Everybody Falls (38 page)

I turned my eyes quickly back to the trees, preventing my gaze from hitting his. I was
not
going there again.

"Hey, Jack," I murmured from behind my mug, almost biting my lip in an effort to not offer him a cup of coffee. Trying to sound breezy, casual. You know, like we ran into each other every day. "Nice morning, huh?"

He didn't reply as I saw him drop his ass to the step on the far side of me, his elbows on his knees, his fists to his mouth.

We were quiet and the vibe in that still air was…easy.

"I heard you're selling the farm," I offered when he didn't answer.

"Nope," he replied.

Oh, really.

"So, you're not living in Southern Cali, then?" I questioned, schooling my voice to remain friendly, calm and, kind of, disinterested.

I'd give myself a four out of ten, with two of those points being for the actual effort.

"Nope, never have been," he stated firmly, not even glancing my way. I watched for it, too, using my peripheral vision.

Okay, that was a shock that reverberated through me, causing the coffee to slosh in my cup. Had Sarge lied to me or had Jack lied to Grandpop?

"So, where've you been?" I asked and finally chanced a head-turned glance his way hoping he wasn't looking at me. My luck wasn't that good.

"Here. Waiting for you," he again spoke firmly, our eyes catching and holding.

"Me?" Even I heard the squeak in my voice.

"Yeah, Lace. You," he breathed from behind his knuckles and turned his eyes to the trees across the road.

There was silence between us, except not in my mind. My brain whirled, spun and jigged its way across the planes, those multi-layers that I tended to think in.

"I see you cut your hair," I offered, taking another sip from my cup.

"You used to play with it and I couldn't take the reminder," he said simply from behind his hands.

And the nice quiet again settled around us, less easy yet deeper somehow.

"Are you done being pissed at me?" he asked, his voice remaining hushed and still.

"I, ah…" I started, but closed my lips firmly. I didn't know how to answer him. True, I had been pissed. However, I had also been hurt, damaged and in pain.

"I don't know how many ways there are of saying sorry, and if you tell me the right one, I'll say it. Or I'll say all of them if that's what you need to hear. I'm sorry, I was so fucking wrong, Lace," he continued. "There's no excuse for what I said, for what I did."

I turned my eyes back to watch the trees. Those trees had given me comfort in the past and I was counting on that ease now.

"I'm a bag of shit, Lace, and I know you know it."

I couldn't disagree on so many different levels.

"But, Baby, I want to be
your
bag of shit," he continued.

I heard him take a deep, deep breath as my new heart started a fast, hard drumming.

"Grams taught me that even shit could be useful, though. That spread just right, evenly over the soil, even flowers will give their all when they bloom," his voice kept going, before it finally stopped.

I didn't respond because I didn't understand his point.

"So, I'm supposed to help you sort your shit out?" I asked, and could feel the skin of my forehead tighten as my eyebrows raised over the top of my mug, clenched in both my hands.

"Never, my love," he said, letting the air in his lungs go. "I'll sort. You spread."

I looked back out over the trees, watching the sunlight catch and shimmer as they swayed in the fall breeze, as I thought about what he was saying, what he was offering.

"I can get pretty handy with a rake," I admitted, taking another sip, the last sip of my cup.

I glanced at him and, again our eyes caught and held.

"So, you want me to fire up Bertha so you have something in that mug you've been hiding behind?" he asked with a tilted grin.

"She seems to be the only bitch you can handle," I replied, seeing the love in his eyes and feeling the new growth in my chest begin to unfurl and tenderly, with just a hopeful breath, branch out.

"Damn straight," he said, his mouth pulling up into his gorgeous smile that the paps loved to capture. "I heard rumors about you, too. About you selling this mall."

"Me, sell?" I shot back. "No. I had an offer and I declined. I like the Bakery."

"Because of the baking and the magic?" he ventured.

"I don't believe in magic anymore, Jack," I answered slowly and saw him stiffen. The air around us, which had been airy and uncomplicated changed with my admission.

"Did I do that, Lace? Did I make you lose the magic?" he asked, his voice stricken.

"Maybe. I don't know," I let out a long sigh, trying to think of a way to explain it. "I've finally figured out that magic is only sleight of hand, manipulating your audience so they are looking one direction while what's real, what's true, is going on some other place."

"What about that love connection kind of magic?" he asked slowly.

I pressed my lips together.

He would have to bring that up.

Stupid ass-hat.

"The falling in love kind of magic that happens, Lace, did you lose it, too?" he asked, his voice so tight.

"Everybody falls," I said to the trees. "It's the standing up from it, the getting over the fall that's so hard."

I glanced at him and saw he was staring at me.

"I still love you, Lace," he said as the connection, our connection snapped right into place like it had never been broken.

I turned my eyes back to the trees with effort.

"You and Grams taught me about magic, honesty and love. You both taught me about calm, peace and good," he said and I felt him turn back towards the street to watch the trees with me. "I was just slower at understanding the lessons. Of making them a part of my heart. I think I've got it now."

"I'm glad for you, Jack," I murmured, meaning every word, every syllable.

"I'm glad for me, too, Lace," he mumbled back. "Will you ever forgive me?"

"I already have," I said slowly, knowing I needed to give the words and how he needed to hear them. "The night of the concert."

"Except, you can't forget, can you?" he said, and his voice held an unreleased sigh.

"Probably not," I agreed. "The end was, uhm, the end was pretty bad for me."

"I heard and I'm so sorry," he whispered again.

"Yeah, well," I answered just to give an acknowledgment. "The thing is…"

"I fucked up," he replied, resignation in his voice and even his body language.

"Yeah, you did," I agreed. "But I don't think you understand how."

I saw him motion for me to continue as he dropped his fists from his mouth to his knees.

Did he really want to hear this?

At that moment, I really didn't care. There was a weed in my chest that had prevented my heart from re-growing as fast as it should and now was the time to pull it out from the roots.

"I know you were drunk and high there at the end. I've seen it enough times to recognize it, but that can be something you can get help with once you get clean." I took a deep breath for the next part.

"You were hurtful, though, Jack. You deliberately tried to hurt me and it worked. It worked so damn well. So, tell me. How does a person get help for being deliberately cruel?" I asked gently, as I chanced another glance.

He looked confused.

"People that love each other don't have the right to mock, make fun of or yell about the stuff their partner can't help," I continued. "I never thought to poke at you about how Denny held you down, how you were having to learn to grow up in your twenties and how you didn't have control over your life in hardly any way. Except, you had no problem yelling about my lack of experience, things you thought I should've known since I'm just a whore's daughter."

I saw him cringe as his fists went back to his mouth.

"I can't help that Belinda is my mother," I said firmly. "I have no control over her life and never had. I do, however, have control over my own. I get to choose the life I want and the person I want to be. And, I chose not to be her in any way, shape or form. Not with the drugs, the sexual experience and certainly not with her irresponsibility."

"I am so sor--," he began.

"Be quiet and listen," I ground out and felt my hands clench around my now cold mug. "If you say sorry one more time…"

"But, Lace, they're the only words I've got. I don't know any others to tell you how badly I feel about it all," he cried.

Didn't the man ever shut up?

As if reading my thoughts, he used both hands to cover his mouth.

"Using words to hurt and then trying to use words to heal the hurt you've caused doesn't work, Jack," I instructed slowly, and felt my anger as it began to drain away.

It was just too hard to remain angry and, truthfully, took
way
too much energy.

He turned his head to me and our eyes caught again. In his, I read sorrow, contrition and his own brand of pain which I think my speaking plainly had generated.

I had no clue what he saw in mine.

Our eye clasp went on for a long time. A long, long damn time.

Jack was the one who's eyes dropped first, disconnecting the look we shared.

He stood and stretched a bit before moving down the steps. His body did a quarter turn and he looked at me again.

"I get it, Lace. I won't bother you again," he said before he pointed forward and took a couple of steps.

I watched him as he strode away, watching those long legs move determinedly away from me. The new growth in my chest ached as it shriveled with every step he took before I straightened myself and turned back to the store.

It was for the best.

"I forgot something," he called and I angled my head over my shoulder to see him. He was holding a hand up to his eyes to shade them from the bright November sun that was pointed directly in his face.

I watched as he crossed the street, bounded up the stairs and stood in front of me as he reached in his pocket.

"Grams left you something," he said, taking a half step closer. "Something she wanted you to have."

"Me?" I asked, my eyes roaming over his face.

"Yeah, Lace, you," he confirmed with a gentle smile. "She specifically told me she wanted you to have it. I'm sorry I haven't brought it over before."

My mind raced. Edie left me something, a piece of her to treasure. We had shared so much in that time I'd spent with her out on that farm. A time I'd never forget.

"Hold out your hand, Baby," Jack instructed, his voice still and hushed.

I glanced up and what I saw in his eyes caused a double-thump within me.

Bending my arm, I held my hand out, palm up. His fist touched my skin lightly as he released his fingers. I glanced down and saw the ruby ring from the wooden box that Edie and I had discovered so long ago.

"It was my grandma Stacia's ring," I heard Jax murmur. "Grams told me that it would be perfect for you."

I swallowed thickly, my eyes filling as I stared at the ring.

"I can't accept this," I whispered. "This is part of your family, Jack."

He didn't say anything yet continued to stand close to me, near enough that I could feel the heat of his body in the chilly morning air. Without trying to stop it, my gaze moved from my hand to his face.

He was staring at me, his eyes glowing and intense.

"When my life started, it was because of love and when I grew into a little boy it was filled with love," he was speaking low and very seriously. "My therapist says most of our emotional development happens before we're five. Maybe that's true. Because I recognized love when it finally came back into my life, with you. With Grams."

He looked back down at the jeweled circle of gold resting in my palm.

"I loved you, Lace, when we started. I loved you the best I knew how, except I didn't understand how you could love me. I used to pray not to fuck it up, to be worthy of you," he whispered.

"Oh, Jack," I said, the unfurling in my chest a different kind of ache than before.

His beautiful brown eyes rose back up to mine.

"I tried to love you when I didn't even like, much less love myself. And that's a disaster waiting to happen," he explained. "I waited to contact you until I felt like I was worthy. Until I wasn't so goddamn scared of fucking things up again."

"I thought you said you were waiting on me," I corrected.

"Yeah, that too," he admitted with a chuckle.

Our voices fell quiet as I thought about what he'd said.

"Everybody screws up, Jack," I murmured, my eyes back on the gold ring in my hand.

"I know, Lace," he replied with a nod. "Grams tried to tell me that all the time. She said it wasn't so much the hurt or the pain we've given or received, it's how we react to it."