Dad should stop coming to me.
Dad should turn to Jack.
I should turn to Jack.
My father’s best friend, Jack Thornton, is a ruggedly stunning, imposing man with shoulders so broad they reach the borders of Georgia. A chin so strong you want to ask if kryptonite truly is his only downfall. There’s nothing feminine about Jack. He is chunks of muscle heaped upon more muscle. Eyes so blue you could disappear in them for days and forget you were lost.
He never hugs me.
I always want him to.
Listen to yourself, Marion. Here you are judging your Dad for wanting younger girls when you’ve wanted Jack ever since you turned fourteen and realized your body wasn’t made for just dancing.
Isn’t that why you called and asked for his help?
I shouldn’t be thinking that. My father wouldn’t be the only one to vomit and then lose his shit. My cheating mom would, too. But her standards leave something to be desired. Ask Kyle.
I’m too hard on her.
She’s pretty awesome.
But Mom, really?
Did he have to ruin Christmas?
That was the last time Jack and I laid eyes on each other. He came after Kyle bombarded us with bullshit, to support my dad. I was eighteen, and it became apparent that he wouldn’t look at me. Even when I talked, Jack would rub the back of his neck at the top of his tribal tattoos, his masculine necklaces quietly rattling as he stared at the ground, his palm, my father, or anywhere but at me.
Something in my gut whispered that he was attracted to me, and couldn’t allow himself to be. It was the first time he’d acted that way, and I wondered if it was because I had recently turned legal, and he saw me in an inappropriately new light.
I’m a November baby.
Scorpio all the way.
Just.
Like.
Jack.
They say we’re the most sexual sign of the Zodiac. I wanted to know what would happen when you put two of us together. I had a feeling that for the first time, he wanted to know, too.
Back when I was a tween, Mom encouraged me to call him ‘Uncle Jack,’ but he shot that down immediately: “Marion knows we’re not related, Lorraine. We don’t have to give me some fake title for her to love me.”
So true.
I needed no excuse to love him.
He had this smooth way about him that made everything seem effortless — the swagger in his slow walk, the dismount of his Harley during summertime, how he rose out of his Tesla like he was bored. Simple things done by Jack, became art.
I even caught Mom staring.
No surprise there.
And those eyes.
Oh my God!
Those piercing blue magnificent eyes that looked at me like he knew things he’d never tell me. Whenever Jack came over for dinner, or just to hang out and have a couple beers with my dad while they watched football on a Sunday, I would sit on the floor near his feet because it made me feel good to be there.
Jack and Dad would be deep in conversation about things I never cared about, and then Jack would reach over and pat my head, shining those magnificent eyes in my direction.
With him, I could relax.
With my warring parents…
Not so much.
A text comes through and I slog over to where I left my phone on our messy coffee table, this brand new cast hindering my speed. As I spot Jack’s name shining back at me, my chest pumps fresh oxygen into it with a huge gasp.
I’m almost to you, Mar.
“You’re almost to me?” I whisper.
Now here’s the thing about me. I might dance on my toes and wear fluffy dresses under beautiful lighting, but I am made of steel nails fermented into more steel.
I’ve had to be.
Life is a bitch unless you’re a bigger one.
I wrote that. I even put it on a t-shirt. I get stopped all the time by women laughing and asking me where I got it.
That’s why it feels weird that these five glowing words have melted my icy blood and have it sprinting. The only time I ever feel like this is when ambition is in play.
But ever since this damned broken leg, I haven’t been my normal self.
My roommate and pretty much only friend asks, “Why are you up so early?” as she throws her keys onto the floor and locks our front door. I notice fluffy traces of cocaine on Teeka’s nose-hairs as she hops around to take off her high heels. “I expected no witnesses.”
“Yeah, well, I see you. Need some help? You have a body to bury?”
She snickers and passes me for the faucet’s healing powers. We could keep a cleaner kitchen, but why? It’s better that it matches the rest of the apartment’s mess.
“Not yet, Marion. But it’s good to know you’d be down for helping me.”
“Wait until my leg heals,” I mutter as I thump over to make coffee for my soon-to-be-arriving guest.
Teeka eyes the machine as she wipes her face with a dirty hand towel. “You like tea. Who’s that for?”
“My dad’s best friend is coming over.”
She rolls her eyes, not caring for more information, and tosses the towel on our cluttered countertop. “I’m moving out, Mar.”
My jaw drops on the counter so hard it leaves a dent. “You’re what?!”
Swallowing the coke-drip from the back of her throat, she winces. “I forgot to tell you I got fired.”
“When?!”
“Four months ago. No money left,” she shrugs.
I scream in her face and hobble to my phone.
Chapter Two
Jack
This isn’t my fault that my Tesla is pointed at Marion’s. I stayed away from her for three years.
She reached out to me, not the other way around. What am I supposed to do, ignore her plea for help? What kind of a man would that make me?
Who am I kidding?
If I was so innocent, I’d tell David she called. Did I do that? Hell to the fucking no.
After Lorraine left him, I went over to console the poor bastard. Because of my work I travel a lot, hadn’t been to their house in a long time. He came over for poker at my place — which he still does to this day — so there was no reason to visit his.
Little did I realize until I arrived, to hear his tormented story of a botched Christmas dinner and an even worse marriage, that Marion had ripened into such a sultry-lipped beauty. She opened the door and I was stunned into a moment of silence.
“Hi Jack,” she smiled, huge eyes sparkling under eyelashes long enough to pet me if she leaned any closer.
David walked up and clapped his hand on her shoulder. “Can you believe my girl turned eighteen last month?”
I said something boring in response and averted my eyes because all I wanted to do was say, “So she’s legal?”
My mind flew to places I wouldn’t allow it. I had to wrangle thoughts I’d never had about her. I’m a man of discipline. I am my own master. I didn’t like how hard it was to drive down that instinct to gather her into my arms and claim her as my own.
Never.
Went.
Back.
Nothing surprised me more than getting a call from her three years later asking for my help. I want to make sure she is okay. Partially innocent.
But not all.
I haven’t seen her since way back then for a damn good reason. That’s exactly what I told my buddy, Troy.