The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(42)
Author: Alice Clayton

“Jack,” I called as I moved into the bathroom to turn off the shower. “Jack, wake up!”

His snores confirmed that he was out good.

“Hey, wake up!” I prodded, annoyed.

“Hey, Crazy, what’s going on?” He smiled through his sleepy eyes.

“I could ask you the same question,” I said, and his eyes opened wide.

“Just closing my eyes for a minute before I shower. Can you turn the water on for me?” he asked, rolling over, away from me.

“You already turned on the water. It’s been running for thirty minutes! There’s probably no hot water left, not to mention that we have a houseful of people now. No time to take a shower.”

He rolled back over and looked at the clock, then rubbed his eyes. “Fuck. Okay, just give me five minutes and I’ll be right there.”

I watched him as he rubbed at his face, and he met my gaze through confused eyes.

“I’ll be right there, okay?” he snapped.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever, Jack.” I sighed, leaving the bedroom and feeling the sting of tears.

Once in the hallway, I hovered for a moment, listening as he got up. I wiped away a tear that got away, then took a breath before heading back out to the kitchen. Holly took one look at me and headed me off at the back door.

“Just going to light the candles,” I said before she could say anything. I grabbed the lighter and went to work on the tiki torches.

“Sure, Grace,” she answered, watching me. I kept my back to her as I moved from torch to torch. As I looked at the bedroom, I could see him standing in the window, watching me too. I turned my back to him as well.

He’d better watch it. You’ve got a torch.

That’s for goddamn sure.

Dinner was . . . tense. Jack finally made an appearance, disheveled and tired-looking. Which made no sense at all, since he’d gone to bed with me early the night before and slept in this morning. But he could barely keep his eyes open. Also might have had something to do with the double whiskey he poured himself to go with the dinner, which he barely ate.

As usual, he sparred with Nick, who made a joke about his bedroom eyes. Other than that, however, Jack sat at his end of the dining room table, avoiding my eyes and any topic of conversation that had to do with partying, drinking, clubbing, or being an ass**le in general. Holly wisely kept silent about the missed calls. She knew better than to mix business with pleasure. But you could tell it was killing her not to say anything directly to him. Lane was curiously quiet as well. Initially I thought perhaps it was tension about Holly and Michael, but in fact, Michael and Lane got along extremely well. They even made plans to go mountain biking the following weekend.

Then after we’d eaten and were getting assembled in the living room to watch the show, Nick cornered me in the kitchen as I finished cleaning up.

“You know I think you’re pretty, right?”

“Oh boy, what are you working up to?” I smiled into the cupboard, turning around with an armful of coffee cups. He took them from me and set them out for everyone as I got the cream from the fridge. On second thought, I also pulled out a bottle of Kahlúa from under the counter. I poured a hefty dash into my coffee cup, and he nodded when I offered him some as well.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

I scooted around him to grab the sugar bowl, grabbed the carafe of coffee, and gestured for him to help me into the other room. “With what?” I asked.

“Grace, come on. What the hell is up with my pretty boy?” He placed a hand on my arm as I tried to balance everything.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I insisted, not wanting to get into this now.

“Grace, you know I only—”

But he was cut off by raised voices coming from the backyard. I stole a quick glance at the clock. The show was starting in less than ten minutes.

“Unbelievable. What now?” I rushed toward the French doors. Through the glass I could see Jack and Lane, inches apart and looking critical. Pushing open the doors, I moved outside to hear the end of their argument.

“Seriously, dude, get your shit together. This affects other people too, you know!” Lane’s voice was full of anger.

“Oh, come on. How does this affect you?” Jack sneered.

“You think these jobs just roll in? You not signing means my ass could be out of a job. You ever think about that?”

“No way. You can’t put that on me.” Jack walked away, grabbing his glass off the patio table.

Lane followed, talking to his back as Jack drained his whiskey. “I can put that on you, and I will put that on you if you’re the reason this movie doesn’t get made. If you think you can walk away from a franchise like this without it impacting everyone else, you’re insane!”

By now Holly and Michael were perched on the back of the couch in the living room, listening through the other set of French doors as Jack and Lane continued to go at it in the backyard. I wanted to stop this, I should stop this, but I had no idea things had gotten so bad with the Time sequel that Lane even knew. Why didn’t I know about this? Why wasn’t Jack talking to me?

I didn’t have time to follow that train of thought any further because the next thing I knew, Jack turned around to face Lane and saw all of us watching.

“Enough!” he shouted. The whiskey glass he’d been holding now flew across the backyard and hit the side of the house, shattering into a thousand pieces across the patio. I gasped, and then . . .

Quiet.

The quiet pressed in on all sides, the pressure building in my ears and behind my eyes. I was vaguely aware that Michael started to get up from the couch, but Holly held him in place. Later on I could remember seeing Lane back away from Jack, shaking his head. I could still feel Nick’s hand on my arm, his grip tight.

What I was completely and totally focused on at the time was the sight of Jack, barely standing and pale, with splotches of red anger across his cheeks. Shaking. His eyes searched for mine, and when he found me they looked haunted and vacant. Then, punching through the quiet came the strains of the theme song for Mabel—upbeat and bouncy and completely inappropriate for the moment. A glaring reminder of what this night was about, was supposed to be about.

“Out,” I breathed, so quietly that I could barely hear it. “All of you, out please.” I did not take my eyes off Jack. “You, stay right there.”

Nick squeezed my elbow before moving away. I heard Holly and Michael discussing quietly whether one of them should stay, but they wisely left as well. Lane was long gone by now. My eyes never left Jack. I could hear my own voice coming from the living room, as my TV show was now airing across the entire West Coast. The West Coast would have to wait. I had someone to take to the woodshed.