The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(37)
Author: Alice Clayton

His eyes met mine, and they were a bit sad. They were also bloodshot. I saw Adam coming down the aisle toward us, and I turned back to Jack.

“Why were you late, Jack?”

“I told you, traffic,” he said, eyes now on the floor.

Adam made his way over, slapping Jack on the back and grinning at me. “Grace! Show was great. I really enjoyed what you did up there,” he exclaimed, turning toward the crowd and nodding a little. As I watched, he positioned himself between Jack and me just as a woman with a camera phone snapped a shot: Adam smiling, Jack sullen, and me ready to spit nails.

“Can I talk to you, please?” I pulled on Jack’s sleeves as soon as I knew the camera was put away.

“Oooh, here we go.” Adam laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender as I led Jack to a quiet corner.

“What the hell, Jack? I can’t believe you brought him here. What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to get away, and he insisted on coming. He wanted to be here. I told you he feels really bad about the way things have been with you two and—”

“He should feel bad, but that’s not why—”

“When I realized how late it had gotten, it was just easier to bring him along. Christ, I didn’t mean to be so late, but if he didn’t come with me, then I—”

“You would bring him here, knowing how much tonight meant to me? How—”

“—would have been even more late and . . . wait a minute, this is ridiculous.” He finally stopped. We’d been talking over each other. “Say what you want to say, Grace.”

“I already said it. I can’t believe you brought him here.” I crossed my arms and stared hard at him. He was a mess. Torn T-shirt under a dirty blazer, jeans that were always a bit tattered but now looked positively uninhabitable. Taking a closer look, his eyes were bloodshot, but they were wild too—spacey and not at all Jack. He ran his hand over his shorn hair, and I could see he knew I had noticed the change. As he looked anywhere but at me, I saw him catch sight of someone.

“Oh, bloody hell. Here it comes.”

Holly barreled over, standing next to us and effectively blocking us from the rest of the crowd. “Guys, what’s going on? And what the hell, Jack? You get jumped on your way over here?” She fixed the collar on his blazer. Wrong move.

“Jesus, enough!” he snapped, jerking away from her hands.

“Whoa, what’s the problem?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“How much time do you have?” he muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. Nodding to someone, he took my hand and squeezed it. “Come on, Crazy. Let’s go get a drink.”

He started to pull me after him when Holly placed her hand on ours. We looked like a football team in a huddle deciding on a play.

“No hand-holding,” she instructed, her voice all business.

“Oh, f**king give it a rest, why don’t you?” Jack growled, continuing to tug on my hand.

I saw Adam near the bar, watching the entire thing, and I dug in my designer heels. “Jack, I don’t think—”

“You’re not actually going to listen to her, are you?” he asked quietly.

I could see some of the crowd had begun to take an interest in our corner. Camera phones. The last thing I needed at my premiere was a scene.

Like the one you almost caused at his premiere?

Ouch.

But still, coming late, coming drunk, bringing Adam? Who was currently smirking at me from across the room. I looked at Jack again, his eyes were fuzzy.

“Come on, Jack. Let’s go get some coffee.” I squeezed his hand but let go of it before Holly could say anything else. When the hell had I become the adult in this relationship? I waved over a waiter and as Jack fumed next to me, I asked for black coffee.

Holly started to say something else, but I shook my head at her. With a warning glance in his direction, she turned back into the crowd, distracting the camera phones by asking loudly if she had really just seen Zac Efron by the bar.

I put a cup of coffee in Jack’s hand. He ignored it.

“Jack, what’s going on?” I asked quietly. He sighed.

“Nothing, Crazy. Everything’s fine,” he answered as a few members of the cast came over to say hello.

The conversation that needed to happen would have to wait, so I introduced Jack and put on my game face. Our eyes met, and he winked.

Winking wasn’t enough this time.

Hours later I was back at home, tired and confused. As I changed and got ready for bed, I thought back over the evening. Since we’d arrived separately, we also left separately, Jack had Bryan come to pick him up after I left so we weren’t photographed together. Tonight had been a huge night for me professionally, and I was pleased, but I was at a loss as to what I needed to do with Jack. I had alarm bells going off everywhere, but for goodness sake, what was I supposed to do about it? He was young; he was rich; he could do whatever he wanted whenever the mood struck.

But that wasn’t Jack—at least not the Jack I knew. And I’d like to think he was a strong enough person that he wouldn’t let someone like Adam influence him so completely to have changed overnight. No, this behavior was only partly Adam. The rest was Jack.

And Jack had hurt me tonight. Coming late, clearly under the influence, and bringing Adam? I was pissed. Concerned, but also pissed. I knew we weren’t a couple who would embrace in front of a crowd—no public groping—but I still very much wanted him there by my side tonight. I’d been nervous, and I wanted his support.

Were you supportive on his big night?

No, no, I was a total ass**le. But do two idiots make a right?

As I was thinking, I heard the front door open and close. Slipping into my white polo, I pushed my hair back with a headband and washed my face. As I applied my moisturizer, I noticed that the lines around my eyes looked a bit more pronounced that normal tonight. It’s amazing how fast a few drinks dehydrated my skin. After adding a bit of extra eye cream, I was brushing my teeth when Jack finally made an appearance in the mirror behind me. I nodded to him, then spit.

Pressing a quick kiss into the space between my neck and shoulder, he started for the bedroom, taking off his clothes as he went. I sighed, knowing his silence meant he didn’t want to talk about it.

I stood in the doorway to the bedroom, our bedroom, and watched him as he shuffled out of his T-shirt and jeans, tossing them into the hamper. I watched as he went about the business of getting ready for bed, plugging in his phone, sipping on the glass of water I had already placed on his nightstand, walking without his normal grace but with the gait of a much older and tired man.