Here I am with this journal again because I can’t think and it’s your fault, Jack Leslie. I said you were mine and that you belonged to me. That I’d show you how much you do. But it’s not something I want you to know by force. I want it to bloom within you like belonging to you did for me. One petal, then two, and then the rest all at once, falling into place, exactly where they’re supposed to go.
* * *
Ihave to do something I’ve never done before. Have a grown-up conversation with someone I’m in a relationship with. It’s not a real relationship—even I know that—but it’s the first of its kind in Mercy Meyer’s life so it’s real enough for me. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’ve never been one of those people to say “I don’t know how so too bad for you”. I’m going to give it my best fucking shot. Even if I fuck it up.
To give it my best shot, I had to call my sister for advice, and she gave it to me after she razzed the shit out of me for ten minutes. Believe me, I deserved it after years of telling her love was for fools and poets. That committing to one person in any kind of way was for suckers.
Yeah, I said all that. For decades. At near to every family gathering. Hence, I had to eat a lot of crow, which should say something about how much Jack means to me.
The wait for him to climb a few flights of stairs is excruciating. I texted him five minutes ago. He said he’d be right up. Where is he? He’s supposed to have the speed of a pro athlete.
Knock! Knock!Finally. “Door’s open.”
“Uh, Coach?” he says, striding through the door and shutting it behind him. “Everything, okay?”
He’s not wearing shoes or socks or a shirt. Just sweats—he lives in those—and his ball cap. He’s a-freaking-dorable in that ball cap, but I want access to his hair, so I remove it and toss it on the couch. He closes his eyes when I run my fingers through his soft locks, and I bring his lips to mine. Jack lets my tongue slip inside so I can deepen the kiss, slowly inhaling his breath and his unique Jack scent. I run a hand down his body and pull one of his thick hockey thighs to wrap around my torso, kissing him until he surely needs air.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he says. “That was a nice kiss, but you’re scaring me, Merc.”
“Sit there.” I smack the side of his ass and point to my couch.
“That’s better. Spank me. Boss me around. Speaking of, there’s something I want to talk to you about too, but I am not going first.”
My brows knit together. “Why do I have to go first?”
“Because you’re the one who called me up here and you’re the real adult between us.” He lays on my couch, sinking into it, picking up his discarded hat to fiddle with. He bends the shit outta that brim.
“You need a new hat. That thing’s dead.”
“New hat? How dare?” he says holding it close to his chest to protect it from me. “This is my lucky hat, Merc. I’m getting buried in this thing. Also, you’re stalling.”
I am stalling. I sigh and sink down on the other couch next to the one he’s on. “I got a phone call from someone who knows you. I didn’t say anything before because we were just—”
“Enemies.”
“Well yeah, sorta, and now we’re—”
“Lovers.” He deepens his voice to sultry tones.
“Jack.”
“Sorry. I’ll let you talk.”
I grip my skull in both hands. My sister said to do it gently, but everything’s screaming at me to just rip the Band-Aid off. “I know about your ex, Rhett the hockey God. He called me.”
Now he sits at attention. The sharp posture his navy dad might have drilled into him appears. “Rhett called you?”
“He did. I might be ruining a surprise here, but it feels wrong not to tell you now and … I’m fucking this up. Call my sister. She’ll tell you the rest better than I can. I’m shit at this.”
He laughs and moves closer. He takes my shaking hands. “You’re not shit at it. I wouldn’t have even bothered to tell you something like this.”
“Jack.”
He shrugs. “It’s true. I would have waited for it to come out in the wash.”
I seize his hands instead, wrapping my fingers around the outside of them. “Does that mean you don’t want to hear?”
