'm not talking about the press, Daniel, I
want to know if you're okay with the break up."

"I'm fine," he said tightly.
Sure, if fine
feels like you're walking around with a rhino sitting on your
chest.
"Besides it was never going to be anything serious."

"That's not what Jane's saying," his mother
said in a sing-songy voice.

"Jane will say whatever she needs to say to
make herself look good."

Another sniff. "She didn't look so good last
night on TMZ. No make up, eyes all swollen, looking like she hadn't
seen the sun in an age. At one point she started crying, nose
running and everything. Poor thing was a mess."

Deck's memory flashed on an image of Jane
after she and Ryan had split. Even in the immediate aftermath of
the split, she'd never left the house looking anything less than
perfect. Any tears she'd shed had been deliberate, delicate. Jane
would never let her nose run on camera.

He told himself it didn't mean anything.

"No offense, sweetie, but you don't look like
you're doing much better."

He didn't want to talk about how he was
doing, how shitty he felt, with anyone yet. Especially not his mom.
He gritted his teeth against an angry retort. Mom was just being
her nosily concerned self.

"Maybe it wasn't serious for you," his mother
continued blithely as she stirred the cooking onions and meat, "but
Jane is telling anyone who will listen how much she loves you and
how sorry she is to put you and your family through all of
this."

Deck's hand tightened around his bottle. He
didn't want to know this, didn't want to think about it. "She
really said that?" He wanted to kick his own ass into next week for
letting the pathetic words slip through.

"Here, you can see yourself. I DVR'd it
because they said some stuff at the end about me and I wanted to
show your father."

She darted into the family room and grabbed
the remote from the coffee table.

"No Mom, really I don't want to see—" He was
cut off by the sound of Jane's voice filling the small room.

"You all need to leave Deck and his family
alone. What happened to him and his mother was a horrific tragedy
and the fact that you're using it to get ratings is
disgusting."

He didn't want to look, but his eyes were
drawn to the screen as if by a magnet. He swallowed hard, instantly
regretting his decision to buy his parents—well, mostly his dad—a
fifty-two inch hi-def flat screen for Christmas.

It made it impossible for him not to notice
the tight, downcast set to her mouth, her red-rimmed, swollen eyes,
the ashen cast to her skin as she addressed the group of reporters
gathered outside her gate. "I understand that as a celebrity, I've
had to sacrifice a lot of my privacy. But Deck, and especially his
family, didn't choose this life, and they don't deserve to be
treated like this You can write or say whatever you want about me.
I've finally realized that worrying about my own press has only
made me miserable. But please don't do this to the man I love.
Please leave him and his family alone."

He watched as Jane ended the press
conference, brushing off the questions shouted at her retreating
back He felt a strange sensation under his feet, like he was
standing on the edge of a cliff, tempted to jump into the abyss as
Jane's words echoed through his brain.

You can write or say whatever you want about
me. I've finally realized that worrying about my own press has only
made me miserable.

Don't do this to the man I love.

The man I love.

She loved him. And damn it to hell, he loved
her—no amount of anger or hurt was going to kill that.

But was it enough? Was it enough for him to
trust that when the shit came down, she would really choose
him—them—over everything else?

"Jerry, I understand how much it's costing me, and I don't care,"
Jane said as she pulled her rented sedan up in front of the small
single story house painted a cheery shade of blue "You have access
to my accounts. Just wire the money over, and tell them I'll be
there in three days, max."

She hung up, her palms going damp with sweat
as she took a deep, shaky breath. Her business manager wasn't the
only one wondering if this was a horrible idea.

But when she'd boarded the private jet this
morning bound for Vancouver, it was like a sort of madness had
overtaken her. The next thing she knew, she'd offered the pilot a
hefty bonus if he'd change his course to fly her to Montana
instead.

It was crazy. She was crazy. There was no
other explanation for this feeling that she had to see Deck one
last time and tell him—and his family—once again how sorry she
was.

You realize you're just going to get your
heart crushed again?
she told herself as she climbed slowly out
of the car.
He's not going to forgive you. You can't expect him
to take you back.

She didn't. Which made this all the more
insane. As she walked up the flagstone path that skirted the
house's tidy front yard, she felt another wave of panic was over
her.
You should have called. You don't even know if anyone's
home. You don't even know for sure Deck is still here!

She forced herself up to the front door. As
she raised her hand to knock, she heard a male voice call her name.
Startled, she turned just as he snapped her picture. She was so
distracted she hadn't even spotted him leaning against a car across
the street, or the other one lurking in the bushes around the side
of the house.

Anger swelled in her chest. Not for herself,
but for Deck and his family—especially his mother—who'd had to
suffer their presence for the past three days. Along with the anger
came a crushing guilt. The enormity of her mistake hit her with
such force it made her knees wobble.

She shouldn't have come here. All she was
doing was bringing more unwanted attention to the Deckers.

She started to turn and walk back to her car,
but it was too late.

The front door of the house opened to reveal
a slender woman of medium height with a few gray streaks in her
dark hair. Jane immediately recognized the curve of her mouth and
the whisky-colored eyes that looked so much like her son's.

Whatever she was expecting from the woman
whose name she'd inadvertently dragged through the mud, it wasn't
for Deck's mother to squeal, "Jane? Is that you?" with a wide smile
stretching across her face. "Come in, come in," she beckoned.
"Frank, get that camera out of her face!" she scolded the
photographer who had planted himself between Jane and the front
door.

"Oh my gosh, this is so exciting." Vivian
took both of Jane's hands in hers pulled her inside and shut the
door behind her. "I've been wanting to meet you ever since Deck
started working for you. I'm such a huge fan."

"Thank you." Jane followed Vivian and drank
in every detail of the house Deck grew up in. Though small, it
boasted shiny hardwood floors and sturdy, quality pieces of
furniture. Though neat, it had a comfortably lived in feel.
Especially the kitchen, where a huge mixing bowl sat next to a
countertop dusted with flour.

Everything was so warm and homey it made
Jane's house in Brentwood seem like a mausoleum.

"You have a lovely home," Jane said.

"Thank you. It's not much for size, but there
are a lot of good memories. I'll be right back - I'm just going to
get Harlan."

She was gone before Jane could ask if Deck
was still even here. leaving Jane alone in the house, slightly
dazed by the unexpected warmth of her welcome. She paced slowly
around the living room. Framed pictures covered nearly every inch
of wall space and Jane's heart squeezed in her chest at the sight
of Deck, gap-toothed and grinning with two other dark-haired boys
that had to be his brothers. The Deck as a teenager, his lean body
just starting to fill out while his brothers were still gangly,
growing up faster than they could keep the weight on.

There was a more recent picture of all three
sons, white teeth flashing in their tanned faces, muscular arms
slung over each other's broad shoulders. Though she only had eyes
for Deck, she had to admit his brothers weren't lacking in the
looks department.

As she started back to the kitchen her gaze
snagged on another photo sitting on an end table next to the couch.
She couldn't stop herself from picking up the picture of Vivian,
looking beautiful and way too young to be the mother of the
dark-haired, chubby-thighed baby boy on her lap. Though the baby
was smiling a wide, gummy grin at the camera, Vivian's own smile
looked strained, with none of the joy and contentment that seemed
to emanate from her pores.

"Daniel was just eight months old in that
picture."

Jane turned at the sound of Vivian's voice
and saw the same haunted look from the photo flicker in her eyes.
"Life was very different then."

Next to Vivan was a man with a thick head of
salt and pepper hair, his rangy build clad in a plaid shirt and
faded jeans. He put a rough, callused hand on Vivian's shoulder and
gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm Harlan, Deck's father," he said
offering his hand to Jane.

"I'm so sorry for everything you and your
family have had to go through," Jane blurted out. "Dredging up
everything that's happened, it can't be easy—"

"Life was very different then," Vivian said
again, and this time Jane detected an undercurrent of steel in her
voice. "They can say whatever they want about that night, but we
know the truth of what happened, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat
to save one of my boys." There was no mistaking the mama bear
lurking under Vivian's happy, friendly exterior.

"Besides," Vivian said with a sly smile,
"it's good every once in awhile to remind everybody what I'm
capable of."

Jane watched, bemused as Harlan rolled his
eyes and gave his wife a pat on the behind. Were they really as
unaffected as they seemed, she wondered, marveling at Vivian's
seeming utter lack of self consciousness regardless of what the
press said.

Jane knew whose example she was going to
follow from now on.

"You caught me in the middle of making my
bread," Vivian said as she bustled back into the kitchen. "Come on
in and you can help me knead the dough."

"Viv, she's here to see Deck, not make
bread," Harlan said as he opened the fridge and took out a bottle
of beer. "Besides, Jane's a big star. She doesn't do her own
cooking You want a beer?"

"Sure," Jane said. She wasn't much of a beer
drinker—too many carbs—but maybe the alcohol would take the edge
off the tension that had ratcheted up about fifty notches at the
prospect of seeing Deck.

Harlan started to offer her a bottle of
Budweiser. "Give her the good stuff," Vivian admonished

Harlan shook his head and put the Bud back
and offered her a bottle from a local micro brew, muttering
something about Deck and his fancy Hollywood tastes.

Jane took a long swallow of the cold,
pleasantly bitter beer.

"Deck's over at his brother Damon's—Damon
talked him into helping rebuild his deck while he's here but
they'll be back around supper time," he said helpfully.

"In the meantime, you can help me knead and
get the bread into the oven. Here," Vivian said and handed her an
apron. "I'd hate for you to mess up your outfit, especially since
it probably costs more than what Harlan makes in a week at the
shop."

Jane grimaced, conceding that though she was
dressed down in jeans and a long sleeved shirt, the shirt was Marc
Jacobs and the jeans retailed at over three hundred dollars.

"He's right," she said as she slipped the
apron over her head. "I don't really cook. At all. Even before I
could afford to hire someone to do it for me."

Vivian motioned her over, pulled a ball of
dough out of the enormous metal bowl and slapped it down on the
counter in front of Jane "All you have to do is knead and punch
it," she demonstrated. "That's it," she nodded as Jane followed her
example. "It's great for getting your aggression out. Pretend it's
one of those photographers out there."

Jane smiled and gave the dough a punch,
pretending it was a
TMZ
reporter's nose.

"See? Very therapeutic," Vivian said, "and I
can say from experience a lot less problematic than a shotgun."

Jane let out a startled laugh. As the time
slipped by while she drank beer, kneaded dough, talked and laughed
as Deck's parents grilled her for information about their favorite
actors, she found herself almost wishing that Deck
wouldn't
come back. Because she knew when he did he would tell her to
leave.

And as long as he stayed away, she could
cling to the fantasy that there was still a chance for them. Not
only for them to be together, but for Jane to get the unanticipated
bonus of becoming part of his family.

###

Deck followed his brother Damon through the
door of his parents' house, intent on a cold beer and a hot shower.
He made a beeline for the fridge, grabbed two bottles and gave one
to his brother. The TV was off, and there was no one in the kitchen
or living room. Which was odd considering it was Saturday and the
Bobcats game was on soon and Dad never missed the pregame show.

He exchanged a puzzled look with Damon and
followed the sound of voices coming from the back patio. He opened
the screen door off the kitchen and started to step through it, but
stopped short as a familiar, feminine laugh curled down his spine
and through his belly, coming to rest heavily between his
thighs.