The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(50)
Author: Alice Clayton

Jack sat at a table for two, facing the door. He rose when I came in, and I was struck stupid once again at how beautiful he was. The face, the curls, the eyes were the same, but the smile was sad. I was the cause of that sadness, and shame gripped me once more.

Suck it up, lady. It’s time to sing for your supper.

As much as I wanted to run to him and throw my arms around him—and my legs for that matter—protocol and our last encounter precluded this. So I waited for him to make the first move. We both stood, staring, and finally the poor concierge broke the tension by asking us to let him know when we were ready for lunch. Jack nodded, and we were left alone.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” he said, and just hearing his voice brought tears to my eyes.

“Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And the Chex Mix—that was a nice touch,” I added.

He grinned. “I thought so.”

We were silent for a few seconds, then we both spoke at the same time.

“The show was great—”

“Thank you for coming last night—”

We laughed, and the tension eased a bit. I stepped a little closer to him, and he moved toward me as well. I set my bag down and admired the room. Wood paneling, gilded mirrors—it was beautiful. When I turned back toward him, he was right behind me. Having him so close affected me as it always did, and before I could stop myself, I reached for him.

We fell into each other’s arms, instantly molding into what was once so familiar, and was now so desperately missed. My skin remembered his. His touch and his scent filled my head. Once again tears sprang to my eyes as I clutched him to me. I felt his lips graze the top of my head, and I melted. I absolutely melted. I lifted my face up, my lips seeking his.

But then, his arms straightened, and I found myself back where I was when I’d first walked in: alone.

“I can’t do this, Grace. I can’t just see you and hold you and have everything go back to the way it was,” he said, his eyes roaming over my face and body.

When they finally came back to my eyes I saw such hurt there, and…anger?

“I’ve been trying to decide what I wanted to say to you for weeks now. I was so angry with you, Gracie. I am so angry with you.” He sighed and turned from me, running his hands through his hair.

“I know. You have every reason to be angry with me, but if I can just—” I started.

And he snapped.

“Dammit, Grace. I don’t want to hear it! If I have to listen to you say again that we aren’t right for each other, I’ll seriously lose my shit. Do you have any idea what it was like to hear that from you? Now, you’ll sit there, and you’ll listen to what I have to say,” he instructed, and pointed to the chair across from his.

Surprised by his vehemence, I sat and waited for what I surely had coming to me. I owed him that. I owed him more.

He began to pace, and I was struck again by how hurt he was. I had truly broken his heart.

“What you did that night…was thoughtless, and so cruel. And I don’t mean choosing the worst possible night for your little flip-out, I mean ending this relationship without even discussing it with me. What we’ve gone through, what we’ve shared—Jesus, Grace, if that meant so little to you that you couldn’t even try to explain your feelings to me, well, that makes me question everything I thought you felt for me. Maybe you never really loved me.”

He choked out that last bit, and with that I was out of the chair and in front of him.

“No! That’s not true, I—” I started, and he looked at me fiercely.

“Grace, seriously. I really need you to shut up right now and let me get this out,” he warned.

I fell silent again, returned to my chair, and nodded for him to continue.

“But then I realized that was too easy. That was bullshit. Because I know you, Grace, and I know you loved me. I know you still love me. Whatever it is you think is too much to get around, or push through, or work past, I know it isn’t—because you love me. And, f**k me, but I love you too,” he said, and abruptly stopped pacing. He looked me square in the eye, his green eyes blazing.

“So if you think for a second I’m going to let you end this without giving me a legitimate reason, you are truly crazier than I thought. I’m in this thing with you, a willing participant, and you can’t decide for both of us. Not anymore,” he finished, and we stared at each other.

I watched as his face darkened with tension, waiting for me to argue with him.

“Can I say something? Please?” I asked, and his eyes grew dark as well. I hated myself for hurting the person in the world I loved more than anyone else. The one that was made for me.

“I think you damn well better,” he huffed, slouching into the chair across from me.

I took a deep breath, knowing I needed to come clean on everything.

“You’re absolutely right that I can’t make decisions like that for both of us. You’re also right that I was cruel. I’m sick over what I put you through. I was and am so proud of you, and I hate to think I ruined your big night. It was childish and reactive and wholly inappropriate,” I said. “And most importantly, I am very, very sorry.”

He nodded in agreement, and I continued.

“I need to try to explain why I said the things I said, why I decided the things I did. Maybe that will help you understand the true level of crazy you’re dealing with here,” I said, and he smiled briefly at the word “crazy.” I allowed myself one tiny swell of excitement at the thought he might let me be his Crazy again, then I launched in.

“See, Jack, the thing is, when I came to L.A. the first time, well, things didn’t go exactly according to plan,” I began, and as I told my story, I lived it again. I saw it all happen and went through the emotions of realizing I was not nearly as special and unique as I’d thought I was. I remembered how I came to the difficult decision to leave L.A.

“Holly nearly throttled me, she was so mad,” I said, feeling the waves of self-loathing all over again. “She called me a quitter and told me she couldn’t believe I was giving up so easily. Part of me knew she was right, but part of me also believed that for me, at that time in my life, L.A. wasn’t right. Show business wasn’t the right place for me. So I went home. And I went back to school.”

I told him all about the work I discovered for myself. How I enjoyed the writing and the educational details I worked on with clients. I told him how that was good enough for a while, but then I started to change.