Forever, Jack
Page 8

“Okay, I can do that.” He nodded, slowly. “I’d like to do that.”
I wanted to get it all out tonight and move on, but we could start slow and just talk. A small awkward silence followed. Geez. Where did one begin? So how are all the sluts in London? I pulled down two cups and measured out the coffee, freezing in mid-action as I heard and felt Jack move around behind me. The smell of the fresh ground coffee that I normally loved so much was suddenly secondary to the warm spicy scent of the man behind me. He smelled different. Like sandalwood. Decadent.
And the heat … not for the first time since I met him did I wonder what it was about us that could make him standing this close to me, but not touching, feel so physical, so warm, so … charged.
His forearms, hard and sinewy with a light dusting of hair, appeared on each side of me. Strong hands with long-fingers braced the counter.
“Please. Don’t,” I managed. “We’re just going to try and be friends, remember?”
“I do. It’s just really hard to stand here with you and not touch you.” Jack breathed in, and then let out a deep sigh that stirred the hair at my nape.
I faltered with the scoop, dusting coffee over the counter, and closed my eyes a moment.
Then he pushed away and went back around the counter.
Shit, this was awkward. I relaxed my shoulders and casted about for a topic of conversation. We needed to get onto neutral ground. “So, what was the movie you just made? I heard it was about an artist. Were you the artist?” I asked, trying to sound normal as I turned our coffee on to brew.
“Yeah, I was. I, uh, it was kind of a favor. The actor they’d cast pulled out for personal reasons, and they were stuck without a lead.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder then focused on the coffee, willing it to percolate faster. “So you stepped in?”
“I was young for the part, but I kind of … owed them. The same group that did the Erath movies put money behind it. They had a limited budget, but it’s a great story, and I got to work on the script some too, as well as the directing. I’d been looking for a way to do that, prove to them I could.”
There was a silence where it seemed Jack wanted to say more. Perhaps about being in England, but that was surely a can of worms. I poured the coffee a few minutes later and handed a cup to Jack, black, the way he liked it, before heading back to the safety of the kitchen table.
“Thanks.” Jack blew on his. “Colt told me you got into SCAD, and you’re starting in the fall. Congratulations.”
Still somewhat safe territory. I nodded. “Yeah, it’s amazing. I’m excited and nervous. You and Colt had quite a long talk today, huh?” Why did I do that?
Jack chuckled. “Actually, his exact words were: she’s going to SCAD this fall and she doesn’t need you distracting her or fucking up her life again.” The smile fell off his face toward the end of his words. “Did I?”
“Did you what?”
“Fuck up your life?”
“Don’t give yourself too much credit, Jack. I got off my butt and applied to school, got some scholarship money, and was featured at a well-known art gallery. In fact, I’m going to be in another exhibit all summer. So yeah, when you left I was sad that I’d fallen for your Lost Boy routine, but no … you didn’t fuck up my life. If anything, you galvanized me into doing something. A lot has changed since you left. A lot is better.”
Jack’s face remained impassive. “Lost Boy routine,” he murmured. “The boy who never grew up. Clever.”
I shrugged.
Jack looked up at me and gnawed on his bottom lip. I didn’t like having my attention drawn there so I glanced away to the window. The darkness outside bounced this awkward situation back at me like a mirror. I looked down at my sleeve instead.
In my periphery, Jack shifted nervously. “I saw your exhibit in December at the gallery on Hilton Head. Congratulations, it was beautiful.”
What? “What do you mean?” I looked up. “You were here? I mean, in the area?” My stomach lurched, the water I’d sipped a few minutes ago burned like acid. He’d been here, back then, when Devon said he was coming, and he hadn’t …? And I hated the way my voice had just gone all high and breathy. “I don’t … I don’t understand.”
Jack put his cup down and closed his eyes tight, running both hands through his hair, and then gripping the back of his head. His neck and shoulders looked strained with tension before he let go and exhaled a long breath. “Yeah. I came back. I flew into Hilton Head Island and rented a car. I was coming back here. I … can I sit down?” He pointed to the chair opposite me.
I nodded dumbly and watched his tall frame as he walked over and pulled out a chair, and then hid the lower half of himself beneath the chinked wooden table.
Every nerve and muscle in my body was frozen, waiting. I almost didn’t want to hear this. Almost.
He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, his shoulders hunching up. The heel of his foot bounced a rhythm on the floor. A lick of dark hair fell down across his forehead, finally tired of staying where his fingers had raked it back. “I … Audrey lied to me about the baby. She and Andy concocted the plan to get me to leave here. I found out she’d lied about the pregnancy after our tour wrapped up and … I went ballistic. But then she said the pregnancy was real and that she’d lost the baby. God, I didn’t know what to believe. I’m assuming she said she lost the baby to make me feel guilty for breaking up with her. But I’m not sure I’ll ever know the truth, and with her, it may never matter. She’ll get people to believe anything if it paints her in a better light. I didn’t know whether to be relieved, to grieve, or to hit something.” He laughed, humorlessly. “I went with all three.”
There was so much to process. My stomach continued churning. I folded my arms tightly across my midsection. “How were you so sure the baby was yours? Hadn’t she just cheated on you? And didn’t you tell me you guys had been over for a while? I …” I swallowed thickly. So much for us keeping the conversation in the friend-zone. “That was the hardest part, Jack.”
I hadn’t meant to stop him telling his story, and I still wanted to get back to it, but I couldn’t help myself now that we were on this topic. I looked down as I spoke. “I couldn’t believe you just trusted the words that came out of her mouth that day and let me walk out the door. You basically told me without words right then that you lied to me, that it wasn’t over with her. That I was the chump. I felt so stupid.”
He didn’t answer right away, so I finally looked up and met his eyes. A muscle ticked away in his cheek, and I knew he was struggling with how to respond. After a few moments, his shoulders slumped and he leaned down and rested his elbows on his knees, inspecting his feet. “Our relationship was over, we hadn’t … in forever … but … yes, there was a chance it was mine.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and steeled myself for the torrent of boy crap that was about to come. Jazz and I had always shaken our heads in bewilderment and snickered as we watched TV shows where the wife or girlfriend, or boyfriend for that matter, believed excuse after excuse from their no good partner. How could people not see it coming, I’d wondered? And now I knew, of course. You want to believe. That want being stronger than any fact that could be slapped in your face.