Belong to You(18)

As I told my tale, I added in bits and pieces about Jack's relationship  with his dad that I had learned on our trip to Hawaii. By the time I was  done, and we had analyzed everything that had transpired, we were both  convinced that Jack's dad had known who I was somehow and was using me  in some sort of demented game he was playing.

There truly was no better friend in life than Sienna. She was pissed at  anyone who didn't adore me, and hated anyone who screwed with me,  without question. I found it interesting that my best friend knew more  about my relationship with Jack, that transpired over an eight day  period, than she did about my relationship with Michael, which lingered  over seven years. Why did I share so much about Jack with her, yet I  never felt the need to talk about Michael, even after a fight?

I started to wonder why my eight day relationship meant so much more to  me than my seven year relationship with the man that I had planned to  marry. Had I ever really loved Michael, or was he just my safe place? As  I rewound time in my head, I realized that Michael never took my breath  away. He never made my heart beat out of my chest so loud that I  thought the whole world could hear it. And her certainly never made my  body quiver uncontrollably with just a kiss. Jack did, and the  realization tore my heart out.





Chapter 15




The week went by slowly and each day I walked into the Heston it got  harder. The hotel reminded me of Jack and what we had together. What I  had lost, again. Luckily, Lyle didn't find out what had happened  backstage after the conference. Or at least he didn't mention it to me  if he had heard. He did, however, tell me that Mr. Heston's office had  called to tell him that I did a great job and that Mr. Heston was very  satisfied. I really didn't care what Mr. Heston thought, but I was  grateful his call seemed to make Lyle happy, which meant he left me  alone all week.         

     



 

Friday night the hotel club was extra busy and the band convinced me to  stay an extra hour past the end of my normal shift to keep the crowd  partying. I was drained from the long week without contact from Jack,  but agreed to stay anyway. I was becoming good friends with the guys in  the band and we seemed to have found our stride together. The drummer,  Travis, and I had even had lunch together twice, and when we were  working he had established himself as my resident bodyguard.

Travis Toomey didn't look like a typical hotel club band drummer. He had  long dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, a goatee, and what  could only be described as dark brown almond shaped bedroom eyes. His  arms were covered in tattoos and he was physically enormous. He towered  above most people with his six foot six frame and shoulders that spanned  the width of two regular-sized men. When I first saw him sitting behind  the drums, I remember thinking that he made the full-size drum kit look  like he was playing a children's set. His handsome face was marred by a  deep scar going the length from just beneath his eye to his chin. He  looked like he just gotten out of jail and had ridden to the bar on his  motorcycle to find a woman, club her over the head, and drag her out the  back door unconscious. He looked the epitome of the phrase dark and  dangerous.

But the truth of the matter was that Travis rode a bicycle to work and  was married to Tom, a man he had been with for more than ten years. He  didn't care what people thought and I was pretty sure he liked people to  think that he was a rough and tumble badass. It worked for me because I  had seemingly become a magnet for drunk single men who thought I would  be sufficiently turned on by their slurring pick-up lines. Travis always  kept an eye out for me and would come to my rescue by putting his arm  around my shoulder and calling me babe. Every man quietly disappeared  with his tail between his legs within thirty seconds of Travis's  appearance.

Travis also always walked me outside and waited until I was safely in a  cab before leaving. Friday night there were extra crazies out in the  city at one in the morning, so I was grateful that Travis was such a  good friend. He kissed me gently on the cheek before I folded into the  cab and he gave a sour warning to the driver to take good care of "his  woman."

An hour later I was drifting off to sleep when I was startled back to  consciousness by a loud banging at my door. It wasn't a normal knock.  Before I even made it three steps from my bed, the person on the other  side of the door was pounding my door again furiously. Thoughts ran  through my head: there was a fire in my building, or a neighbor was  being attacked and needed help.

I opened the door a crack and left the chain on for safety. I probably  should have asked who it was first, but I was reacting to the anxious  knocking at the door and wasn't thinking. My pounding heart stopped dead  when I saw Jack standing there, his forehead pressed into the doorjamb,  which was holding him up. I wasn't afraid of him physically, but I  didn't release the chain either.

His beautiful green eyes were bloodshot when they locked on me. "Can I come in?"

I could smell the liquor on his breath as he spoke and his words were slightly slurred. A pause and then, "Please."

I looked into his eyes and saw sadness and pain. I nodded my head and  released the safety chain. He slowly walked in slowly, never taking his  eyes off of me. We stood there for a moment, facing each other, just  looking and watching each other's reaction. His hand slowly reached for  my hip and I took a step backwards. He flinched at my reaction and  balled his hands into tight fists at his sides.

"Is that why you are here? A middle of the night booty call?" I was becoming more and more pissed off each second.

"No." His voice was defensive, but he dropped his head in shame.

"So why are you here then?"

His eyes lifted from the floor to find mine. "I don't know. I just couldn't keep away."

Jack's words touched me and I let my guard slip slightly. My words were  no longer bitter, but I still needed to know more. "Why did you leave  and not come back last weekend?"

He visibly flinched again at my question. I watched as he thought and  his eyes filled with emotion. "Because I'm a fucking horrible man and  you deserve better."

For me, alcohol was my truth serum, and I hoped it was the same for Jack. "Why are you a horrible man?"

He looked tortured and conflicted and I couldn't bear it any longer. I  reached out my hand to him to provide comfort. I saw relief flood his  eyes. He took my hand and held it, waiting for me to allow him something  more. "I have no idea how to have a relationship." A long pause. "I  hate my father for who he is, but I'm just like him."         

     



 

I couldn't bear anymore. I needed to take away his pain, even after all  the pain he had caused me. I closed the space between us and laid my  head to his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist tightly. His arms  wrapped around me, engulfing me into his pain. I listened with my ear at  his chest as his racing heartbeat slowed and he clung to me tightly.

We stayed that way for a long time. My emotions were running wild, but I  felt more alive than I had that whole week. I pulled back to look at  his face, and I could tell he was reluctant to loosen his grip. His face  was full of concern. "Would you like to stay and talk in the morning?"

Jack didn't respond with words; instead he pulled me back into his arms  and wrapped me inside of his hold even tighter. I brought him to my  bedroom and sat him on the edge of the bed. I reached down and removed  his shoes. He watched me hesitantly, making no move to touch me. He was  afraid of overstepping his place for fear I would change my mind.

"Do you want to take off your pants?"

He looked at me and shook his head no, but reached for me as he laid  back on the bed. He laid on his back and positioned me with my head on  his chest, his arms wrapped around me so tightly I couldn't move if I  wanted to. But I didn't want to move. I hated to admit it, but there was  nowhere else I would have rather been.



The next morning, Jack was still sleeping when I woke up. His sleep only  slightly loosened his hold on me and I had to pry myself from his arms  in order to get up. He stirred when I snuck out of bed, but eventually  he settled back into sleep. Nature was calling and I needed an extra  large cup of coffee and two aspirin for my pounding headache.

I decided to make bacon and eggs, hoping that Jack would stay for  breakfast this time and make good on his promise to talk in the morning.  I sang softly to myself, trying not to wake him. I didn't know how to  cook without singing. In fact, there were a lot of things that I found  physically impossible to do without at least quietly humming a tune.

I turned the bacon and caught Jack standing in the doorway out of the  corner of my eye. His frame filled the doorway and he rested his arms on  the doorjambs as he watched me.

"Good morning." I spoke quietly; suddenly aware that I was still only  wearing my old Yankee t-shirt that barely covered my ass. Michael was a  diehard Red Sox fan and hated the t-shirt, which was probably why I had  made it into my official pajamas most nights since moving to New York.