Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) (12 page)

Jack cradled Marithé's tiny, curvy body in his arms, savoring every moment of closeness. She'd felt like an angel, and like an angel, she'd carried him to heaven. In their union, his pain had been temporarily relieved, or at least forgotten.
Funny how she makes me feel whole again.
Even now, his sex resisted deflating, as though trying to prolong its contact with her secret depths.
I could hold her forever.

Her cheek, soft as cattails, rested on his shoulder, her hair spilling over both of them in a silky caress. The scent of their mingled pleasure permeated the depths of his being. Her flowery perfume, his rich cologne, and the scent of their sated bodies blended into a heady zephyr. He inhaled deeply, trying to memorize every morsel of sensory input before their moment passed.
I just had sex with Marithé,
he thought to himself in wonder.
It feels like I've loved her forever.

Even in his euphoric state, he couldn't help letting his thoughts drift. He'd been conditioned to think about his father's parishioners his whole life, told to maintain a conscious vigil of how things might be interpreted.
Or misinterpreted
, he thought bitterly. He had no doubt some of the people at church might disapprove of their coupling, but he couldn't dredge up even a hint of regret.
I'm not going to let anyone steal my joy.
It wasn't a casual encounter, far from it.

At last, his deflating sex slipped from her overwhelmingly sweet honey. Jack cupped Marithé's cheek in one hand and held her in place for another long kiss. She seemed to melt into him, the last of her tension draining from her frame as she fell into a limp, boneless heap, her head returning to his shoulder. She sighed contentedly and the sound was like music to his ears.

Without thought, he lifted her in his arms and stood… and abruptly sat back down as a searing bolt of excruciating pain raged through him. The intense heat spread through his groin and flared down into his bad leg, causing his muscles to give out beneath him. He hissed as they collapsed back onto the sofa with a resounding
thump
. The jarring movement seemed to wake Marithé from the lethargy of her afterglow. She lifted her head, staring into his eyes, and as he watched, her soft satisfaction transformed into disbelief, and then horror. She drew in a shaky breath and her eyes widened, his grimace reflected in their depths. Both hands clasped over her mouth.

“Mari?” he said gently, laying a hand on her arm, hoping to console her, reassure her.

“Jorge,” she gasped as realization spread through her anguished face, and Jack knew she hadn't accidentally called him by her late husband's name. As tears pooled in her haunted eyes, his heart seemed to shrink and crack like a frozen balloon.

“Mari, honey, listen…”

“Jack, I can't… I… Oh God!” She gulped convulsively.

“Try to calm down,” he urged, stroking her arm gently. “I didn't mean for this to happen, but it's not the end of the world…”

“Calm down?” she replied, her voice rising until it dissolved into a squeaking sob. “I can't do this… my husband… I… we didn't even use a condom! Oh, God, what if I…”

“You won't, Mari,” he said, though it broke his heart to say so.

She scoffed, though there was an air of barely contained hysteria in it. “How do you know that? You think it won't happen just because you decree it, Jack? Thanks, that's such a relief!”

“Marithé, please listen,” he pleaded, but she was struggling to climb out of his lap. He cupped her face in both hands and made her look into his eyes. “Marithé! I'm sterile!”

“What?” for a moment she was stunned into stillness.

“I'm sterile, honey,” he repeated sadly. “The infection in my leg… it caused a fever and well… I can't get you pregnant. I swear it.” Marithé blinked as she digested his words. He pushed the tears from her cheeks and asked, “But if… if I could have… honey, do you really think that would be so bad? I mean, I love you, and I love your kids. All I want is to take care of the three of you, provide for you.”

“No, no,” Marithé closed her eyes and shook her head lightly, like she was trying to clear her head. “This… this is wrong.”

Jack waited for her to open her eyes before he spoke again.

“This…” he indicated their bodies with a wave of his hand, “isn't wrong. Granted, it wasn't something I set out to do or planned for. The wine…”
Quit making excuses, Jack!
“Never mind, it doesn't matter how we got here, just that we did and I'll… I'll take responsibility, for things getting out of hand… for everything. But Mari, I'll never believe it was wrong because… because I love you.”

She bit her lip hard. A drop of blood welled up around her teeth. “But I can't do this,” she mumbled miserably.

He didn't argue nor point out the fact that she already had.
I want to get her past this moment, not make her mad. She needs time… understanding. I can give that to her.

“Look, honey, I know. It was a silly rush and we can… slow down.”
Lord, give me strength. Now that I've tasted her…
Just the thought sent a thrill back to his penis, causing it to awaken; swelling it so it reached for her body again, but cold reality had slammed shut the gates of their alcohol-induced intimacy.

Gasping, Mari slithered off Jack's lap, and in her haste, her knee caught on the aching flesh of his injury. He couldn't contain an agonized groan, though she didn't seem to notice. She began yanking her clothes back on, nearly tearing the fragile fabric in her frenzy to shield herself from what was already done, tears trailing down her face in an endless stream.

“Mari,” Jack began again, but she didn't respond. She sniffled furiously, as though trying to contain the untamable tears.

Giving up, Jack dragged his clothes over his protesting body. Though he quickly slipped his shirt on, it took a bit longer for him to maneuver into his pants, but he eventually managed to do so. Hauling himself to his feet with fierce determination, he paused for only a moment to collect his self, pushing the pain away so he could draw her in his arms. He could feel her tensions ease as she momentarily softened, obviously as affected by his touch as he was by hers.

“It's all right,” he told her, kissing her head tenderly. “Just let me love you, Mari. Let me be part of your family.”

She sobbed. “What will people say?” she forced out. “What will they think? My husband's only been gone, what… eight months? That's not long enough,” she said sadly, as though to herself and then again for him. “That's not long enough, Jack, and people will think –”

“They'll think you're a wonderful, loving woman who deserves to be supported and cared for in her time of need,” he said, refusing to believe anything else. “And besides, it's no one's business but ours.”

“I know, but…” Marithé whimpered, covering her quivering mouth with her trembling hand.

“Honey, what are you so afraid of? What do you think they'll do, shun you?”

“Throw stones,” she muttered under her breath. Her brief acceptance of his comfort ended and her softening failed. She yanked herself from Jack's arms. “And rightly so! I'm horrible and I deserve their condemnation!”

“What?” He didn't know what to say.
How do I make her understand? Can't she see how right we are for each other… how we fit together?

“Jack, I… I'm sorry. I can't, no, I won't let you can't take responsibility,” she told him fervently. “Not solely, anyway because I… I… uh - oh, forget it!” she stammered, taking a few steps backwards, adding to the distance between them. “I can't do this, Jack. I can't do this ever again.”

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and punched at the buttons angrily. Jack stared in shock, and it slowly dawned on him that she was calling for a cab.

“Mari, I'll drive you, I…”

She waved him away, violently swatting at the air as she quickly grabbed her purse.

“Mari…”

“I can't, Jack. I just can't.” She opened the side door and stepped outside. “Yes, hi…” she responded to someone on the other end of the phone, distracted as she pulled the door closed, severing their connection with a finality that ached like a physical wound.

Cursing, his ungainly leg now stiffened horribly and throbbing, he limped after her. He called to her, hoping she'd hear him through the door, but to no avail. Panting slightly from his discomfort, he finally reached the exit, wrenching open the door just in time to see Marithé hop into a yellow cab and zoom away down the street.

Crushed, Jack slammed the door shut and rammed his fist into the wood, bellowing in frustration. From the heights of heaven, pure, burning hell reached out to consume him.
Just when I dared to hope…
His heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest and unexpected tears fell from his eyes as he wept for the woman he desperately desired.
I thought… but no.
He shuddered with a heaving sob.
She's slipped out of my grasp again.

* * *

Unable to cope with her barely contained emotions, only just hanging on to detachment, Marithé tossed a handful of cash at the cab driver and flung herself from the vehicle with barely a word of thanks. She rushed towards the older, somewhat rundown two-story complex of apartments, wishing she were already in the safety of her tiny two-bedroom unit. Though she was keeping her tears at bay, her cheeks burned in the wind as the breeze licked across her salt-stained flesh, making her skin feel tight.

She fumbled with her keys and dropped them from her shaking fingers. Cussing under her breath, she stooped to retrieve them, managing to hit her head on the doorknob as she straightened. Though her thoughts refused to coalesce into anything like sensibility, a feeling of deep shame and impending doom rolled over and over her. And through it all, Jorge's beautiful dark eyes shone in her mind.
How disappointed would he be now? How betrayed would he feel, realizing I've replaced him… and so soon.

But now there was another voice whispering in her ear. It dared to ask the questions she couldn't bear to speak aloud. “So what? Jorge is dead,” the voice insisted. “You didn't betray him nor did you replace him. You simply chose to embrace another good, kind man, a man who loves you.”
Is it so wrong to want to be loved? Can I truly love him in return?
The voice continued, “Like Jack said, maybe the timing was wrong, but it wasn't the worst thing you could have done. And God knows you were certainly willing enough.”

Wild, swirling thoughts threatened to take her over completely, so to silence them she fitted the key carefully into the sticky lock on the door handle and jiggled it until all the connections caught. Letting herself in, she wrestled the key back out again, with a loud, nerve-wracking series of jingles. At last, the cranky mechanism reluctantly released the key and she dropped it into her purse before securing the door with the dead bolt.

“Are you all right?” A female voice cut into her awareness, making her jump violently. The purse dropped from her hands and overturned, scattering coins and receipts across the worn, brown carpet.

Heart pounding, she raised her head from the mess and met eyes which looked so much like Jack's, they cut deep into her already-bloody nerves.
Oh Lord. I forgot Shonda was even here.

“Now I know you're not all right. Why are you so jumpy, girl? Did something spook you? And where's Jack? Didn't he escort you home?”

“He's at his house,” she replied, but offered no more, her voice far from steady. Walking stiffly, she passed Shonda, crossing the length of the tiny living room into the kitchenette where she poured herself a glass of water.

Shonda, of course, was not about to accept such a truncated answer. “How did you get here if Jack stayed home? Tell me he didn't allow you to walk home by yourself!”

“Taxi,” Marithé replied, before burying her face in her drink again.
Please, don't ask any more questions. Just go home and let me get control of myself.

“Did you two have a fight?”

If only there had been an argument.
“No. Not that.” Her hold on her emotions slipped again and a sob escaped.

“Mari,” Shonda said gently, reaching out to her supportively. Marithé felt the warm touch of her friend's hand, followed by the unexpected comment, “your shirt is on inside out.”

That did it. All the hysterical confusion of thought and emotion, which had been twirling like a tornado in Marithé's mind, finally smashed what was left of her self-control. She burst into noisy sobs, embarrassed, but no longer able to contain her heartbreak.
Oh, God! Now she's going to be more determined than ever to know what happened. And when I tell her…

She expected Shonda to leave in a huff, even hoped she would.
A pastor's wife shouldn't have to put up with someone like… me. Someone who…
even admitting to herself what she'd done was too much for her and a new wave of tears flooded forth. That was when the last thing she expected happened; Shonda enfolded her into warm, motherly arms, cooing softly.

“There, there,” Shonda said, patting her on the back. “It's all right, dear. These things can happen. It's okay.”

“I feel so… dirty,” she sobbed heart-wrenchingly. “I'm not good enough… for Jorge… for Jack.” Her voice broke when she spoke the name of Shonda's son. “I… I'm not even good enough for my job. To have done this… you should probably just fire me.”

“Mari, no,” Shonda tucked a knuckle under Marithé's tear-dampened chin and lifted her face. “Not a chance.”

Her lips trembled as she whispered, “But I…”

“You what, dear?” Shonda pushed, hoping to bring the young woman to understanding. “You were a wonderful wife to Jorge? You're a devoted mother to Elena and Andres?”

Marithé couldn't bring herself to look at her friend. Though Shonda held her chin firmly in place, she looked to the side, refusing to meet her eyes.
How can she be so kind and after I… I acted like a hussy.
She bit her lip, holding back the sob building in her chest.

“I can see by the way you're still grieving that you are still in love with Jorge,” Shonda commented gently. “Of course, it's not wrong to look for a little happiness in life, honey. A good husband would want that for you and Jorge was a good husband, right?”