9. Jones
9
JONES
“Thank you for calling Paloma Memory Care. How may I direct your call?”
“Yes, I’d like to speak to Dolly Archer, please.”
The woman on the other line types something on her keyboard before responding, “Of course, Mr. Archer. She’s been waiting for your call. Let me transfer you.”
“Thanks.”
The phone rings, and the ache in my chest picks up, causing the pain to internally cripple me. I never know what side of my mother I’m gonna get. Will she be in a good mood or hate life and berate me?
Not knowing what to expect never gets easier.
“This is Dolly,” she answers in a monotone voice.
“Hi, Mom. It’s Jones.”
Seconds pass before muffled sounds come over the line—she’s trying to transfer me to the speakerphone. I hear the moment the line echoes, projecting my voice through the nine-by-nine dimensions of her room.
“What do you want?”
There it is. The side of her I was hoping to save for another day.
“How you doing, Ma? I miss you.”
She scoffs. “Yeah, sure you do. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I do my best to be positive. “You wound me,” I tease.
“What can I do for you, Tucker?” So formal.
But cut me wide open. She thinks I’m him . My father. The man she has always had a love-hate relationship with.
“It’s me, Mom. I’m flying out to see you soon,” I tell her, hoping to get her hopes up.
“Don’t bother. I’ll be heading back home.”
She’s already home. “Oh, yeah? That sounds fun. Where’s home?”
I’ve learned to play along with her stories. Living with dementia is already enough of a hurdle for her to navigate on her own. Let alone being confused every second of every day. It’s unnecessary to argue—it’s how I keep the peace.
“Tucker, you know I live in Greenville.” I can hear the annoyance in her tone.
When my father, Tucker, was alive, she lived in Greenville.
Now, she lives at Paloma Memory Care.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. Well, I can’t wait to see you. Beverly said you’ve been going on a lot of walks. That’s great, Mom.”
“Where’s Tucker?” Now, I’m Jones.
My mother developed dementia not long after my father passed. The process has been slow and gruesome, progressively getting worse. We’re at the tail end of the advanced stage, and it’s been so fucking hard to do it alone.
I feel guilty that she’s in a home while I’m on the other side of the world running my late father’s business—something he expected of me. I can’t be in two places at once, and that’s the hardest part.
I only hope that underneath it all, she knows I’m doing this for her.
I stay in the States for three months out of the year with my mother, renting a house a mile from her live-in facility. It gives me close access to her.
In the midst of working and traveling, you’d think the hardest part would be learning how to handle her shift in behavior and personality in a compassionate manner, but it’s not.
The hardest part is the longing. I miss her.
The mother who cared for every sick ache I had as a child, tucked me into bed at night, showed up cheering at every football game and practice, and once told me she loved me more times than necessary.
She can curse me, verbally abuse me, tell me I’m worthless and that I mean nothing to her; I’ll love her just the same.
Forgetting that she asked me where my father was, I tell her, “He’s on a trip, Mom. He’ll be back soon.”
“Ah, that’s good. That’s good,” she whispers to herself. “He’ll be here soon.” I can hear the smile in her voice and how happy it makes her thinking I’m him again. The back and forth is hard to understand, but I have to constantly remind myself that it’s not my job to understand her. It’s my job to love her and accept her in every way.
Fuck. This hurts.
No, Ma. He won’t be, and it breaks my fucking heart you don’t understand that. I’ll keep telling you he’ll be back if it makes this bitch of a disease that much more bearable for you.
My father treated her like garbage. If he were alive today, I’d find a way to make him pay for all he’s done. The more severe my mother’s memory loss has gotten, the more she’s revealed to me about my father’s…transgressions. More like torrential fuckups.
“Goodnight, Tucker.”
“Goodnight, Dolly. I love you.”
And she hangs up, making me wish for brighter, less lonely days.
* * *
One of the many perks of owning your own yacht is private quarters. Although other guests, including us, occupy the boat, the cabin has what resembles a small apartment just for me.
In this case, for me and my guests.
By the time we returned from the Grottos, it was almost nightfall. I planned ahead of time for the chef on board to prepare dinner for us as we sailed back to the mainland side of Capri to dock.
The five of us are nestled at the small, concave table near the cabin’s wet bar, finishing our seafood dinner.
“So, Romeo, what’s your job exactly? With the chartering, I mean,” Capri asks my friend.
“Depends on the day,” Romeo says. “Most of the time, it’s doing this guy’s bitch work.” He points at me and laughs.
“Funny,” I say. “Romeo runs our operations department.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Collie asks, seeming intrigued.
Romeo turns toward her. “I plan the sailing routes, schedule catering, and facilitate events onboard. Essentially, anything and everything to make sure our guests have an enjoyable experience,” he says in what I like to call his theme park voice.
“Makes sense,” Capri tells him. “Sounds kinda fun, actually.”
Luca chimes in, “Trust me, he has his fair share of fun.”
Yeah, he does. But we don’t need to get into that tonight.
“What about you, Luca?” Capri asks.
Luca raises his brows in a humorous gesture. “I have the fun job…booking.”
The table breaks into laughter. Luca has the least fun job of us all, but he’s damn good at it. He’s organized and keeps everything the way I like it—structured.
“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of being book smart,” Capri tells him, and I steal a glance at her beside me.
Somehow, even after sailing and swimming all day, she still looks more beautiful than ever. Her natural curls fan through her slightly wet hair, tossed into a messy bun at the top of her head. Her suntan lines above the scoop of her sundress draw me in, and the way her seafoam blue eyes shimmer under the soft light of the cabin is mesmerizing.
She’s naturally beautiful.
My hand finds Capri’s thigh under the table, and her reaction pleasures me more than I care to admit. I can smell the lavender of her body lotion from here; it does nothing but heighten my need to be inside her.
We’ve been patient all day.
At this point, the clock is ticking before Capri flies back to the States, and I need to make proper use of her very limited time here.
Letting the conversation progress, I let my hand drift underneath her dress, teasing and caressing the inside of her thigh.
“Capri knows all about order and structure. Right, sis?” Collie says to her sister.
Capri freezes. I can tell it’s from my touch and not necessarily Collie’s comment. This should be fun.
“I…uh. I’m a teacher,” Capri murmurs.
My hand drifts higher, and I coast with a smile on my face, giving nothing away.
Come on, sweetheart. Let yourself feel, but don’t show it.
It’s our game, after all.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Romeo exclaims, louder than necessary.
I kick him under the table. Oomph. “What the hell was that for?” Romeo cries out and I ignore him.
“What do you teach?” Luca asks.
“Kindergarten,” Capri answers. Not gonna lie, I can see it now. After spending the day around this mysterious woman, who I’m slowly learning small pieces about, I can see the patience and quirkiness inside of her that teachers typically embody.
“You like it?” I ask her, using this as my chance to slide my hand higher and run my touch up the center of her pussy.
Fuck. Her heat warms me and my dick twitches in my pants.
I realize my question could have two meanings at this point.
Capri swallows and pride fills me. She’s just as affected by me as I am her. “Most days,” she says breathlessly. I grin and she continues, “It’s exhausting but also the most rewarding job I’ve ever had.”
“Mmm,” I agree.
“Capri underestimates herself. She’s gotten ‘Teacher of the Year’ three years in a row. The kids love her.”
“I didn’t even know that was possible,” Romeo adds.
Impressive. It’s one thing to do a job and another to do it well.
I find myself being proud of her. Something deep inside of me tells me she’s worthy of it.
The recognition. Yet, she seems too humble to boast about it.
“It’s nothing,” Capri waves off her sister’s praise. “I do it for the kiddos.”
She’s humble and kind. It makes me wonder how often she’s told that. How often is she commended for her accomplishments and struggles?
How much damage has her ass of an ex-husband done to my golden girl with a heart full of compassion?
It’s a good fucking thing I’ll never find out. Or see him, for that matter.
It’s also a good thing I’m the one with my hand on her pussy and not him. The agitation and protectiveness I feel for her has me sliding her panties to the side and slipping my finger into her warm hole.
I have to fight back a groan as my thick finger sinks in, meeting the tightest cunt I’ve ever had the pleasure of entering. Capri gasps as I plunge in and out before circling her swollen clit and applying light pressure.
I can’t have her coming here.
I need to edge her until I can get her alone. I want her spent and aching for my cock—the only thing capable enough to settle the throbbing I’m positive is intensifying as we speak.
Capri’s head falls back as I ghost her clit, her posture succumbing to ecstasy. I reach to stroke her forehead, helping her to stay upright, not giving us away. I can’t have her moaning in front of my guests.
That’s for my viewing pleasure only.
It’s fascinating, however, the way her body responds to me. Like she can’t get close enough.
Just wait, sweetheart.
“Anyone wanna go in the hot tub before we dock?” Romeo asks the table.
“Yes!” Collie squeals with Luca’s agreement following suit.
“Jones?” Romeo turns to me.
“I’m gonna hang back and clean up,” I say before turning to Capri. “Wanna help?” She nods.
Romeo eyes me like I’m full of shit. I am; I have staff for that, but thankfully, he doesn’t call me out on it. “Then it’s settled. Blondie, Luca, let’s go.”
The three of them exit the cabin, and I slowly turn to Capri, finding her bright eyes wide and already on mine. “Take all the plates to the kitchen?”
I chuckle. “Fuck no. That’s what I pay the kitchen staff for, sweetheart.”
“Then…why?” She points to the door they exited. “You just said we?—”
“I had to get rid of them somehow,” I admit, reaching for her hand and helping her off the leather booth. “How else was I supposed to get you alone?”
I pull her close to me, pressing my body against hers and nuzzling her neck. “You smell so sweet, Capri. I could get drunk on you.”
“Please do,” she whispers, running her nails down my back. “Make me feel something other than loneliness.”
That might be the most real thing I’ve heard Capri say yet. Our ‘enjoying each other’ timeline is supposed to be one where we don’t share the personal and focus on drowning in the physical.
I’m battling myself to make sure those lines aren’t blurred.
But fuck me sideways; I can relate to the loneliness she claims to feel.
“I can do that, sweetheart. You can rest in me.”
Without another thought, I scoop Capri into my arms and carry her to my bedroom behind the side double doors. The cabin window is below deck, giving us the perfect view of the sea.
“Not too shabby for a yacht bedroom,” Capri says, but I can’t focus on anything except for the sound of my irregular heartbeat and the feel of her nails caressing the hair at my neck.
She’s nurturing through and through.
“It serves its purpose.”
I set her on the bed, and she jumps to stand quicker than I prepared for. “I should shower. Do you have a shower?”
“I do, but you don’t need to,” I tell her wearily.
She gapes at me, her eyes going wide. “Jones, I’ve been in this all day. I didn’t shower before changing, and I feel gross.”
I chuckle. “Are you nervous, Capri?” I reach out to comfort her.
“Yes.” Honesty. I love that.
“No need,” I tell her calmly, letting my touch run the length of her slim neck. “Let me take care of you.”
“You want to…take care of me?” she asks skeptically.
I nod. “More than anything.”
“I’m okay, Jones. I’m not sick or anything. I just feel like I need to shower.”
“And I want to help you with that.”
Capri looks at me like she can’t believe someone would actually want to take care of her. I think that’s the problem.
This woman has no idea the power she has over her own wants and needs.
“Just a sec.” I leave her by the bed and hurry to the bathroom to turn on the shower.
Entering the room again, I’m greeted with a concerned look I’m not quite sure I like coming from someone so breathtaking. I’d never want her to feel uncomfortable or forced.
“I don’t know how to do this, Jones,” Capri admits, fiddling with the stack of gold rings on her finger. “I’m trying to be vulnerable with you. I really am.”
“Don’t know how to do what?”
We sit on the edge of the bed, and I let my hand drift up her back, massaging her tense shoulders.
A soft moan seeps from her lips as she leans into the workings of my hand. “Let a man lead,” she whispers. I’m not sure if she’s ashamed to admit that, but she shouldn’t be.
I think it’s fucking brave.
“Will you try?” I ask her, letting my lips ghost the crevice of her neck. “To let me lead, that is. I promise to be gentle with you.”
“I’ve tried that before, and it didn’t work out so hot for me.”
I’m not sure how old Capri is, but she seems young. Too young to be hurt this deeply.
I kiss her, my touch working her muscles carefully. “With me, there’s no expectations. You don’t have to say or do the right things. Just let me take care of you, make you feel good, and erase every last trace of him.”
She peers up at me with determination in her eyes. A strong woman lives inside her shell of fear.
“Fuck him out of me, Jones. Take it all away.” Her pretty blues tell a story yet to unfold. I’d be more than happy to help ease her worry.
I grin as ferocity fills me. “I can do that, sweetheart. After you.” I guide her to the bathroom, ready to start pampering her before our mutual need takes over.
And then, we’ll fuck until there’s nothing left but the smell of sex in the air between us.