Page 11 of Masked in Deception
“I’d love it if you came for me, Princess,” I say in what I hope is a sexy voice, but sounds kind of slurred.
“What?” Margot responds, which means my well-practiced humor must be failing me. Time to double down.
“I haven’t been able to look at a blonde since your prom night without thinking of you, Margot. You’re so beautiful, and I…” I trail off when I realize the look I’m getting is love, but not really sexy-love. More like pity-love. Ah, bourbon. You’ve let me down.
Nah, Jack. You’ve done that yourself.
“Jack, I love you. Today’s messed up. But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here by your side. Let’s go find Ledger and go home, okay? I’ll make us grilled cheeses and we can watch a movie,” she says, smiling at me and reaching for my hand.
As long as you stay.
“Whatever you want, Princess.”
Chapter fourteen
20 years old
I swear to God, if I see a rat in here, living or dead, I’ll scream, and Jack can just continue his journey to find new depths of depravity. I mean,honestly.This condo is like if a frat house had a baby with a landfill, and then the resulting mess rotted in the sun for a week. I don’t even know who owns this place, or how Jack got here, but when Ledger called me frantically last night and said that Jack wasn’t listening to him any more, I knew it was time to finally intervene. I don’t use our private jet often, but nothing is more worthwhile than coming when Jack needs me.Even if it means missing a piano lesson with someone who flew from Europe just to teach me.Jack’s more important.
If I walk in here and see Jack’s vomit, I’m going to hurl.If there’s a woman, or women, in here, I’ll do a lot worse than hurl.I sigh, pushingthosefeelings firmly to the back corner of my mind, under lock and key. That’s not a thing. It’s not what I’m here for, and it won’t help anybody. I’m here to slap some sense into a dumbass man who’s hurting, and even though it’sstupidly stereotypical that I’m here to fix a man’s mess, I’ll always do anything for my Jackie.
Men really are the worst, though,I think, as I step over the remains of what was once a full rack of ribs, by the look of it.
Turning a corner into the bedroom, I finally see him, thankfully clothed and alone, lying on a mattress surrounded by take-out boxes. It’s been six months since he buried his dad, and it’s past time for some tough love.
Although I was prepared mentally for worse, I’ll still be happy to see my prince back on his feet. He looks like shit—hair and beard too long and skin dull from an unbalanced diet. This isn’t him. But he’ll be back, and soon, if I have anything to say about it. It doesn’t take long for me to make a couple of trips from the kitchen to the bedroom and prepare the first aspect of my intervention.
I might take asmidgeof satisfaction in the way he pops up from the bed, shocked, when the first bucket of ice water splashes across the top of his head. I definitely smirk when he’s still getting his bearings, and I toss the second bucket. By the third, which he was still not expecting, I’m full-on laughing, if only at the absurdity of the situation and to keep from crying.
“What thefuck?” he cries, sounding more sober than I was expecting. “I yield! I yield!”
His eyes are surprisingly clear despite the alcohol bottles and grinders around the room, so it seems I’ve come at a reasonable time to stage an intervention. Hopefully, he comes quietly, and I don’t have to call in the big guns, a.k.a. my tears. I approach slowly, as if not to scare a wounded animal, and run my fingers through his greasy hair, his eyelids fluttering shut.
“Hi Jack,” I whisper, waiting for him to give me his deep blue eyes so I know he’s okay. I keep waiting and scratching his scalp. “Jack,” I say a little more forcefully, tugging on his hair, “can you look at me please?”
“No,” he says, leaning into my hand like a touch-starved dog. “I’m afraid to open my eyes in case you aren’t actually here.”
My heart breaks a little, but I roll my eyes, thinking he probably just wants a longer head rub.
“I’m really here, but if you don’t look at me, I’m gonna stop rubbing your head.”
That does it. His eyes snap to mine, and they’re both more beautiful and more sad than I’ve ever seen them. “It’s time to stop all this, Jack. This isn’t you. The past six months have been awful, but it’s time to process in a healthy way. You’re booked at a sober-living grief retreat, and I’d like to take you with me today. Will you come?”
I’m not sure if it’s anger, hurt, shame, or all three that I see flash in his eyes, but he settles on determination. I can already tell I’m going to have to pull the princess card to pull him out of it. I hate to manipulate him, but I’ll take the guilt for that over the risk of feeling that I could have done something to stop this spiral, but didn’t.
“Please, Jack,” I whisper, getting down to his level so I can let him see how much I hate this shell version of him. “Please do this for me. I need my Jackie back. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
The retreat specified that nobody gets help for anyone else but themselves, but I know Jack is ready for his own purposes. I’m just the little push he needs to get started.
“You owe me a kiss, you know. And honestly, I’m twenty now, so you really owe me whatever a kiss plus two years of compound interest amounts to,” I say, barely loud enough to be heard in the silent room. “But I really don’t want a kiss unless you’re sober. My prince is a lot more charming than this.”
He holds my eyes for a long few seconds before I see a smirk on his handsome face, looking more like my Jack. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to pay my way out from under that interest. Imight just have to make payments for the rest of my life.” He finally chuckles, and it’s the best thing I’ve heard in the long months that we’ve all been worried sick.
“Well, we can hash all that out with the lawyers once you’re fully kissable again. So will you come? Not just for me, though, Jack. It has to be for you, too.” I stick out my pinky expectantly, hoping he’ll understand how serious I am about what I’m asking.
He rolls his neck back, giving the ceiling a long stare before bringing his gaze back to mine and offering me his pinky.
“Yeah, Princess,” he says, and I get a full smile. “Whatever you want.”
