Secret Storm (17 page)

She turned to face him. "But you're not
alone. You have Jane in your life now."

He smiled. "Yes, I have Janie. I got
lucky."

"Jack has me. Well, he
could
have me
if he would just trust me." She began pacing again.

"I agree, but he doesn't trust easily."

Sara stopped cold, slapping her hand over her
eyes.
Oh my God, I am such an idiot.
She'd spent so much
time worrying about her trust issues that she'd never considered
his. "How do I get him to trust me?"

"I don't know. He trusts me because I went
through it with him." He crossed his arms again, Jack's loyal
defender. "He needs to know you're strong enough to be there when
things get ugly."

"I am." She stood up straight, ready to face
whatever storm lurked on the horizon.

"Are you sure? Because believe me... things
can get very ugly."

"How ugly?"

"He would never hurt you," Austin said
quickly.

"I know."

"But if anyone else ever hurt you...." He
closed his eyes and shuddered, and when he spoke again, his voice
dropped. "I know what he would do to them."

Her imagination reached its limit. "What
happened?"

He shook his head. "I can't tell you. He
needs—"

"I know. He needs to do it himself."

"That's what I've been saying, but he won't
listen to me."

"He won't listen to me either." She leaned
back against the counter next to him. Talking to him hadn't given
her any new information. "So what do we do now?"

"I don't know, babe." He sighed. "Don't give
up on him."

"I won't. I... I need to think."

"He needs to know you're okay."

"Yes, tell Jack I'm all right. Tell him....
No, I need to tell him the rest." Once she figured it out
herself.

"I will. Can I do anything for you?"

"Take care of Jack, if he'll let you."

"Already done. What can I do for
you
?"
He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"Nothing. You've done enough. I need to...."
What? Sort through all of this—somehow. But where to start? Too
many questions and no real answers.
Her shoulders sagged. She
suddenly felt weary and completely drained. She needed to take care
of herself so she could help Jack, but she didn't have the strength
to do either. "I don't... I don't know how."

Austin put his arms around her, holding her
close while she broke down and cried.

"I'm sorry." She sobbed into his shirt,
unable to stop her tears.

"I gotcha, girl. Just let it all out."

Oh dear God, I'm crying in Austin's
arms... about a man!
But she wasn't crying over him, she was
crying for him and maybe even with him.

She still didn't know exactly what he'd
suffered, but it was obvious that his pain ran deep. She couldn't
share it with Jack right then, but she could share it with his
friend—
her
friend now—and that had to be enough for the
moment.

***

After Austin left, she poured a bowl of
cereal and sank into the couch. She put her feet on the coffee
table and kicked her phone. "There it is." The screen lit when she
picked it up.
One text message. One voicemail.

She read the text message first. Jack:
'needs to takl. pleassse.'

What the hell?
Had he left the
voicemail too?

"Damn voishe mail. Hey, Sharra. It's Jack.
Yeah, you know that. I needa.... I need to tell you.... Don't tell
her on the phone, dumbass. Austin told me I need to think about
that. Everything. But I don't want to. Remember... hurts too much.
I can't. I need...."

Long pause. She held her breath, waiting for
his next words.

"...you, baby. Help me. I can't. Without you,
Sara."

He needs me? He needs me!
"Yes!" She
jumped up off the couch, spinning with the phone in her hand. She
played the message again and listened closer. Slurring his words,
saying things that made no sense. "No."

He's drunk. He won't remember this.
Desperate words said in questionable circumstances—just like his 'I
love you' declaration.

But drunk or not, he'd said he needed her,
and maybe, eventually, he'd understand what that meant.

***

No sooner had the pounding in his head
subsided than it started ringing. Over and over.
Why won't it
stop? Oh... the phone.

Jack rolled over and flopped his hand around
the nightstand until he found his cell. The screen read
'Ben
Prentiss calling.'

"Hi," his voice cracked, his mouth still dry.
He swallowed and tried again. "Hi Grandpa."

"Your mom told me you're not going to the
funeral."

Not him too.
"That's right." Ben
didn't waste time or words. He cut straight through the BS and got
to the point, so arguing with him wouldn't help.

"I don't blame you. I didn't want to go
either, but your grandmother needs me, so I'm going for her."

He hadn't thought of that. "That's good."

"Your mom needs you."

"She never said anything." His mom worried
more about what he needed.

"She shouldn't have to. You know Mary never
asks for help, especially when she needs it."

"Yeah, I know." He sat up, groaning with the
effort.

"Are you all right, Johnnie? You sound like
you're sick." No one else got away with calling Jack by his
childhood nickname.

"I'm hung-over."

"That's what I thought. Was this about
Robert?"

"Yes. No." He didn't feel like explaining,
but Grandpa would get it out of him one way or another. "Yeah, it
was about him... and a girl."

"Yep, that would drive any man to drink." Ben
chuckled. "What did she do?" he asked, getting serious.

What had Sara done? She'd cared about him,
wanted to help him, but he wouldn't let her. She'd asked him to
trust her, to tell her the truth, but he....

"She didn't do anything. I lied to her."

"Never lie to a woman, Johnnie. She'll find
out anyway, and then you'll be in deeper shit."

"No kidding." He fell back on his pillow,
settling in for a long conversation.

"What did you lie about?"

"She wanted to know what happened the night
he found mom and me. I told her he never did."

"Oh." Ben paused, as if searching for his
next words. "I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell her
about it."

Finally, someone understands!

"But if you love this girl, you need to tell
her the truth."

So much for understanding.
"Why?"

"Because you need help, and you're just like
your mother. You won't ask until it's too late."

"She was afraid to ask." Prentiss had
threatened her—both of them—and they'd known all too well he would
follow through.

"Yes, she had good reasons, but if she'd
asked sooner—no—if
I'd
done something sooner, I might have
been able to save you both from a lot of pain."

"You can't blame yourself, Grandpa. He made
his own choices."

Ben sighed. "I realize that, but a father
always blames himself when his son turns out to be a monster. My
father...." He paused, and Jack waited for him to finish. "My
father made his own choices too. He was a bad example for my
son."

Jack reached over to his desk and picked up
the picture of him and his mom taken in happier days... before that
night. "How did you know Robert was hurting us?" His mom had told
him her side of the story, but he wanted to hear it from Ben.

"I saw it early on, when you were still a
baby. I talked to him—over and over." His tone turned heavy, as if
talking weighed him down. "I tried to teach him how a man should
treat his family, but he thought he had it all under control,
thought he didn't need help. He just pushed me away."

I don't need help.
How many times had
he said that to Sara and Austin while pushing them away? How often
had he struggled to maintain control only to lose it? Prentiss
couldn't do it.
Is it too late for me? Am I beyond help?
"When did you decide to do something?"

"When I saw the anger in you. You were only
eight years old, but you had the shortest temper I'd ever seen.
Violent too. I had to get you away from him before he turned you
into a monster, too."

He breathed a silent sigh of relief. He
hadn't turned into a monster. His grandpa had rescued him just in
time. "I never thanked you." But the monster still lurked inside
him, and he struggled to keep it at bay.

"You don't need to thank me, son. I love you.
I'd do anything for you."

"I know. I love you, too."

"Tell me more about your girl. What's her
name?"

The subject had been officially changed—too
bad this one sucked almost as much. "Sara."

"Ah. I knew a Sara once. She had these big
beautiful tits—"

"Dirty old man." He slapped his palm over his
face and shook his head.

"Ha. I wonder what ever happened to her.
Anyway, your Sara, do you love her?"

"Yeah."
Without a doubt.

"Have you told her?"

"I tried." She hadn't believed him. That
knowledge made him sicker than the scotch had.

"Actions speak louder than words, son. You
have to show her you mean it."

"How?" He sat up, energized by a sliver of
hope, a wisp of an idea.

"How the hell should I know? She's
your
girl."

He sighed and flopped back down, hope
slipping away. "Not anymore. She said she couldn't be with me."

"That's bullshit. She's just playing hard to
get."

"I don't think she's playing."

"Bah. When I met your grandmother, she didn't
want anything to do with me. She was going steady with some other
guy—a smooth-talking salesman with a fancy car—but I took charge
and showed her that she really wanted a man who would take care of
her."

Oh, that sounds a little too familiar.
"Uh-huh."

"See, women like to be spoiled...."

Jack gritted his teeth and imagined his
grandpa meeting Sara. She'd rip him to shreds, but Ben would take
it like a man and enjoy every minute of it. That would be fun to
watch.

"...and that's why you need to go to the
funeral. It's your responsibility to take care of your mom."

Jack smiled. "I see how you came back to
that."

"Pretty clever trick, huh?"

"Are you sure you're not the smooth talker?"
As long as he could remember, his grandfather had always had a way
with words.

Ben laughed. "I learned that from your
grandmother."

"I'm not surprised." His grandmother had a
way with people—the perfect pair. Could he have that too?

"Johnnie, I'm not gonna tell you what to do."
Ben said it with such conviction, Jack almost believed it.

"You mean you're not gonna tell me
again."

"Caught that, did you? Okay, I won't tell you
again. Just promise me you'll think about what I said."

"I promise."

"Good. How's the Mustang?"

"It runs when it wants to."

"That sounds about right. Get your hair cut
yet?"

"Nope."

"Well, you're your own man, I'll give you
that."

"Damn right."

"Call your mother."

He sighed. "I will."

"All right. My work is done here."

"Give Grandma a kiss for me."

"You bet. Take care of yourself, son."

"I will. Thanks, Gramp."

"Bye."

He hung up the phone and tossed it on his
desk.
'Think about what I said.'

Austin had made the same point.
Too much
thinking.
He'd rather be doing. He needed to do something, but
what? And when? He didn't want to see Sara today—not like this. She
couldn't know he'd lost control and broken his vow not to
drink.

Oh shit. Austin better not have told
her.

He rubbed his eyes and decided he'd moped
around long enough. He crawled out of bed and took a long shower.
Even ate some of the breakfast Jane made for him. Feeling somewhat
human again, he flipped through the channels and found a baseball
game. He settled in to watch it before remembering he had a reading
assignment due for tomorrow.

God, what a dull chapter.
But he could
use a little dull right now. Maybe a quiet, peaceful day would be
good for him. He picked up the heavy book and flipped it open.
Ugh. More than a little dull. Read it, Jack. Enjoy the
quiet.

He had a feeling the peace and quiet wouldn't
last long.

Sara stood outside Jack's apartment,
presumably to get her watch back, trying to force herself to knock
on the front door. There was more to it than that, of course. She
wanted to see him, to tell him she didn't care how ugly things once
were or might be, but a nagging fear lingered in her heart.

Am I strong enough to face his rejection
again? Don't think. Just do.

He opened the door before she even realized
she'd knocked. "Hi Jack."

"I didn't expect to see you today... or
ever." His eyes grew wide, but then he smiled and her heart started
again. He stepped back and held the door open. "Come in."

"Thanks." She walked into the living room but
didn't sit down.

His books lay open on the coffee table and a
baseball game played on the TV. He picked up the remote and turned
it off. "Study break. Can I get you something to drink?"

Is he offering alcohol?
She couldn't
smell it on him, thankfully, and he looked good—really good—for a
guy recovering from his first hangover. He wore jeans and a slate
blue t-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, clinging to
his muscular chest. His still-damp hair stuck to his neck, and he
smelled like a warm soapy shower.

"No, thanks. You said you needed to
talk."