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Snorting in tears and snot, laying her cheek against my wet shirt, she said, “Almost seventeen. I didn’t even think about the chance that he could die. He passed with his hands around Snowbird’s neck, trying to lead her to safety. God, I just…” Fresh tears sprung to her eyes. I was sure there was an endless well that she’d been pushing down for years. Then, a past conversation with Matt scurried into my head. Had she told him? It was the discussion I’d had with him the first time I put her on a plane to L.A., and I needed some guidance. Oddly, I’d turned to him, knowing he knew her best.
“Give it time, Jake. I think you guys can figure things out, but in every situation, it takes time. I know she’s guarded but with good reason. Trauma doesn’t just magically go away—especially when it sends a person on a different path.”
“I suppose being an escort,” I’d replied, fishing for more.
“I’m sure that contributed to her being closed off, but I also know there’s a lot of depth to her, and her capacity for love is huge. It’s just wrapped up a little tighter than most people.”
“Shhh, Sweets…” My fingers sifted through her hair as my brain desperately fished for the right words. What are the right words to say to someone when they share something that literally shattered their psyche and forever altered the course of their lives? And her mother…what kind of person reacts like that, takes it out on their own child—someone you're supposed to love, to protect? I couldn’t grapple with that. Her detached relationship with her mom was starting to make sense. That had led to her decision to be an escort. I was sure of it.
Craning her head back, her eyes encircled with black mascara, she examined my shirt, her nose scrunching. “I’ve made a mess of you,” she sniffed. “Sorry.”
I cupped her cheeks in my hands. “That’s the last thing I care about right now, Sweets. Let’s get you to bed.” I stood, bringing her with me. As I carried her, she buried her head in the juncture of my neck and shoulders. I laid her on the bed, pulling the covers over her, then returned with a warm washcloth, gently cleaning the black from her swollen green eyes before undressing and slipping into bed next to her. When I wrapped my arms around her, she laid her cheek to my chest, murmuring something about podcasts.
“Sweets, what?” I whispered, stroking her back.
She arched her neck, her red eyes catching on mine in the dimly lit room. “I’m not going to do a podcast.”
“Huh?”
“Seems like everyone starts podcasts when they go through something traumatic and feel like they’ve healed,” she sniffed, and I could see fresh tears brimming in her eyes.
I yanked her in. “No pressure on that. Stick to acting and modeling,” I murmured softly as I drifted into my thoughts—A: went through something traumatic…check. B: healed…a work in progress. She was still so far from healing that I wasn’t sure if a lifetime would be enough time to reconcile what had happened. It hit me then that sometimes, merely surviving is enough.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
She snuck into the bathroom so she wouldn’t wake Jake, who was lightly snoring on the pillow. Taking in her puffy eyes and messed hair, she ran through the night before in her head. She’d dreaded opening up about the fire, her dad dying, her mom spiraling into a deep depression, and everything that had followed. She hadn’t been prepared to do that, not with Jake or anyone but Matt. She wasn’t used to divulging herself and her past to others. She hugged herself, thinking about how she’d spilled so much to Jake and how he’d taken care of her. It made her feel endeared to him but also highly vulnerable, feelings she was not accustomed to linking with a lover.
She showered before scooting into the kitchen to prepare Jake’s birthday breakfast. She had partially gotten it ready before going to his parents’ house. The sausage, egg, and cheese casserole needed to be baked in the oven for thirty minutes. Removing the lemon pancake batter from the refrigerator, she tried to stir it, but the spoon got stuck in the thick batter. She’d need to let it sit before adding the ricotta cheese. She’d learned from Dwayne and Jake’s appearance on The Tonight Show that Jake loved anything lemon flavored, especially baked goods. They’d had Dwayne and Jake react to some old game show from the seventies called The Newlywed Show. She was surprised at how much they knew about each other when they'd answered the questions. The skit made her wonder about other couples, particularly her parents. Had they truly known each other when they got married? Their sensibilities weren’t just opposites; they were conflicted. And what about her and Jake? His life felt almost charmed, orchestrated out of some novel—a solid, down-to-earth story. He charged through life with the assumption that things would work out. How straightforward it must be to stand on your principles when you knew there were reinforced lily pads to step on, that a group of people who loved you would be there to absorb the impact of your fall or cheer you on when you took the risk, and it worked. Even if they’d encountered roadblocks, it seemed that people like Matt and Jake would be successful as if it were their birthright.
She made sure the Champagne was chilling before pouring two cups of coffee. As she grabbed the handles of the mugs, the words that had poured from her mouth the night before hit the forefront of her brain…and the reality set in that she’d cut herself open in front of Jake.
The tragic scene from her final days with her mom, which was burned into her psyche, resurfaced every time she allowed herself to look back.
My mother had leaned against my bedroom door with a half glass of shiraz in one hand and a near-empty bottle in the other. Her robotic speech, with its clipped vowels, tunneled into my ears. She held her British accent similar to the Australian, minus the drawl. She corrected my dad repeatedly when he’d started saying, “caah,” instead of cah for car. The elongated “a” bugged her; she said it sounded uneducated. “Rae, you know he wouldn’t have stayed there, surrounded by flames, if, if…” she'd slurred, tears pooling in her eyes as she narrowed them, a crease forming between them, making her appear older than her forty years. I’d watched her take another gulp as if it were a Coke she was slugging down. “He wasn’t trying to save your fucking horse. He died because you’re such a daddy’s girl. Well, that’s all over now, isn’t it?” The venom spewing from her tongue made the air seem toxic as if I were being poisoned. I couldn’t catch my breath.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I’d whimpered, wanting to throw something at her, tell her it wasn’t my fault, but my teenage psyche never let me stop hearing my own words from the day the fire stole him from me. “Please, Daddy, save Snowbird, please.” God, what a fucking selfish girl I was.
She tried to remember who her mom had been when Rakell was young, before the fire, but the memories only came in snippets. Time in the garden together. Her mom taking her to the Sydney Opera House when she was ten. She’d shown her some of the designer dresses she’d worn when she was young in London.
Weren’t there strings of attachment? Somehow, every memory seemed tainted by the life that had been lived since those memories. Her mom was alive, yet she was lost to Rakell. She needed to bury that thought as she had so many times before. Today was about Jake, making sure he knew how special he was to her, how she valued him, and how much she wanted him in her life.
After writing her message in Jake’s card, the words she’d wanted to say for the past few months, yet they had been lodged in her throat every time she had tried to tell him. Wedging her hip against the door to push it open, her hands occupied with the two mugs of coffee, she smiled when she saw him sitting up in bed, his broad chest bare as he leaned against the headboard. “I was trying to sneak back in before you woke up,” she said, setting the cups on the small table beside him, before sitting on the bed's edge. “What were you doing? Just lying here awake?” She pushed on his muscular chest, letting her hand linger, soaking in the hardness beneath his skin.
He swiped at her, grasping her hand on his chest, his eyelids lowering, making his expression dark, challenging. “Wanna know what I was doing? Thinking?” He grabbed the lapel of her terry cloth robe with his other hand, yanking her into him. “I was thinking I’d like to show you just how non-platonic this relationship is. Climb up here so I can show you. I've been lying here thinking how a little sixty-nine fun with you would be a perfect start to my birthday.”
“What? Sixty-nine?” She shook her head.
“You know, right? You suck my cock while I eat your pussy…”
She jerked back. “I know what it is but never thought it sounded fun…seems complicated.”
“Pretty simple. You suck, I lick. Can’t be simpler than that.”
She shot him an incredulous look, thinking it sounded ridiculous, not at all sexy. “Okay, I know I’ve heard of it, but I always thought it seemed pointless, like there would be too many things to concentrate on.” She brought her pointer finger to her mouth, sliding it back and forth over her lower lip, her eyes widening in a feigned, innocent expression. “How about I just suck you off?” Opening her mouth, lasciviously swirling her tongue around her finger, she tried not to laugh at him as he shook his head, then she touched her wet finger to his chin. “It’s your birthday, so you have choices. I can swallow all that cum, or you can spray it on my face, and I’ll lick it off, or…” She pushed her breasts together. “Orrr, you can end right here…” she taunted, giggling when he nipped at her finger.
“Bad girl, I swear, bad, bad. We’ll make a list and get to all that…I promise.”
She leaned toward him, blowing a kiss in the air.
