I can't sleep.
It's either cruel irony or déjà-vu. Except one thing is different: I'm not afraid to go to sleep, even though I've had flashbacks in the middle of the night for the past week. I'm just really restless and troubled. The nightmares are just a side effect of being kidnapped. I'm sure they'll go away in a few days, which is more than I can say for the nightmares I used to have. But considering I'm having the same symptoms, it's nearly as worse.
I groan pitifully and roll over in bed. My phone is sitting on my bedside table. I know who I can call - Jason would be here in a heartbeat. He'd come and hold me, make me feel safe, and talk to me until I fell asleep. It's that easy.
Which is why it's so hard for me to resist reaching over and dialing his number. Instead I roll over again, this time onto my back so I can stare at the ceiling. I clutch a pillow and turn my face into my splayed hair, imagining Jason running his fingers through it. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. But I've realized it's necessary.
Ever since last week, after my kidnapping and the tumultuous conversation we had afterwards, I've decided to give him that space he was talking about. It's the only way I'm going to get the answers I'm looking for - if I keep pushing him he'll just put up a guard. I can't keep anticipating disappointment. He promised he would tell me everything, in time.
But that doesn't mean I don't want him around. He's my rock and my safety. Last week he held my hand on the way to the hospital, stayed with me while I sat through the stitches, and kissed my wounds afterward, telling me that they're going to make some beautiful battle scars someday.
Then we went back to his house, and we went to bed, Jason holding me close and not saying a word. I was the one who did all the talking, telling him everything that happened that night again, making sure I didn't leave anything out. It sounded even worse the second time, and, in retrospect, I realized how lasting the effects would be not only on me but on the gang.
We lost the Walker house and reneged on our duties to Ronnie. Jason, Za, and Khalil all have mug shots now, and not by any reckless desire or cause: they were all arrested unfairly. The Msfts feel guilty for misinterpreting the Wreckers' move - they feel like they let us down.
And I've been tortured and harassed, all to prove a point - I may not be weak, necessarily, but I am the weak link. I haven't lost any faith in our chances of winning, but I certainly see this ending only one way. Either we'll have to enact some tragic damage on the Wreckers, or they'll do the same and we'll finally have to back down. No matter what the end will justify the means. And that night was the beginning of the end.
I ended up okay that night. But for the past week my experience at the warehouse has been haunting me in my sleep. Unfortunately, my need for comfort isn't compatible with Jason's need for space. I'm worried that I'll want to reciprocate his solace. Meaning, I'm going to ask him to talk to me so I can comfort him just the same.
So I've been distracting myself all week instead, giving my thoughts a chance to dissipate. On Sunday I caught up on all my homework. On Monday I cleaned the entire house. Tuesday I straightened my hair and got my nails done. Yesterday I raided the drugstore for Valentine's Day candy for my friends.
And today, Thursday, I had everyone over for dinner. Along with studying, cleaning, and shopping, nothing gets my mind off things like cooking. I pulled out my mom's recipe book, whipped up a Filipino classic, and set the table for seven.
So sorting through this mess on my own hasn't been all bad. I still can't sleep - and even though I'm exhausted, part of it might be subconscious. No one wants to have nightmares. Maybe I'm not fighting my restlessness hard enough because I know what might happen once I'm asleep. Old habits die hard.
I throw the blankets off my legs and hop out of bed.
When I make it downstairs I see I'm not the only one awake. The lamps of the breakfast bar splash light on the dining room walls. Anna is sitting there, hunched over papers. There's a coffee cup beside her.
"Hey, Anna," I say as I approach. "Can't sleep?"
She glances up absentmindedly. "Oh, hi, Tess. Not really. I'm feeling queasy." She pats her stomach, which only slightly pokes out under her satin camisole. "And I figured I'd get some wedding planning done while I'm up."
"It might be the caffeine keeping you up," I note, pointing to her cup.
She laughs. "This is grape juice! I just grabbed a coffee cup because it makes me feel like I can still drink it. Caffeine isn't good for the baby." She peers at me. "You can't sleep either?"
I sigh and rest my chin in my hand. "No. It's not that I don't want to - I'm just restless."
She studies me. "You're on the pill, right?"
"Yeah. Terrible cramps. Why?"
"Caffeine takes longer to leave your system if you're taking birth control. Trust me, I learned that the hard way when I was going to school and depending on caffeine at night. I never like, crashed, and even when I was trying to go to sleep it took a while for me to relax. Then I stopped taking it and slept just fine. Of course, once I got pregnant my hormones went through the roof - that's why I was on it in the first place - and now I'm back to not sleeping. It's probably nerves - " She stops herself abruptly, then gives me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I sound like such a nurse."
I smile. "Anna, you are a nurse. But I didn't have any coffee today - and I actually forgot to take my pill, too." I grimace. "I'm just having one of those nights. I have a lot on my mind." I sigh and glance around the kitchen halfheartedly. "Maybe I should clean up around here."
"You already did, Tess," she reminds me, chuckling. "And cooked a huge dinner for everyone and scrubbed every inch of this house before that." She tilts her head at me. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah. Just keeping myself occupied. And I wanted to do something nice for everybody." I shrug. "Anyway. How's the wedding planning going? What are you working on tonight?"
She finishes off her juice and spreads her papers out. "The menu. I'm working backwards since we already picked the cake. Now I just need an appetizer. And then I have to figure out place settings and center pieces. And the flowers."
"Have you and Danny decided where you're gonna have it?"
"Nope. That's one of the last things I'll do. The deposit and my dress appointment can wait, too."
I widen my eyes. "Last? Aren't the venue and the dress the first things you do?"
Anna's unfazed. "I know it seems weird, but I'm planning out all the little details first. The details is what people scramble over and forget. The big stuff, like my dress and the venue, is obvious. I'll take care of all that later."
"Let me know if you need any help with anything - this is so exciting."
"I know, right?" she agrees, clasping her hands together. "I'm enjoying the process, but at the same time I can't wait. Sometimes I still can't believe your brother proposed."
"Why not?"
She lifts a shoulder and pats her cheek, bashful. "Oh, well, I always worried about it being okay with you. You and Danny are so close and I didn't want to mess that up."
"Anna, you're like a mother and a sister to me. Danny loves you. You keep him grounded. Don't ever think that you're intruding on our lives or anything. You've been a part of the family since Danny first brought you home."
A smile spreads across her face. "Thanks, Tess. You're like your mom, you know," she says reflectively. "Very aware and genuine. And a good head on your shoulders like your dad. I know it sounds corny, but it's like... your parents live on in you. I miss them. We're having a picture montage of them at the wedding. Danny's been digging up old photo albums."
"That's great. And I miss them, too. Everyday." Nostalgia sweeps over me. "Where's Danny's at, by the way?"
"At the hospital. Apparently he gets a lot done in his cubicle. He wanted to finish up all his schoolwork before the weekend."
"Oooohhh," I tease, waggling my eyebrows. She rolls her eyes and flushes, just a little bit. "He must have special plans for tomorrow. I wonder what it is. Dinner on a rooftop? Romantic stroll on the beach? Ferry ride across the Pacific?"
"Yeah, sure. We're getting too old for all that. We'll probably end up staying in, ordering takeout, and watching Netflix."
I laugh out loud. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"What about you and Jason? Do you have anything planned?"
Now it's my turn to flush. "I bought him a gift and some candy. All I know is that he's taking me to dinner. Everything else is a surprise." Suddenly I realize something and cover my face with my hands. "Oh, no. I hope he doesn't embarrass me at school."
"Spoil you, you mean," Anna corrects. I peek through my fingers to see her grinning at me. "He just wants to show you off. That's a good thing. How is everything with you guys?"
"Great."
"Good. I was watching him tonight. He's a sweet boy. And the way you look at each other - it's precious."
"I told him about being lovey-dovey around our friends," I joke. "I'm surprised Za and Khalil weren't making grossed-out faces behind our backs."
She laughs. "Who said they weren't? Danny was doing it, too, especially when you were showing Jason how to use chopsticks. I had to make him fix his face before you turned around."
"Sounds like everyone had a good time."
"We did. You have great friends, Tess. I'm glad you found some here." She regards me carefully, then glances at all her pictures and papers. "Well. I'm nowhere close to being done here. But you look like you need some rest. Why don't you grab some ZzzQuil from my medicine cabinet?"
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Yeah. You go ahead and get some sleep. Good night."
"Good night, Anna." I squeeze her arm on my way out.
"Oh, and Tess?"
I lean over the banister of the staircase. "Yeah?"
"Happy Valentine's Day. Don't forget to take your pill in the morning." The corner of Anna's mouth quirks up, and she hikes an eyebrow at me knowingly.
Meanwhile, I flush all shades of pink and red, quite appropriate for the holiday, and scramble up the stairs.
*****
Anna's ZzzQuil certainly does its job, because I knock out about fifteen minutes after taking it. It takes away my restlessness for sure, but it doesn't take away the bad dreams floating around in my consciousness.
I wake up three times through the night, heart racing and palms sweaty, after seeing images of guns behind my eyelids and hearing gunshots ring in my ears. I can't get Quavo's taunting voice out of my head either, and feel phantom sensations of pain along my rib cage. Before I lay back down each time I press my fingers to my stitches, just to make sure I'm only imagining fresh cuts.
All in all I get about four hours of sleep. Considering that I went to bed after midnight, and wake up at seven, I wouldn't be surprised if my body just gives up as morning approaches. I end up sprawled on my bed, keyed up with frustration. This night turned out to be the worst of the week.
The morning light wakes me before my alarm does. I roll over in and let it wash over my face, and then grab my phone. There's a text message from Jason lighting up my screen.
I open it; it's a GIF of an animated teddy bear with heart eyes, saying "I Wuv You" and prancing around on a background of lollipops and chocolates. It's adorable and makes me laugh, releasing my stress over the night. I find a similar one to send back, and he lets me know he'll be here in an hour.
I don't bother wallowing in my grogginess. I should be looking forward to the quality time I'll be spending with Jason. We need a night to ourselves after the, admittedly, disastrous events of last weekend. And while he hasn't mentioned any gang business all week - he insisted that he'll come up with a solution and told me not to worry - he promised for tonight, particularly, that we wouldn't talk about it.
As I'm finishing up my makeup I catch sight of my birth control at the edge of my dresser. Remembering my conversation with Anna the night before, and blushing in the same way, I take my daily dose immediately. I don't need any surprises of that kind.
The doorbell rings then and I gather my belongings, shuffling down the staircase to answer it. I expect to see Jason there smirking at me, but instead I'm greeted by a huge chocolate-colored teddy bear with a lace-trimmed pillow attached to its lap, reading "Be My Baby." Fastened on one of its wrist is a gold charm bracelet. Two pink heart-shaped balloons are tied around the other.
"Who's your daddy?" Jason says playfully, squeezing the bear so its arms and legs move at me. He attacks me with it, tickling me with its soft fur.
I giggle and swat him away. "Hmm, I'm not sure. You know I love my stuffed animals. Mr. Teddy is giving you a run for your money."
Jason straightens up and lowers the bear so I can finally see all of him. He's wearing a red plaid shirt and a beanie over his flop of bronze hair. He's all warm eyes, defined jawline, and charismatic smile, boyish and mature and adorable all at once.
"Mr. Teddy?" he repeats, roping his arm around my waist. He pulls me against him with one of his arms still behind his back like he's hiding something. "Eh. Mr. McCann still sounds better."
"Teach me your ways, then."
He smirks and leans down to kiss me. When we pull away he gives me the stuffed animal - and an enormous heart-shaped box of Godiva chocolates from his other hand. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby girl," he says, almost shyly. As if no matter what he gives me, it will never be enough.
"Thank you, baby." I hug the bear gratefully, feeling just as warm and fuzzy inside, and then hand him his gifts. "Happy Valentine's Day to you, too. Go on, open them," I encourage him when he accepts modestly.
"What, these?" He lifts his huge box of Ghiradelli chocolates up to his ear and shakes it lightly. "I don't wanna ruin my appetite. I need it for you tonight." He hikes an eyebrow and drags his gaze over me.
Desire unfurls in my abdomen. "We're gonna satisfy that sweet tooth later on," I promise, demure. "But I meant your present."
He keeps his devious gaze on me as he rummages through the packaging. When he pulls out the gift he chuckles and pecks me on the cheek. "Boxers and bed sheets? I see you. Thanks, babe."
"You're very welcome."
"Here. Let me put on your bracelet." He circles my wrist delicately with his fingers. The charms - a J, a T, a heart, a flower, a star, and a key - are cool against my skin and sparkle under the light. It's precious.
"I put a card inside your heart," he tells me when I look up into his smiling eyes. He points to my box of chocolates. "There's a note, too. You can read it later."
"No way. I put your card inside your heart, too. It's underneath all the candy."
"Why?"
"Because it's the sweetest of them all," I cheese, batting my eyelashes.
He grins and nudges my cheek. "Cute. Now let's go before we're late."
When we get to his car he opens my door for me, as always. Before I get in, though, I gape at the lush bouquet of cherry-red roses lying in the seat.
Jason leans on his door casually and smirks at my reaction.
"You got me flowers, too?" I squeak out.
"What's the matter? You don't like them?"
"No, of course I do. They're beautiful." I bend to pick them up and crush them to me. I breathe in the fresh, slightly sweet smell, the plush petals of the flowers tickling my nose. They're incredibly soft and not crinkly at all. I rub a petal between my fingers. "It's just - you're spoiling me so much."
"I'm not spoiling you," he insists. "I'm just giving you what you deserve. I told you I'd do something special for you last month. And besides, you gave me permission to spend however much I wanted on you, so what do you think I'm gonna do?" He crosses his arms over his chest.
I just look at him, at this bad boy trying his best to be good to me, and find no reason to argue. It's hard to resist a bad boy who's a good man.
Jason realizes my compliance and smirks to himself in triumph. He gives a dominant nod, as if to say, Yeah, that's what I thought, then walks to his side of the car. My eyes follow him the whole way.
"Thank you, Jason. The flowers are beautiful," I say in a well-behaved voice. He grins. "Where did you get them?"
"Some French florist shop my dad knows. He used to get them for my mom all the time."
"How are things with you and your dad, by the way?"
He leans on the hood of his car and blows out a breath. His eyes wander like he's searching for an answer somewhere near, but I know he just does that when he's troubled. "Not talking is better than arguing, right?"
"Jason," I chastise, more worrisome than anything.
He shrugs noncommitally and gets into the car, starting his engine with a little more force than necessary.
"What do you want me to say, TK?" he says, belligerent as he peels away from the curb. "The silent treatment works in my house. We don't ask each other questions and we go about our business."
"That's not what this is about. This has been going on for like, three weeks now. What happened? What'd he do?"
"Everything. He's an asshole." He floors it through a red light.
I frown. Whatever happened must've upset him deeply - he's been grumbling about Mr. McCann more than usual and avoiding home. It's gotten so bad that he's slept at Za and Khalil's houses more than his own and times his schedule with his dad's to ensure they don't cross paths.
It occurs to me that this all started not too long after the street fight, which is also when Mr. McCann offered me a job with his company. My resolve has weakened after the hostage situation last week, and I know Jason is the only one who I can talk to about it.
But the way he's acting now... should I even mention it? Or does he already know? Perhaps that's why he's so angry with his dad? Maybe Mr. McCann spoke to Jason first about offering me the job, and Jason didn't like it, for whatever reason. And maybe Jason thinks Mr. McCann didn't ask me at all after his reaction. Since I haven't said anything about it, he must assume this to be true.
I'm conflicted. I want to believe that Jason would tell me if something going on with his dad was bothering him, especially if it involved me. But after truly realizing how guarded and stubborn he can be, I'm not so sure. I only decided to wait on telling him because it's harder to confront him about it after I've already confronted myself. I don't know if that makes me a hypocrite or a worry wart. Either way I'm stepping on that space I want to give him so badly.
"I can't help you if you won't talk to me," I point out, neither accusing nor scolding. My voice is quite somber, actually. "Are you sure it's not a big deal?"
Jason focuses on the road silently for a few minutes, his hand tightening around the steering wheel. But he just shakes his head and takes my hand. "It's not," he assures me. "It's nothing worth talking about. I'll get over it. Don't worry, okay?"
He squeezes my hand and I nod. Nothing worth talking about. My conviction fizzles even more. Maybe I shouldn't say anything about Mr. McCann's offer at all. If it's causing this much stress than I should just grapple with it on my own. I should trust my own judgment, right?
Minutes of silence pass by. Jason eases the car to a stop at a light, not skating past it for once, and glances over at me.
"Hey," he says haltingly, lifting my chin. "Have you been sleeping alright, baby girl? You have circles under your eyes." He taps the apple of my cheek gently.
"I was kinda restless last night," I tell him meekly, shrugging. "It happens."
He narrows his eyes. "You look tired. What's going on? Are you having nightmares again?"
I bite my lip and look out the window as the light changes, and he presses the gas after a moment's hesitation. "Not really, no."
"TK, I know that mouth. Now fix it and talk to me. What do you mean, 'not really'?"
Defeat shoves me in the gut. "I mean, they're not really nightmares. I've just been seeing things, and hearing stuff. It shocks me out of my sleep sometimes. But it's not like I haven't been sleeping at all. They're just flashbacks. They'll go away."
I fold my hands in my lap, playing with the charms on my bracelet. This just might be my new nervous gesture. Jason knows my lip bite and hand-through-the-hair too well.
But I don't think fiddling with my jewelry like nothing is wrong will fly either, because he's shaking his head before I even finish. "I knew things went too far last weekend, TK. I hate to see you like this. Why didn't you tell me it was still bothering you? You know I would've come and stayed with you."
"I didn't want to make it a problem if it didn't have to be," I say in a thick voice. "We have enough to deal with."
Jason takes longer to answer this time. In the lapse of silence we reach North Shore and he maneuvers through the parking lot. We're five minutes away from first bell and a frenzy is amiss, but he basically ignores it as he pulls into his normal spot beside Za's Mustang and turns to me.
"TK. You're not a problem. And if something's up with you we deal with it right away. It doesn't take a back burner to the gang business. You're worried about the street stuff, right?"
"Of course I am." My voice trembles with the confession. "Last weekend was horrible. And I know you said we're separate from the gang, but it's who we are. It's gonna get in the way sometimes. I have to keep my emotions separate from what needs to be done."
"I understand that. I've been doing that my whole life. But if your mind's not right, and your feelings aren't taken care of, then you can't make good decisions. And when it comes down to it, you're more important to me than any street shit. I'd rather lose the war than lose you."
I watch him as he speaks, surprised at the note of hopeless calm in his voice. For the first time ever it seems like he's ready to bow down and accept defeat, if need be. It breaks my heart to see him embrace failure for either my sake, his own, or both. And I can see the conflict in his expression - the struggle to back away from the edge or just risk the fall.
"Jason." I speak clearly with a steady gaze. "We're not gonna lose. We'll figure something out. I'm not worried about all this because I think we can't win anymore. It's because I know you're feeling pressured and judged. You need the outlet. But don't feel helpless or ashamed about what happened. You can do this." I pause, taking a deep breath, then say, "If we - you - need to handle any business tonight - "
"No," he says at once. "I don't care about Ronnie right now, and the Wreckers are stupid - but not stupid enough to confront me after last weekend. Tonight is about you and me. Everything else can wait. Okay?"
"Okay," I say quietly after a moment or so. He's so severe and persuasive; it makes me feel so small sometimes. I need his firmness, though. It wakes me up.
Still, I see him relent visibly as we get out of the car. He catches me around the waist and pulls me to him with care.
"Promise me you'll take a nap when you get home," he says, caressing the skin under my eyes. "And get some rest."
"I promise. I need my energy for later on, right?" I smile coyly.
His eyes dance with anticipation and he cinches me tighter before letting me go. "Absolutely."
*****
The school day passes without - much - incident. I buy Jason lunch, give my friends their candy, and get some envious and admiring stares from my peers. All because of the gifts and affection from Jason.
In Human Anatomy Mr. Anderson leaves us to finish up our lab, but it's the last period on a Friday, so of course Jason and Za have no motivation to do any work. They act like children instead, crushing up Smarties, rolling them in paper, and either snorting them or lighting them with the Bunsen Burner as I do the work and try not to laugh. Mr. Anderson catches them while they're role-playing a drug deal and basically has a conniption. The whole class gets a show as they screw around with our teacher. Then he gives them detention for the afternoon.
Jason drives me home after school - heading back out quickly only because I force him not to skip detention. I shuffle in the house, ready to collapse on the couch in exhaustion, but, to my surprise, Danny's home. I hear him talking in a low, tense voice in the kitchen. He hangs up once he notices me.
"Hey, Danny," I greet him. "What are you doing home?"
"Important phone call," he replies vaguely. "I needed some stuff from the house."
I eye him. "Well... is everything alright?"
He seems uncomfortable. "It was the police. They just wanted to clear some things up about the investigation. Don't worry about it."
My mind shifts gears completely. "Are you sure? I know I said I didn't want to be involved, but if something's wrong, then tell me."
"Nothing's wrong, exactly." He sighs. "Detective Mills just asked me to go through some of Mom and Dad's documents. Financial history and stuff like that. They always told us to keep those kind of papers for insurance and stuff, remember?"
I nod.
"Well, he asked me to look over them and check for anything notable. The investigation team has this theory that it was an organized crime. Over money, a debt, a favor, et cetera. I think I told you that before."
"So what are you saying? You found something?"
"I think it supports their theory."
I consider. "Or you're just confusing an explanation with a coincidence. Isn't it kinda hard to make assumptions from things like bank statements and healthcare benefits? Why does it have to be this grand scheme? It could've just been some murder initiation or a tragic drive-by."
Danny is aghast. "How can you say that? Murder initiation? Drive-by? It's not like Mom and Dad were in a damn gang, Tessa! We didn't live in a bad neighborhood!"
His comment is ironic and hits close to home, but I don't even blink. It takes more to shake me these days. "I'm just trying to reasonable and objective. And I refuse to believe that our parents were some closet villains that did things we didn't know about. Things that would get them killed."
"Oh, don't be naive," my brother chides dismissively.
"I'm not," I insist, irked that he's treating me like a child. "I'm just not letting emotion cloud my judgment. Think about it. You're on this search for closure and justice, so even the smallest thing seems like the answer. Even if it's bizarre and makes you question everything we knew about Mom and Dad. That's why I didn't want to know anything about this."
"You asked."
"Because it looked like it was bothering you. And this is why."
"Yeah, well, maybe I thought you should know. Sorry if the answer to our parents' senseless death isn't as important to you as it is to me."
"It's not. I already saw them get shot. Sorry you didn't have the privilege of a live show."
He regards me in disbelief. "Tess, who are you right now? You're so... desensitized. What happened?"
My demeanor cools, and I back up. I start gathering my gifts, and a new thought occurs.
"You know, you keep dropping stuff on me on the holidays," I remark. "On Halloween it was the detectives. On Christmas it was the proposal. Today it's this."
He blinks and shakes his head as I walk away, baffled by this seemingly random response. "Today's not a holiday. It's just Valentine's Day. What does that have to do with anything?"
"Valentine's Day was one of Mom's favorites. It's the only day she didn't have to hide her huge heart. Do you remember that? I do. I think about stuff like that. I'm choosing to only remember the good things about Mom and Dad. That's what's getting me through it. Not constantly thinking about their murder. I had nightmares about that. And I don't want them to come back."
My brother stares at me speechlessly. My only intent was to make him finally get it - and it seems to have worked. So I leave him with the weight of my words.
When I get to my room I look at the photo of my parents on my dresser, feeling like I made some deep, unspoken promise to them once they died. Then I look at the "Don't Cry Baby, Just Get Better" teddy bear on my bed, and the one I got today, and remember the promise I made to someone else I love. So I curl up with both and drift off to sleep.
*****
I do a three-sixty in the mirror for the millionth time and examine my reflection from the back. Is it just me, or did my butt look perkier a minute ago? I smooth the fabric of my dress over my hips, wiggle a little, and turn to the side. Finally I just shake my head and give up. I'm at that point where nothing else can be done and I'm being finicky. Besides, how bad can I look in a red bandage dress that hugs my curves, red satin pumps that lift me in all the right places, and sensual cherry lipstick?
Anticipation thrums in my veins. Jason will be here soon. I turn away from my the mirror and look around my room, making sure I haven't forgotten anything. My box of chocolates lies open at the edge of my bed and I walk over to close it - but not before taking out Jason's card.
His note is handwritten in glossy black ink. It takes up the whole left side of the card. But before I can start it, the doorbell rings. Shoot! I place it on my pillow and vow to read it before I go to sleep.
I hurry downstairs. Jason's on the doorstep in a black suit and skinny tie, so handsome that it's derailing. He drags his gaze over my body slowly as I let him in, but he says nothing.
"What?" I say, breathy.
"Nothing," he replies roughly. He clears his throat. "I'm speechless."
"That's a first."
"I know. I - don't know what to say. I thought I looked good." He takes my hips and pulls me to him, assessing me from head to toe again. His gaze lingers much longer this time, and is burning with desire by the time it reaches mine.
"You do," I whisper, my palms resting against his chest. His cologne is intoxicating and delicious. "You look amazing."
"And you look sexy," he says, quite honestly, and it makes me giggle. He grins at my laugh and kisses me, pressing me against him and leaning into me at the same time, so passionate that I'm a little dazed when he lets go.
"Ready?" he asks me.
I nod and take his hand.
We drive in relative silence, save for the rap music drifting from the radio. I have no idea where we're going, and Jason is teasing and cryptic. Eventually we drive into L.A. and he asks me to close my eyes.
I feel the car pause and turn before coming to a complete stop. We must have pulled into a parking spot - though Jason doesn't turn off the engine. He tells me to keep my eyes closed, gets out, and is opening my door in seconds. He holds my hand as I dismount. There's some low, dignified chatter - I hear "valet" and "deck" - and then Jason leads me forward, around a bend, and up some steps. We stop finally and his voice hovers beside my ear as he says, "Okay, open your eyes."
"Oh my God," I whisper, my eyes absorbing the sight.
We're standing at the end of a cobblestone pathway lined with trees and stone benches. Before us is a picturesque scene of moonlight and roses: an outdoor courtyard, illuminated by the soft glow of string lights and centered by an exquisite marble fountain. Round tables with black linen tablecloths and opalescent centerpieces are arranged around it. Dreamy candlelight throws beautiful shadows against the rich color scheme - wine red, indigo, dark purple, cream. Chiming piano notes float from somewhere nearby. It's all very enchanting, and very romantic.
Jason smiles at my reaction and places his hand on the small of my back. He escorts me to the host stand and smoothly handles an exchange with a tall man dressed in immaculate black and white. They murmur something about "McCann" and "reservations for two" and "special", and then we're following the host to the edge of the courtyard. Our table overlooks the sparkling cityscape. Dried rose petals are sprinkled on top.
I don't really get a word in until Jason has pulled out my chair for me, settled on the other side, and our waiter has taken our full order. He arrives shortly after the host seats us to ask about drinks, then practically recites the menu to us with elegant flourish. Everything sounds so fancy and sauteed and French.
"What do you think, TK?" Jason asks me at last, once the waiter has dropped off our drinks. He's smiling at me across the table. "And before you say anything, remember you gave me permission to spend however much I wanted on you."
I smile back. "You're gonna hold that against me forever, aren't you?"
"Just for tonight."
"Yeah, okay."
"But seriously," he says, reaching for my hand. He laces our fingers. "Do you like it? It's not too much, is it?" He gives me a shy look.
"No. It's perfect. I can't believe you went through all this trouble for me."
"It wasn't trouble. It was just hard work. You're worth it."
"Tell me about it," I plead.
He hesitates, but I'm pretty sure my puppy-dog eyes are irresistible, because he caves. It's adorable, really, as he tells me how he got his suit dry cleaned, how he pestered the restaurant until they responded, how he sampled every candy from the box he gave me at the store just to make sure I'd like them all, how he hand-picked the charms for my bracelet, and how he read my note so many times that he has it memorized.
It's so amazing how much he loves me, and how much he's shown it, and I can't help it when I start tearing up over dinner.
"TK," he says, knitting his brows in concern. "What's the matter? Is your salmon too spicy?"
I laugh tensely through my tears. "No. It's delicious."
"Then why are you crying? Is it that good?"
I dab at my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just - overwhelmed. And thankful. For everything. You've shown me how much you love me today. You've done that even before today. I just feel like telling you I love you isn't enough. But I do. I love you so much."
"You think I don't know that? I love hearing you say it."
"But I wanna show you like you've done for me," I murmur.
"You already have. By showing me the way. If I didn't have your good judgment in this war... if I had killed Wayne... if you hadn't talked me through everything after I got arrested... if you hadn't helped me in the street fight... if you hadn't got me back on my medication... if you didn't put up with my stubbornness and recklessness..." he lists. "My point is, you're so good to me without even trying. But I'm not that compassionate. I have to actually try to be good for you, and it only makes me love you more. I'm fine with working hard to please you and fight for you and give you everything you deserve until I feel like I deserve you."
I take a while to answer, beatified. He makes me feel like I'm the only girl in the world.
"You do deserve me," I say eventually. "You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because you think you don't."
I swear he blushes like a little boy and tries to hide his wide, goofball smile as our waiter approaches our table.
"I love you, baby girl," he mouths in secret.
"I love you, too," I mouth back.
Our waiter greets us with pleasantries about the food and our evening so far, then recommends some sweetheart strawberry-and-chocolate cheesecake dish for dessert. We ask for one to share and he brings us a plate that looks more like a piece of art than an edible meal. But it tastes divine, especially because Jason feeds me bites of it slowly with his fork. He gives me a devious stare the entire time, and I return it with a sultry one of my own.
After I feed him the last bite he checks his watch and mutters a curse.
"C'mon, baby girl," he says, rummaging for his wallet. "Time to get you out of that dress."
I hike an eyebrow. "Someone's excited. You sure you can last the whole ride home?"
He smirks down at me as he stands and beckons the waiter over. "We're not going home yet."
*****
"You're taking me to a hockey game?" I ask Jason, fumbling to straighten his jersey as he leads me toward the arena. I'm wearing a mouth guard, though, to get into the spirit, so my words come out jumbled and foolish.
He glances over his shoulder at me. "What was that?" he laughs. Opening music and the national anthem blare from inside and he tugs me along hurriedly. The game's about to start. "Are you cursing me out in your native tongue?"
I drop the mouthpiece into my palm and glare at him. "Oh, shut up. Why'd you tell me to put this on, anyway? We're not even inside. Where's yours?"
"That is mine. And you looked cute. All you need is a helmet and shin pads, and you're ready to go."
I give him a horrified look as we reach the ticket booth. "Jason! I thought we were just watching! This isn't some open practice or something, is it?"
He chuckles and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "TK, relax. I brought you here to see a game. It's my favorite local team and their rivals. It'll be great."
"Why are they playing on Valentine's Day?"
"The same reason the Giants play football on Christmas," he points out as we enter the rink.
"I have no idea what that means. Basketball girl, remember?"
"Well, I'm gonna make you a hockey girl." He smirks at me, eyes alight.
I can't help but give into his excitement. After we left the restaurant he gave me his jersey, a pair of jeans, and sneakers to change into. Apparently he grabbed them for me while he was at my house last night - I've never known anyone so spontaneous and thoughtful at the same time.
Then he changed into a jersey and jeans of his own, and we drove to an arena in a nearby suburb. I had no idea what he had planned up until a few minutes ago. Normally I hate surprises, but he's making me love his, with all their thrill and adventure.
We shuffle into the stands just as the game starts. From where we stand - in the middle of the third row - we have a pretty good view. Bleachers surround the immaculate ice rink on all sides and are filled with fans. Our entire side is dressed in teal jerseys as well, representing the home team.
"The little rubber thing is called the plink, right?" I ask Jason, watching as the teams tip off - puck off? - at the center.
He glances away from the rink to give me a half-mortified, half-offended look.
I laugh. "Babe, I'm just kidding! I know it's called a puck. And the whole idea is either to score for offense or defend as the goalie."
"Goaltender," he corrects. "And it's so much more than that! Just come here and watch."
He pulls me to him then so my back is to his front and hugs me around the waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. He narrates the game as I survey the action, showing me how much I actually don't know, and cheers and boos and squeezes me in anticipation at all the appropriate times. It's so cute how energetic and involved he is. And the game is very exciting, actually.
During halftime, when I'm feeling a little cold, Jason buys me cocoa from concessions and puts his arms around me to warm me up. We end up on the Kiss Cam while doing this, and a chorus of "awws" ensues.
And then towards the end of the third quarter, the offense gets serious. A player from our team takes a whack at the puck so fierce that it comes flying in our direction. Jason catches it before it hits me in the face and the coach is so impressed by his reflexes that he jokes about making him goalie - and lets him keep it. Jason turns into an ecstatic little kid, like he just caught a grand slam at a baseball game, and tells me he's always wanted to do that. It's the most adorable thing I've ever seen. His team also pulls an epic win.
As the arena empties after the game, I turn to Jason to tell him how much fun I had and that he succeeded at making me a hockey girl. But the emcee interrupts me and announces an "open rink" over the intercom. I don't know what this means, exactly, but I have a pretty good idea when Jason eyes light up like a kid's in a candy store. He gives me an impish smile.
"No," I warn him, shaking my head. "Don't even think about it. I'll fall and bust my ass."
"Your nice ass," he reminds me wickedly, taking me back to the first week I met him. He pulls me to him and smacks it. "And you know I won't let that happen."
"Jason," I whimper, resisting futilely as he tugs me to the skate rental window. He just rolls his eyes and sits me on a bench to lace up my skates, then puts on a pair of his own. I wobble on the platform and cower at the edge of the rink, even when he extends his hand.
"Baby girl," he says gently - but persuasively. "C'mon. Do you trust me?"
"Of course I do."
"Then take my hand." He holds it out expectantly.
I grasp it, holding on for dear life once I step out onto the rink. My balance is thrown on the unfamiliar terrain and I feel like the thin blades aren't enough to support me. But Jason presses me against him before I can even think about falling, clasping my hips, and glides us smoothly across the ice. It's almost like we're dancing, and I loop my arms around his neck. He smiles, pleased as I start to relax.
"See, it's not so bad, is it?" he teases. He sways side to side.
I move my feet a little but hold him tighter. "No. It reminds me of when you taught me how to roller skate. And you didn't let me fall."
"I remember that. That's when I really knew I liked you."
"Really? Why?"
"Because you trusted me."
"It wasn't hard," I say quietly, massaging the hair at the nape of his neck.
"What, roller skating? I told you that."
"No. I mean trusting you. It wasn't that hard. It wasn't hard at all."
He shrugs, almost modest, and his honey eyes dissolve in content. "I don't think I make it easy. But you do anyway. And I'm in love with that. With everything you do."
"And I'm in love with you," I say for the very first time, though I don't say it as some sudden realization. I say it quietly, as confirmation, like a secret vow between us.
Jason gazes at me serenely. "I didn't even know what that meant until I met you, baby girl. And I'm in love with you, too."
*****
The ride home is excruciating. The warm and fuzzy romantics quickly burst into a flame of sexual tension. It's borderline oppressive and drives Jason and me insane.
I sit with my legs crossed tightly, fidgeting in anticipation and fiddling with the radio. Jason is all tensed up as he speeds down the road, hand tight on the steering wheel and jaw clenched. I'm surprised he doesn't just pull over on the highway and take me in the backseat. That'd be kind of hot, actually...
When we finally reach his house he swipes me from the car and we hurry up the walkway - we're like sly foxes stealing away in the dead of the night. As soon as we're inside Jason twirls me around and presses me up against the door roughly, locking my wrists in his hands and pinning me there with his hips. His eyes blaze lustfully as he gazes down at me, but he makes no move.
"What?" I whisper after a moment. "What are you waiting for?"
"Nothing," he says. "I'm just thinking of all the things I wanna do to you. And where."
"Everywhere. Just put your mouth on me."
He gives me a hungry look. "I meant where in the house. Door..." He kisses my jaw lightly. "Wall..." His mouth descends over my neck. "Coffee table..." He presses his lips to my collarbone. "Et cetera."
I whimper helplessly, yearning. He smirks, sinful and entitled, and keeps my wrists in his grasp. Finally he kisses me, slow and gentle and deliberate, so I can savor his taste and touch. I return his pressure and he quickens his pace, our mouths consuming each other's.
The passion spreads and Jason makes a noise in the back of his throat, biting at my lower lip, nipping the corner of my mouth, kissing along my jaw and down my neck. He returns his lips to mine again, numbing me with sensation.
"Shit, TK," he mutters impatiently.
Hastily he hoists me up and wraps my legs around his waist. I slip my wrists out of his hold and grip his shoulders for support. His hands glide under my shirt to unbutton my jeans and he slides them down, fondling my bare behind - I'm wearing a thong, since there was no other option with the dress I had on.
"Mm," I moan in encouragement, twining my fingers in his hair and holding him to me.
I feel him tense up with desire against me and I press my pelvis to his. Our kisses become harder and more breathless as he pulls my jeans down my thighs. I'm reaching for the hem of his shirt and tugging it off when we hear a voice coming from farther inside the house.
"Jason?" Mr. McCann calls out. "Is that you?"
Jason disconnects from me, glances over his shoulder, and mutters out a string of expletives. He's so abruptly furious that it stirs me out of the dizziness from our embrace.
I untangle myself from him, reluctantly, and fix my jeans. My cheeks burn. "Shit. What's your dad doing home?" I ask in a whisper.
He runs a hand through his hair and exhales. "I don't know," he says through gritted teeth.
I shake my head. This animosity between him and his father is ridiculous; it has to stop.
"Well, now's your chance to talk to him. At least see what he wants." I wipe my lipstick from his lips with my thumb.
Jason looks like he'd rather poke his eyes out. I raise my eyebrows and point ahead, then give him a little shove. His jaw twitches and the angry look on his face doesn't fade, but he grasps my hand and stalks to the dining room.
Mr. McCann is standing at the head of the table, looking stern like he's about to discipline someone. His expression softens a little when he sees me beside Jason, though, and if I didn't know any better I'd say he looks guilty.
"Oh, Tessa," he says absentmindedly. "Good. You're here, too. I can kill two birds with one stone."
"What are you doing home?" Jason asks his father at once. His voice is tight.
Mr. McCann looks from me to Jason, and his gaze hardens again. "I got a call from one of your teachers this afternoon," he reveals. "Mr. Anderson, I believe? He's concerned about your grade in his class and your behavior lately. He said detention doesn't reinforce anything and you haven't acted out like this since you were younger. Is that true?"
Jason blinks. I can see his composure cracking. "Anderson's a dick. And he's exaggerating."
"You've said that before. I don't think that's the case. We need to have a talk. I haven't gotten a call from a teacher like that since your mother passed. Something similar is bothering you, son, and I know what it is. It's time for you to let go of that secret - you shouldn't be carrying that burden anyway. I'm glad Tessa is here to hear it." He gestures to me.
There's a pause - confusion on my part, and a meaningful glance exchanged between father and son - before Jason's face transforms into rage and he storms toward his dad.
"Dad, no," he practically growls.
"Don't tell me no, boy. You'll learn not to hesitate with punishment or delay the truth. You administer it quickly - have I taught you nothing?" Mr. McCann makes a sound of exasperation. "Now, do you want to man up and tell Tessa while I'm standing here, or should I?"
Jason pales at his father's harshness. It breaks my heart, actually, because he almost looks embarrassed by Mr. McCann's disappointment. I stand at the other end of the table, flabbergasted.
"Tell me - tell me what?" I stutter.
"The truth, sweetheart," Mr. McCann replies. He rests his palms on the table. "It's a hard thing to hear, but you deserve that much, at least."
"I don't understand. What does this have to do with Jason?"
"He knew about it first. I told him a couple weeks ago, thinking he'd tell you, hoping that hearing it from him would lessen the blow. I know it's heavy and tragic news, but I didn't think he'd keep something like this from you. I told him because I thought he needed to know and I couldn't have it on my conscience. That's the fair way to do it. I thought I taught my son the same."
"Dad, you don't understand!" Jason protests. "It's not about being fair! This is about protecting her feelings! I love TK and I didn't wanna mess anything up. But you're just messing it up for me. You can't treat everyone and everything like a part of the business. Didn't you learn anything from Mom?"
Mr. McCann knocks Jason in the chest so he falls into a chair. "Don't you dare patronize me!" he roars. "I loved your mother to death. And don't you ever forget that that woman put up with me and you. Let her rest in peace or so help me God, I'll whip you into shape more than that goddamn gang nonsense ever will."
Fear and sympathy for Jason rise within me, on top of my confusion and apprehension. Mr. McCann glares at his son for another moment before turning to me. He struggles to form a calm expression this time.
"Tessa, honey, I'm sorry you're seeing this," he says gruffly. He clears his throat. "But this is what happens when you hide the truth and it all comes out."
"The truth about what?" My voice trembles.
He pauses. "Your parents."
My throat goes dry. "You - you knew my parents?"
He nods. "Yes, I knew them. And they're dead because of me."