He leaned in and cupped my face. “Promise me something then, Jen. No more secrets, OK? Never again. Talk to me. Don’t take off running because all of a sudden you’ve decided you know what’s best for me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you won’t do it again.”
I reached up and held his hand to my face. “No more secrets. I promise.”
He came in for a kiss, and it took my breath away. It was just a touch, a soft one at that, but it was unlike anything I’d ever felt, and when it was over, I was still trying to process it. Then he said the words I’d needed to hear, much, much more than I’d realized:
“I love you too, Jen.”
We kissed again. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t slow—it was a kiss that showed the hunger he felt for me, a hunger he could finally express again after so long. I felt exactly the same, and I’m sure he could tell. Unable to contain myself, I leaned back into the seat and pulled him into me. But when my mouth opened to let him slip in his tongue, he stiffened and pulled back.
“No,” he said, very determined. “I know where this is leading. I know what comes next when we kiss like that. And I don’t want to. Not yet. Not until I’m clean.”
I blinked and adjusted my clothes, feeling chastened, and said, “Oh, sure. Whatever you say.”
We looked straight ahead for a few seconds, me tapping my fingers on my knees, him doing the same on the steering wheel. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I asked him, “Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“That thing you said about waiting… I think it’s really sweet. It saysa lot about you. But I don’t think I can. I don’t think I have the patience for it. I’m sorry.”
To my surprise, he breathed the longest sigh of relief in all of history. “Thank God. Because I sure as hell don’t, either.”
Now he didn’t stop himself. He grabbed my neck and kissed my lips with so much intensity, he knocked me back. Then he jumped out, ran around, and opened my door. He gave me his hand, more nervous than he wanted to appear, and I let him guide me toward the elevator.
As soon as the doors closed on us, he couldn’t decide what to do next. Well, if he wouldn’t, I would: I grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him toward me. He gripped my hips and pushed me back into the wall, pressing into me until the doors opened and started closing again. I laughed as I stuck a leg out to stop them.
By the time we made it to the apartment, we were both flushed and panting. Jack took out his keys but struggled to get them into the lock. After the third time, with me laughing at him mercilessly, he asked, “Is something funny, Michelle?”
“Yeah. Funny enough that I’ll even ignore you calling me that.”
I walked past him and he caught me, turned me around, and kissed me again. Now there was no more laughter—it was just passion, with his hand in the small of my back holding me tight to him and touching my chin with one finger so I would kiss him again.
I don’t know how long we were there, but I do know I couldn’t take it anymore. I could barely breathe. I felt like I was stranded in the desert dying of thirst. Jack grabbed my hand and walked me to the bedroom. He was still shy, still ashamed, I think, of his problems those past months. But that didn’t matter anymore, and to get him past it, I shoved him onto the bed, straddling him as he rose up on his elbows.
He made a stupid comment:If this is the new Jen, then I must say, I like it. I told him to shut up or I’d tape his mouth closed. He replied, “I’venever gone for the whole bondage thing. But hey, if you’re in the mood to experiment, please count me in.”
I helped him out of his jacket, and he tossed it into the corner, along with my sweater and T-shirt, which he pulled off in one go. His lips were cool on my abdomen, rising between my breasts and up to my neck. I remembered how we’d flirted at the party playing truth or dare. But this was no longer a game. As he kissed me, he sank a hand into my hair, and I wrapped my arms around him.
The rest of our clothes soon vanished, as did whatever misgivings we’d felt. I loved him, and I loved being with him. I loved the way he looked at me, the way he caressed me, the things he whispered in my ear, whether they were tender, ridiculous, or dirty. I loved how he made me feel. And even more, I loved the way I made him feel.
When we were done, I looked down at him, his cheek on my chest, his arms still around me. He was deep asleep. I caressed the tattoo on his back, felt the rough skin of his scar, felt him hold me just a little bit tighter.
No, Jack wouldn’t be alone again. Neither of us would ever be alone again.
13
Starting from Zero
I was in the car with Will, who hadn’t uttered a word the whole drive. Naya, sitting next to him, was looking at us with worry in the rearview mirror. I was in the back seat with Jack.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
All morning he’d been silent, pensive, pacing back and forth in his bedroom. When I told Will, he said I had to give Jack his space. He was right, of course. At midday, Jack walked out with his hands in his pockets and asked to see the flyer for the facility again. There were several, but we had more or less settled on one, and gave it a last once-over. It was expensive—even more than the twenty thousand Mr. Ross had given me—but Joey, Jack’s manager, had told us he’d pitch in. He’d been a part of the process ever since Jack had agreed to go to rehab, and had helped me do research and talked with Jack about where would be best for him. Jack had insisted on the center that was closest to home, about an hour and a half away by car. We wouldn’t be able to visit every day, but at least we wouldn’t have to catch a plane to get there.
I was happy. I’d spoken to the staff there on the phone, and they seemed kind. They talked about their patients like people, not just numbers on a list.
