Jack Who?

CHAPTER 13

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DROPPING HER HAND and phone to her lap, she began the amusing admission. “You.”

     “Me?”

     “Your code name. I couldn’t put –” Stopping short, she looked around, certain none of the room’s significantly older inhabitants would recognize her blurt of his name, but she amended anyway, “Couldn’t put your real name in, could I?”

     Instead of asking her why she chose the name Russ, his next question was unpredicted. “You never told your best friend? About us?”

     Pathetic, but her heart lurched at that one word.

     Us.

     A few weeks ago, over the phone, he had voiced the declaration that she was nothing more than a bang. Earlier today, he had referred to her as a stranger. Now, she was part of an ’us.’

     “I love Liv, but she’s kind of a blabbermouth.”

    “But after you found you were preg– After you had– “ Stuttering around any baby word, he broke off. Although he was here, in some type of semi-acceptance, he still couldn’t say it. “After all this time, you never told?”

     “What would be the point?”

     He seemed to respect the fact that she had not blabbed to even her closest friend and her family of their liaison, before his face clouded.

     “You should have told. Me.” The words were stony and spoke of the lack of an entirely different revelation. It must have marinated all day, and now he took issue with not having been informed of the pregnancy years ago. Her response formulated, then slipped away, then almost came together again, but her brain seemed incapable of any thought except Tristan in that room. Maybe it was the same for him too because he said, “Never mind. Let’s just get through today for now.”

     There it was again. Us. Even if it was in contraction form.

     “Mr. and Mrs. Duplei?” A medical assistant clipped bracelets around each of their wrists after informing them visitation was about to begin. Printed on the laminated bracelet was Tristan’s name, birthday, doctor, and other information. The visiting system was organized by room and space, so that only one patient’s family at a time crowded each room.

     Tristan was still asleep, and again, she fussed maternally over him while Jack stood around the foot of the bed, seemingly infatuated by his tiny look-alike. Once they adjourned back to their chairs, Jack offered to find something to eat, but she declined.

     “Go ahead if you want.” She knew he must be hungry, but he shook his head and leaned it back against the wall. Taking in the shadows beginning to form beneath his eyes, she wondered if they stemmed from the stress or fatigue. “When did you get here? To Biloxi?”

     “This morning.” Even his voice seemed wearier than earlier.

     “You flew in this morning?”

     “Had meetings all day yesterday. New album stuff. So I left LA last night at 11:37.” He spoke in exact flight time then grimaced. “Then, of course, two hours is lost to the time zone difference. So it was around four when I checked into the hotel.”

     Biting her tongue before it could ask where he was staying, she slouched more comfortably, leaning her own head back as well.

     The casino where she worked was in one of two elite five star hotels in the area. It was closer by a few miles to the both the airport and the hospital. Factor in all logic, and there was a good chance he was staying in a hotel she knew very well. So well, it was easy to picture him in the lobby waiting for a cab or—her eyes darted to him, thankfully finding his eyes closed oblivious to her blush—stretched out in a bed with a burgundy bed scarf at his feet.

     The silence stretched, and he seemed to be dozing. Although she was too keyed up to do the same, it felt good to close her eyes.

     “Marissa?” He softly murmured her name, possibly in case she was asleep.

     “Mmh?” Without moving anything except her eyes, she glanced and found him doing the same.

     “Tell me about him…”

     Caught off guard, she stared at the repeating wallpaper print. There was nothing she loved more than to talk about Tristan. She tried not to be one of ‘those’ mothers at work, or wherever, boring others with every detail of their child, but it was not easy.

     Her parents liked listening to every little story of his latest escapades. Olivia generally lived each adventure, and the two of them would laugh together. But, nothing had ever been as pleasing as the idea of telling her son’s personality traits, skills, gifts, and glories to his father.

     “He’s the best kid in the world. So sweet and smart. And funny. He says the funniest stuff on purpose. Anything good, he is.” Letting her mind drift, she tried to come up with specifics.

     “What are his favorite things to do?”

     A smile stretched on her lips as she briefed Jack of the shows Tristan watched, the books he liked, and the games he played. Of Hot Wheels cars and helicopters. Of Tiggy his fake pet and Bally his real pet. Of drums and karaoke.

     “He likes to sing?” Jack’s head popped up from its rest on the wall.

     A proud maternal smile twitched her lips. “He’s actually really good. You would be surprised.”

     “Why surprised?” Jack taunted, and a teasing glint lit his dark gaze. “You listened to the CD I gave you, right?”

     That one sentence had so many hidden implications whether he meant it to or not. An inference that any child of his would be born with music pumping as vitally as blood through the veins. An internal acceptance of Tristan as his son.

     “I listened to more than the CD. Even downloaded a couple.” The confession naturally spilled out in this close easy moment, and she watched his brows slightly lift in surprise.

     A husky challenge came next. “Does that mean you liked what you heard? Marissa who doesn’t listen to hard metal?”

     For years, Jack had been tied to her world. But she had always forced herself to reason out that to him she might be barely a blip on a radar filled with many women. Hearing him recite a specific detail from that late afternoon caused her heart to glow.

     “Some of it.” Her stressed smile was slight, but it remained as that boyish taunt transported her back into time. Back to Jack giving her that first Jackal CD after giving her a firsthand inkling of just how great the X-rated things sung and screamed about in so many of those songs could be.

     Thankfully, as if just remembering what else she had mentioned, Jack abandoned that avenue of conversation. “Drums?” When she nodded, he surmised, “You’re a good mom to tolerate a four-year old on drums…”

     “Surprisingly, he can keep a beat.”

     “There’s that ‘surprisingly’ again,” he joked, as if offended.

     Blowing out a breath, she shot back, “Because he’s four!”

     His grin held, gradually fading as he asked, “Do you have pictures? On your phone?”

     Eagerly, she opened the gallery file, passed the device over, and then she watched his face as he took in every pixel. There were easily a hundred pictures on the phone, and he went through each one. He would slow sometimes on any of her with friends, but he only asked questions about any containing Tristan.

     Pausing on one, he smiled at Tristan using Bally as a pillow while watching tv, and asked her to text the image to his phone.

     Variable emotions channeled between them, but she held back her questions. Fatherhood may have petrified him a few weeks ago, but once he saw the inevitable and laid eyes on his son, he was surprisingly quick to adjust. So quickly, it was frightening when the C word would pop into her head.

     Custody.

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