Chapter Twenty-Nine
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.
“How about you suck me off while I get to devour that puss…you only need to concentrate on my cock while I concentrate on your pussy. Not complicated at all, considering that this girl here speaks four languages and is a super smart international investor.” He scowled at that part. She knew it irritated him that his dad had insisted Jake could learn from her. “Pretty sure you can handle a little dual stimulation.” He jerked on her robe, and added, “Now, get up here.”
She let the robe drop, smirking at his reaction to her naked body, his straight mouth and greedy eyes glaring at her as he impatiently helped her onto the bed. Both laughed as he pulled the covers aside to reveal his hard cock. “So, how does this actually work?” She giggled, partly because she felt awkward and partly because his hands were all over her body. And there was a third part she was feeling—relief. Relief that she’d shared something so painful with him and it was over, that they were moving on. He’d been there for her in a way she’d never imagined a lover could be. A renewed patience settled into her, and she reminded herself that the life she’d imagined that seemed to disintegrate with the fire was actually unfolding. This man still loved her. He’d heard the truth, how she had asked her dad to save her horse, leading to his death, how she had sold her virginity, and all the decisions she’d made to set up her life so that she could pursue her dream of Hollywood.
“Okay, move your ass over here,” he said, pulling her hips toward his face. “Straddle me, your pussy hovering over my face and your face over my cock.” A few giggles later, before her fingers wrapped around his hard shaft, her mouth poised over his cock, while her legs were spread on either side of his head.
“I just start sucking?” she hushed, feigning a na?ve, breathy voice. She let the warm air brush against his cock, feeling it twitch in her hand before her tongue swirled around the head, making him groan into the open slit of her pussy. “Like this?” She sucked in the bulbous head, licking down the thick shaft.
His large hand splayed over her ass, yanking her forcefully down. “Yep, fuck, just like that,” he growled just before his tongue lapped at her outer lips, winding its way between her folds. Then methodically, his tongue and lips edged to her clit, slowly and repetitively sucking with less vigor than usual, as if he were savoring her, edging her there.
She willed herself to concentrate on his cock, her lips stretching wide to take him in, his head bumping up against the back of her throat. When his guttural moan vibrated against her pussy, her inner thighs flexed, and her internal walls began spasming. As the spark that had bloomed from her clit started flickering through her pelvis, her head jerked up. “Jake, I can’t, I…” She arched her ass up, away from his face.
Pop! A sharp sting to her ass, his hand snapping back, then his fingers digging into her hips.
Her nose snagged on the smell of the casserole cooking. “Oh, Jake, I need to get that…”
His hand snapped lightly against her flesh again. “Don’t fucking move.”
“Jake.”
“The sooner you cream on my face and let me lick it up, the less burnt whatever’s in the oven will be. You’re right. You can’t pay attention to two things at once. So feel this.” His voice was warbly and gruff. “Got it?”
“Yes.” She braced herself, her hands planted on the bed on either side of his hips, letting her pelvis dip as his tongue rhythmically moved in and out of her cunt. He sucked her clit again, more vigorously. She tried wiggling her ass, but his hands gripped her hips so forcefully she couldn’t move. She could only absorb what he was doing to her, everything he was making her feel. Then, as if a string of firecrackers had been lit, starting at her clit, the sensation pulsing through her pelvis, rippling up to her torso, she let out a low howl, like an injured animal, the intensity of it racking her. He wasn’t stopping; he kept eking it out until she heard herself plead, “I can’t…please.”
“One more taste,” he muttered against her sensitive flesh. Then he licked her with the flat of his tongue, from her clit up her slit, making an over-exaggerated slurping sound, which was mixed with his cocky chortle.
“Jake!” she scolded, sure the casserole was burnt. “Shit, I need to, I wanted today to be perfect for you,” she hushed, fighting her body’s desire to crash onto the mattress, feeling completely spent.
She felt his hands guiding her body off of his to the edge of the bed. He sat up, saying, “Careful,” holding her under her arms as she slid her toes to the floor. Regaining her footing, she raced out into the kitchen, grabbed oven mitts, and reached in to pull the bubbling egg casserole out. She surveyed it and decided the brown edges could easily be covered with the grated cheese.
“Hey, you may still want this.” She heard his deep, animated voice behind her, spinning around to see him holding up her robe, his lips stretched into a huge grin. “Unless you want to cook for me naked. I mean, don’t get me wrong, watching you doing your thing in the kitchen barefoot and completely nude sort of checks off a lot of my Neanderthal boxes,” he goaded, as she snatched the robe out of his hand.
She knew he was referring to their fight months ago, when she’d called him, in a deriding tone, a Neanderthal. That explosive argument that had ensued when he’d confronted her—letting her know he knew she’d been an escort—seemed like it had been a lifetime ago. Or someone else’s story, someone she’d played in a movie, a part of her but not her. He held the robe open as she slipped her arms through it. When she turned, she cupped his cheeks in her hands. “I remember,” she murmured, pecking his lips, “fucking Neanderthal. Did I miss the mark?” she teased, knowing she’d never forget that day when her defense system went into overdrive, every synapse in her brain short-circuiting.
“You're going to stop me? Like, keep me fucking captive? Who do you think you are?” I’d screamed. “Did you forget I, Rakell McCarthy, don’t follow your little playbook, Jake Skyler?” Abruptly, I spun away from his stare. “Fucking Neanderthal!”
“Don’t you fucking move, or you’ll see just how Neanderthal I am! Stop!” he’d retorted.
“Don’t you dare talk to me in that patronizing tone! You backward fucking Neanderthal.”
“Call me whatever you want to, but I’m driving you home,” he’d countered with no emotion. I wondered how he could do that; sometimes, in the middle of our fights, he’d pull back like a voice in his head had just called “time-out.”
“Fine,” I huffed. “Should have listened to my first instincts about you.”
She may have been the one who had acted more like an animal that day—a trapped, terrified animal—yet here they were.
“ Nahhh,” he yawned, stretching. “Neanderthal is not quite accurate. I think of myself as a super-evolved guy with the sensibilities of the old Western characters.”
She chuckled, realizing he’d put some thought into his picture of himself. “That’s an oxymoron. But I will let you believe that because it is your birthday. Let me get the Champagne.”
“Oh, so you’re just catering to me because it’s my birthday.” He stepped behind her as she bent to grab the bubbly she had chilling.
“Yes, that’s exactly why. Go sit down; I’ll get us some Champagne and finish breakfast.”
She filled two glasses, handing him one as he sat on the couch. Leaning forward, her glass extended to toast him, she said, “Happy birthday, Jake Anthony Skyler,” in a sing-song voice. “I’m glad you're finding your way back into my life, and…and here’s to another year with you.” She swallowed; that wasn’t how she’d wanted to say it, but she clinked his glass and then sipped, feeling his gaze studying her.
“Jesus, woman,” he mumbled around a mouthful of lemon and ricotta pancakes covered in lavender syrup, swallowing with a satisfied groan. “What the hell is in these? They’re so rich and the syrup reminds me of that Ternero special oil I got you in Sacramento, with lavender and vanilla.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “That reminds me, we haven’t tried that oil yet.”
She stabbed at the fruit on her plate. “Because we’d have to cover the bed in plastic, and what would we do all covered in oil?”
“Oh, I can think of a few things…” He winked, and she got the distinct sense that there were stories about Jake she would like to hear. Jake was so at home in his skin, in his sexual prowess, that she was sure some sordid stories were lurking in his background and not the ones caught on film. Better ones, she thought, studying him, wondering about a few of Dwayne’s spilled comments, “Jake and I are into that. Remember the time…” She was sure they’d shared women. She lifted her glass to her lips, taking a sip from the flute before swallowing coffee. Was she really going to profess her love to this guy today, tell him how she felt?
He shoved another bite between his open lips, a breathy moan leaking from his full mouth.
“Better than sex?” she asked, grinning at how he reveled in the spread. Egg, sausage and green chili casserole covered in grated cheese, which had helped soften the burnt edges, watermelon and cantaloupe cut into large chunks, mostly so she’d have something to eat without drawing attention to her not eating the cheesy egg casserole and sumptuous fluffy lemon pancakes that were hard to make without trying. The aroma and texture alone made her long to devour them. Still, she had to weigh everything she put in her mouth. She thought about strategies her roommate had started offering Rakell on how to survive the calorie-restrictive actress lifestyle. She told Rakell, once or sometimes twice a week, that she ate all the things she craved, then got rid of them, following that with a protein shake with powered greens, “ for nutrition, of course ,” Vee had added, as if that was completely normal. It seemed so counter to anything bordering on healthy.
“Oh, I want to give you your present.”
“That’s you, that’s all I want,” he said.
“Wait, you’ll want this.” She jogged down the hall to the office/storage room, where she kept her Pilates machine, and grabbed the stack of wrapped books. The weight of the four books sank in her arms, but it was the words that she’d pulled from The Alchemist and her own goofy poem waiting for him in the card that made her slow down. Did she really want to say all that?
Jake had navigated all the speculated moments between them, holding her hand as she tip-toed to the edge. The same words he expressed seemingly naturally and sincerely lingered in the back of her throat, but when she looked over the cliff, she didn’t see a soft landing. She didn’t dare say them, she couldn’t risk her heart for fear of the drop, the freefall. If she could look over and see puffy clouds absorbing the crash, she could put her hands in the air and run, throwing herself into the unknown. She wanted—no needed—to know there was a soft landing, that her heart would not shatter went she took the next step. The way he had enveloped her last night, absorbed her pain, deflected her self-doubt, afforded her the courage to jump off without seeing what was below.
She walked out carrying the wrapped books, a twitchy excitement coursing through her. Her chest fell up and down, as if she had a bungee cord attached to her waist and someone was about to throw her off a bridge. Would the cord hold or snap? She sucked in air through her nose as she turned into the living room, where he faced the windows, staring out into the bright Austin dayscape. He turned his head when he heard her. “Hey, I was thinking maybe we could go out on the boat tomorrow. We can do a repeat of the best day ever.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Mmm…let’s have breakfast on the lake tomorrow before all the UT kids wake up and swarm all over.”
She watched his eyes catch on her stack of wrapped books. There was no disguising her gift, but she knew he’d still be surprised. “I have fond memories of your boat.” She expected the grin paired with his lower lids, remembering that day last October. “But you need to sit and close your robe. That’s distracting,” she instructed, raking her eyes over his completely exposed crotch, taking note that his cock had grown with the mention of the boat. She had plans to take care of that after she got through this hard part, laying her emotions out there.
“Weak girl.” He chuckled, tying his robe tighter before stepping toward the couch. She noticed he had poured more Champagne into their glasses. “Bad and weak, my two favorite qualities,” he said, winking as he sat. So rogue-like with his cocky-ass smile, she thought, but damn if the combination didn’t make her want to rip that robe open and get down on her knees to show him just how much she cared. That seemed so much easier than what she was about to do.
She practically shoved the stack of gifts into his hands, stammering, “Well, here you go,” when he grabbed them. Then she reached for the Champagne and took a gulp, emptying half the glass.
His eyes darted to her, as if trying to figure out her mixed messages. “Are these books that scandalous? I should have guessed you’d give me more books, smart girl.”
“You’re going to like these…promise.” She focused on his face as he ripped the paper from the stack.
“Wow, you…” he uttered, his mouth falling open.
“Original signed copies.”
She smiled, studying how his fingers touched the leather-embossed books as if he’d know these books by feel alone. “My favorites,” he said. “ Son of a Wanted Man , Silver Canyon , The Lonesome Gods , The Sackett Brand …gosh, so good. Oh, and The Quick and the Dead . It’s short but great. How did you know?” His usually confident voice was lost in grateful awe.
She clapped her hands together, then asked, “So you like them?” There was giddiness in her tone, relief letting her shoulders ease. “I may have had a little help from the senior Mr. Skyler. He knows your book collection. Apparently, you have every book written by Louis L’Amour, but he did a little recognizance in your room, and these were the ones that were the most worn.”
“Damn,” he whispered, still caressing the covers, then turning to the inside flap, running his thumb over the signature.
She tipped back the rest of her Champagne like it was a shot, before poking the light-blue envelope into the air. “And one more thing,” she said through a thick lump in her throat, “your card.”
His eyebrows arched. “There’s not some explosive powder in this, is there?” he chided, eyeing her as he reached for it.
“No.” She forced a laugh, thinking I might implode from it, but you’ll survive . “It’s just a few words.” Staring at him, she added, “Remember, I’m not a poet.”
He bit his lip, fighting back a laugh. He opened the seal, looking at the watercolor of Town Lake and downtown Austin at night, done by the same artist from whom he’d bought her birthday card, Avery ( Coloring ATX) . “I, well, you know I love it,” he murmured.
“Open it,” she urged, wringing her hands together. “Wait, I need more Champagne. You?”
“Okay, yes.” He swigged his bubbles, and she heard him chuckle.
Scurrying back, she filled their glasses. “Okay, okay, you can go,” she sputtered, trying to ignore his perplexed expression. “Just go, just do it.”
“Ooo-kaay,” he whispered, slowly opening the card.
She stared at his face as she read her words…
Happy Birthday, Jake!
They say it’s the people who make Austin so inviting.
You make Austin feel like my home. Thank you!
Dearest Jake,
I thought you nothing more than a rake
When all I felt was coal
You helped me see my soul
When lost in my sight
You’ve shown me light
I’ll make sure I’m here
If you always stay near
For your love, I am grateful
I thought our union, fateful
I know now I was wrong
It’s a sappy country song
Love always,
Rakell
She held her breath, studying him as he read it again, his lips moving almost imperceptibly as if he needed to reread it. Finally, she whispered, “Jake?”
His head popped up. She thought she saw a mist in his eyes, but it was incongruent with the smug smile stretching his lips. Then his eyes fell back to the open card. He nodded his head. “Yep, I got it.” His hand outstretched, reaching for her. She gasped, inching her way around the glass table. He pulled her onto his lap. She straddled him, studying his mixed expression.
Bending forward, she put her nose to his. “Glad you like it,” she murmured against his mouth. ‘“When two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant.’ Do you remember that quote from The Alchemist ?” she asked, her nose still to his nose, their mouths a whisper away. She was sure he could hear the erratic beat of her heart. Just say it , she admonished herself.
He let the card drop to the couch, snaking his hands in her robe, splaying his fingers on the small of her back. “Yes. Was your poem smart girl code for, ‘I love you, Jake?’”
“Yes,” she whispered with a soft sigh. “I love you, Jake.” Her chest fell, her shoulders slumping, falling into him. She wrapped her arms around his torso, the angst of a lifetime draining from her body. She let him tighten his hold on her, inviting him to absorb it, surrendering to it.
His lips pecked hers, then started making a trail on her jaw, leading to her ear.
Her skin tingling, she finished the quote, ‘“There is only that moment and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning . ”’ That was all she had left in her. She gulped, tightening her jaw, willing herself not to cry, run, or keep talking, ruining this moment.
His hands moved from her back to her cheeks, his fingers cupping her jaw. “Smart girl, no more words,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “A Louis L’Amour quote we could both learn from. ‘Love is a moment of stillness that sometimes a word can shatter to pieces.’”
With that, she tangled her arms around him, stepping off the secure cliff, reveling in the exhilaration from the freefall without the terror, trusting that he was her soft landing.