There's Wild, Then There's You
Page 12
A bit of an exaggerated response, but Jet didn’t do himself any favors by getting my feathers further ruffled in the middle of the night when I have to work tomorrow. I’m hardly feeling charitable.
“Not quite the choices I was hoping for.”
“Rest assured, your hopes are no concern of mine.”
“I deserve that, Violet. I know I do, but would you please just give me a chance to explain?”
“I don’t think an explanation is necessary. Everything was pretty clear from where I was standing.”
I hate that there’s hurt in my voice. I don’t want it there. I don’t want to feel it, much less show it.
“Can I at least come in? For just a few minutes?” When I don’t move to respond or to let him in, he adds, “Please.”
With a heavy sigh, I step aside so that he can enter. I’ve loved my little house from the first moment I set foot inside the cozy living room. I’ve never thought of it as small until tonight. But Jet’s presence is so big, so much larger than life, it overwhelms the space and makes it feel tiny in comparison.
“How did you find me, by the way?” I ask as I walk over to curl up on one end of my comfy chocolate-colored couch. I am hyperaware of my bare legs and arms, and the thin material of my sleep shorts and T-shirt.
“Tia. She wasn’t thrilled with a late-night visit, and neither was her boyfriend.”
“Dennis was there?” I ask, smothering a cringe. “Oh, boy.”
“I’m not worried about Dennis. Or Tia. I’m worried about you.”
“You might not be, but I am. Tia hasn’t exactly always been faithful to Dennis, and you showing up at her door in the middle of the night won’t do either of them any favors.”
Jet sighs. “Something else I need to apologize for then.” He sits on the edge of the sofa, his body angled toward mine, his elbows on his knees. “Look, this isn’t going the way I had planned.”
“You had a plan?”
“Well, no. I just left as soon as our set was over and headed straight here. I didn’t really think about what I would say. I just knew I needed to see you. To talk to you. To explain.”
His eyes are as sincere as his words. Once again, he’s the Jet I met at SAA, not the one I saw onstage tonight. But I resist the urge to soften toward him, reminding myself that this is the same guy. One I can’t trust.
“There’s no need. Really. It’s not like we were dating or I have some kind of claim on you.” And that’s true. There’s really no logical reason for me to be upset.
“Regardless, seeing that look on your face tonight bothered me.”
“What look?”
“That hurt look. And that disappointed, disgusted look.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were, Violet. You can deny it all you want, but I still saw it. I’m all too familiar with that look. It’s just never . . . never . . .”
“Never what?” I prompt.
I watch Jet’s eyes melt into puddles of pain and regret. “It’s never hurt me before. Made me feel shitty, yes. Guilty as hell, yes. But it’s never made me feel like it did tonight.”
“Well, it shouldn’t. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Maybe not, but I’d appreciate it if you’d humor me anyway.”
“Fine. Say what you need to.” I try to keep my frigid exterior in place, even though I can feel my inner ice melting with every word that comes out of his mouth.
“I was being completely honest with you last weekend when I told you that I drown out my problems, that I’m like my father in that way. But my ocean is the stage.” Jet stands and walks slowly to my unlit fireplace to stare into the cold, dark heart of it. “I’m not an alcoholic, but I have a drinking problem. I’m not a narcissist, but I have an ego problem. I’m not a drug abuser, but I have a drug problem. The drugs I use just aren’t ones that are smoked or shot up. They’re the ones that come in the form of women who want nothing more than to please me and fans who want nothing more than to hear me. Music that I can lose myself in. A place where I can be someone else who has no problems and doesn’t give a shit about consequences. That is my addiction. That is my weakness.”
I forget for a moment how hurt and betrayed I’ve felt all night. “Does that really work? Does it really make you feel better?”
“Maybe for a little while. And that used to be enough. But . . .”
“But?”
Jet turns to look at me, his eyes deep and glistening and sincere. “But tonight it wasn’t. Tonight it felt like exactly what it was. Fake. Shallow. Temporary.”
I know my heart shouldn’t speed up this way. I shouldn’t react to the look in his eyes or the gentle huskiness in his voice.
And yet I do. I just can’t seem to help myself.
“Maybe one day you’ll stop. Maybe you’ll find some better way to cope, something that’s more important to you than escaping.”
“I’ve never wanted that before. Never looked for it. But being with you, just the little time we’ve spent together, makes me think I could be different. That I could be the person that I used to want to be.”
“And who’s that?”
One side of his mouth quirks up into a slightly bitter grin. “I used to want to be a songwriter. Being in the spotlight was never my intention. It just sort of . . . happened. The crazier shit got at home, the more I felt like I needed to get away.” He sits down on the couch again, leaning his head back and stretching his legs out in front of himself as he stares at the ceiling. “Shortly after Dad left, Mom told me she didn’t want me around my two younger brothers. They’re twelve and fourteen now. She told me that until I got my shit together, she didn’t want them exposed to my ‘ways,’ that one negative male role model was enough. For a while, I quit everything. I went back to school, got a few more of my architecture classes under my belt. That was my second choice, if I couldn’t write music. But then Collin, the lead singer of Saltwater Creek, left, and they asked me to come on full time. The gigs got better, the fans got better, which meant more money. But that also meant I could dive right into all the things that made me the person she hated. Just like my dad.” Jet laughs, the sound bitter. “I just didn’t really realize it until I told you. I guess I’ve been drowning that out, too.”
“Are you beginning to realize that drowning your problems in whatever and whoever isn’t going to fix them?”
Jet rolls his head on the cushion to look over at me. His eyes are dark and pensive in the low light coming from my open bedroom door. “I don’t think I ever expected it to. It was more a convenient way to be happy in the meantime.”
“In the meantime of what?”
“Finding a way to be a better person.”
That statement tweaks my unwilling heart a little. “Jet, having addictions or issues or overwhelming problems in your life doesn’t make you a bad person. We’re all works in progress. But now that you’re aware of what’s going on, maybe you can take steps to fix yourself.”
“Why do you think I picked you?” he asks softly.
“Having a sponsor isn’t the answer to all your problems, Jet, but maybe it’s a start to getting back on the right path.”
“Maybe I wasn’t talking about you as my sponsor,” he whispers.
“Jet, I . . . I can’t . . . I mean, we can’t . . .”
“Don’t start freakin’ out,” he warns with a crooked smile. “I’m not expecting anything. I know you’re doing this for . . . whatever reason you’re doing it. And I won’t take advantage of your kindness. But I feel like I should at least be honest with you about how I feel.” Jet raises his head and leans toward me on the couch. He’s not close enough to kiss me, but he’s close enough to touch. And that’s what he does. He reaches for my hand where it’s resting on my leg. He takes it in his and starts stroking my fingers, one by one, as he speaks. His eyes are downcast, watching our hands, but being free of his hypnotic gaze doesn’t mean I’m free of the spell he’s weaving. My heart speeds up. “From the moment you stood up in that meeting, I was attracted to you. I won’t lie. But then when I spoke to you, I was intrigued, too. I felt more drawn to you with every second we spent together. And tonight,” he says, pausing as if it hurts him to speak of it, “tonight it killed me to look up and see your face. To know that I put that hurt and disappointment there. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
“Jet, I—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“It’s what I do, Violet,” he confesses, his eyes finally rising to meet mine. “I hurt people. I don’t do it on purpose. It’s always just been a result of the way I am and the things I do. The worst part is, I’ve never really cared before. Not until you. I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m afraid that no matter how much I need you, no matter how much I want you in my life, it won’t matter. I’m afraid I’ll end up hurting you anyway. And I’d rather get my ass kicked every day for the rest of my life than to see that look on your face again.”
I appreciate what Jet is saying, but this reminds me why I can’t get emotionally involved with him. I don’t need that kind of trouble in my life. But I can’t walk away either. I’ve lied to the guy, and now he’s depending on me to support him. There’s absolutely no way that I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try to help him.
“Jet, I appreciate your honesty. I really do. And I appreciate your concern, but you aren’t going to hurt me because I’m not going to let you. I avoid getting too attached and too involved with people for this very reason. I’ve seen what caring too much, what getting too invested and falling in love can do to people. I don’t want any part of that. But that’s something I consider a strength in myself, especially in a case like this—my emotional distance. I can help you without getting too involved. This just reminds me of where I stand and the way things have to be. So thank you for that.”
And that’s mostly true. This has served as a great reiteration of why I can’t enjoy him and his company too much.
The smile that curves his lips doesn’t reach his eyes, which makes me curious what I’ve said that bothers him. But I won’t ask. I don’t need to know. This is the way things have to be. Period.
“So as long as I don’t fall in love with you, we’re good to go,” he says. I ignore the way my pulse jumps at his words.
I return his smile. “Exactly. Although I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for you.”
“And why do you think that?”
“A guy like you probably has several types of women, and I’d be willing to bet I don’t fit the description of any of them.” My laugh is casual, even though the truth behind the words stings.
“I don’t think I really knew what my type was until I met you.”
My breath catches in my throat. I don’t know what to say to that. And I hate that I want Jet to kiss me right now. And I hate even more how much I want him to kiss me right now.
After several seconds, I recover. Somewhat. “Jet, if I’m to help you, you probably shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Are you saying you won’t help me if I’m honest with you about how I feel?”
When put like that, I sound like a douche if I say yes.
“No, but . . .”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“No, it just . . .”
“Does it make you feel something you don’t want to feel?”
He’s being so honest with me, my answer is swift and true. It has to be. “Probably.”
Jet’s smile is dazzling. “I can’t say I’m disappointed to hear that. But my guess is that I’d better leave well enough alone tonight. Don’t want to push my luck.”
He makes no move to get up, however, so, reluctantly, I push myself to my feet. “That’s probably a good idea,” I tease, with a smile, hoping he can’t see how shaky I am.
Jet gets up and makes his way to the door, turning as he pulls it open. My lungs completely shut down with the desire for him to kiss me and the fear that he might do exactly that.
“I know it’s awfully soon and probably ballsy as hell to ask, but I’ve got back-to-back gigs this weekend. I don’t suppose you could find time in your schedule to come help a guy out, could you?” Just the thought of what I saw tonight and how I felt about it make me want to decline, but this is what I need to be doing—helping him. “It would really be a big thing for me. Seems like a lot of bad in my life is wrapped up in that stage.”
“Then why keep it up?”
Jet sighs. “Well, I need to work, obviously. And I love music. I’m still hoping to get some notice for my songs, and this is great exposure for ’em, so . . . And I don’t want to spend my life running from weakness. That’s not the answer any more than embracing it is.”
“No, you’re right. And I get that. I agree. If you have to be there, and this is what’s toughest, then of course I’ll come.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly, his eyes dropping to my mouth. Once again, my lungs just seize right up. “You know, I’ve never thought violet was a color that had much light in it. But now, I’ll probably never look at it the same way again.” He reaches up to trace a single fingertip from the corner of my eye all the way to the tip of my chin. “Could be that I’ll never look at a lot of things the same way again.”
“Not quite the choices I was hoping for.”
“Rest assured, your hopes are no concern of mine.”
“I deserve that, Violet. I know I do, but would you please just give me a chance to explain?”
“I don’t think an explanation is necessary. Everything was pretty clear from where I was standing.”
I hate that there’s hurt in my voice. I don’t want it there. I don’t want to feel it, much less show it.
“Can I at least come in? For just a few minutes?” When I don’t move to respond or to let him in, he adds, “Please.”
With a heavy sigh, I step aside so that he can enter. I’ve loved my little house from the first moment I set foot inside the cozy living room. I’ve never thought of it as small until tonight. But Jet’s presence is so big, so much larger than life, it overwhelms the space and makes it feel tiny in comparison.
“How did you find me, by the way?” I ask as I walk over to curl up on one end of my comfy chocolate-colored couch. I am hyperaware of my bare legs and arms, and the thin material of my sleep shorts and T-shirt.
“Tia. She wasn’t thrilled with a late-night visit, and neither was her boyfriend.”
“Dennis was there?” I ask, smothering a cringe. “Oh, boy.”
“I’m not worried about Dennis. Or Tia. I’m worried about you.”
“You might not be, but I am. Tia hasn’t exactly always been faithful to Dennis, and you showing up at her door in the middle of the night won’t do either of them any favors.”
Jet sighs. “Something else I need to apologize for then.” He sits on the edge of the sofa, his body angled toward mine, his elbows on his knees. “Look, this isn’t going the way I had planned.”
“You had a plan?”
“Well, no. I just left as soon as our set was over and headed straight here. I didn’t really think about what I would say. I just knew I needed to see you. To talk to you. To explain.”
His eyes are as sincere as his words. Once again, he’s the Jet I met at SAA, not the one I saw onstage tonight. But I resist the urge to soften toward him, reminding myself that this is the same guy. One I can’t trust.
“There’s no need. Really. It’s not like we were dating or I have some kind of claim on you.” And that’s true. There’s really no logical reason for me to be upset.
“Regardless, seeing that look on your face tonight bothered me.”
“What look?”
“That hurt look. And that disappointed, disgusted look.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were, Violet. You can deny it all you want, but I still saw it. I’m all too familiar with that look. It’s just never . . . never . . .”
“Never what?” I prompt.
I watch Jet’s eyes melt into puddles of pain and regret. “It’s never hurt me before. Made me feel shitty, yes. Guilty as hell, yes. But it’s never made me feel like it did tonight.”
“Well, it shouldn’t. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Maybe not, but I’d appreciate it if you’d humor me anyway.”
“Fine. Say what you need to.” I try to keep my frigid exterior in place, even though I can feel my inner ice melting with every word that comes out of his mouth.
“I was being completely honest with you last weekend when I told you that I drown out my problems, that I’m like my father in that way. But my ocean is the stage.” Jet stands and walks slowly to my unlit fireplace to stare into the cold, dark heart of it. “I’m not an alcoholic, but I have a drinking problem. I’m not a narcissist, but I have an ego problem. I’m not a drug abuser, but I have a drug problem. The drugs I use just aren’t ones that are smoked or shot up. They’re the ones that come in the form of women who want nothing more than to please me and fans who want nothing more than to hear me. Music that I can lose myself in. A place where I can be someone else who has no problems and doesn’t give a shit about consequences. That is my addiction. That is my weakness.”
I forget for a moment how hurt and betrayed I’ve felt all night. “Does that really work? Does it really make you feel better?”
“Maybe for a little while. And that used to be enough. But . . .”
“But?”
Jet turns to look at me, his eyes deep and glistening and sincere. “But tonight it wasn’t. Tonight it felt like exactly what it was. Fake. Shallow. Temporary.”
I know my heart shouldn’t speed up this way. I shouldn’t react to the look in his eyes or the gentle huskiness in his voice.
And yet I do. I just can’t seem to help myself.
“Maybe one day you’ll stop. Maybe you’ll find some better way to cope, something that’s more important to you than escaping.”
“I’ve never wanted that before. Never looked for it. But being with you, just the little time we’ve spent together, makes me think I could be different. That I could be the person that I used to want to be.”
“And who’s that?”
One side of his mouth quirks up into a slightly bitter grin. “I used to want to be a songwriter. Being in the spotlight was never my intention. It just sort of . . . happened. The crazier shit got at home, the more I felt like I needed to get away.” He sits down on the couch again, leaning his head back and stretching his legs out in front of himself as he stares at the ceiling. “Shortly after Dad left, Mom told me she didn’t want me around my two younger brothers. They’re twelve and fourteen now. She told me that until I got my shit together, she didn’t want them exposed to my ‘ways,’ that one negative male role model was enough. For a while, I quit everything. I went back to school, got a few more of my architecture classes under my belt. That was my second choice, if I couldn’t write music. But then Collin, the lead singer of Saltwater Creek, left, and they asked me to come on full time. The gigs got better, the fans got better, which meant more money. But that also meant I could dive right into all the things that made me the person she hated. Just like my dad.” Jet laughs, the sound bitter. “I just didn’t really realize it until I told you. I guess I’ve been drowning that out, too.”
“Are you beginning to realize that drowning your problems in whatever and whoever isn’t going to fix them?”
Jet rolls his head on the cushion to look over at me. His eyes are dark and pensive in the low light coming from my open bedroom door. “I don’t think I ever expected it to. It was more a convenient way to be happy in the meantime.”
“In the meantime of what?”
“Finding a way to be a better person.”
That statement tweaks my unwilling heart a little. “Jet, having addictions or issues or overwhelming problems in your life doesn’t make you a bad person. We’re all works in progress. But now that you’re aware of what’s going on, maybe you can take steps to fix yourself.”
“Why do you think I picked you?” he asks softly.
“Having a sponsor isn’t the answer to all your problems, Jet, but maybe it’s a start to getting back on the right path.”
“Maybe I wasn’t talking about you as my sponsor,” he whispers.
“Jet, I . . . I can’t . . . I mean, we can’t . . .”
“Don’t start freakin’ out,” he warns with a crooked smile. “I’m not expecting anything. I know you’re doing this for . . . whatever reason you’re doing it. And I won’t take advantage of your kindness. But I feel like I should at least be honest with you about how I feel.” Jet raises his head and leans toward me on the couch. He’s not close enough to kiss me, but he’s close enough to touch. And that’s what he does. He reaches for my hand where it’s resting on my leg. He takes it in his and starts stroking my fingers, one by one, as he speaks. His eyes are downcast, watching our hands, but being free of his hypnotic gaze doesn’t mean I’m free of the spell he’s weaving. My heart speeds up. “From the moment you stood up in that meeting, I was attracted to you. I won’t lie. But then when I spoke to you, I was intrigued, too. I felt more drawn to you with every second we spent together. And tonight,” he says, pausing as if it hurts him to speak of it, “tonight it killed me to look up and see your face. To know that I put that hurt and disappointment there. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
“Jet, I—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“It’s what I do, Violet,” he confesses, his eyes finally rising to meet mine. “I hurt people. I don’t do it on purpose. It’s always just been a result of the way I am and the things I do. The worst part is, I’ve never really cared before. Not until you. I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m afraid that no matter how much I need you, no matter how much I want you in my life, it won’t matter. I’m afraid I’ll end up hurting you anyway. And I’d rather get my ass kicked every day for the rest of my life than to see that look on your face again.”
I appreciate what Jet is saying, but this reminds me why I can’t get emotionally involved with him. I don’t need that kind of trouble in my life. But I can’t walk away either. I’ve lied to the guy, and now he’s depending on me to support him. There’s absolutely no way that I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try to help him.
“Jet, I appreciate your honesty. I really do. And I appreciate your concern, but you aren’t going to hurt me because I’m not going to let you. I avoid getting too attached and too involved with people for this very reason. I’ve seen what caring too much, what getting too invested and falling in love can do to people. I don’t want any part of that. But that’s something I consider a strength in myself, especially in a case like this—my emotional distance. I can help you without getting too involved. This just reminds me of where I stand and the way things have to be. So thank you for that.”
And that’s mostly true. This has served as a great reiteration of why I can’t enjoy him and his company too much.
The smile that curves his lips doesn’t reach his eyes, which makes me curious what I’ve said that bothers him. But I won’t ask. I don’t need to know. This is the way things have to be. Period.
“So as long as I don’t fall in love with you, we’re good to go,” he says. I ignore the way my pulse jumps at his words.
I return his smile. “Exactly. Although I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for you.”
“And why do you think that?”
“A guy like you probably has several types of women, and I’d be willing to bet I don’t fit the description of any of them.” My laugh is casual, even though the truth behind the words stings.
“I don’t think I really knew what my type was until I met you.”
My breath catches in my throat. I don’t know what to say to that. And I hate that I want Jet to kiss me right now. And I hate even more how much I want him to kiss me right now.
After several seconds, I recover. Somewhat. “Jet, if I’m to help you, you probably shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Are you saying you won’t help me if I’m honest with you about how I feel?”
When put like that, I sound like a douche if I say yes.
“No, but . . .”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“No, it just . . .”
“Does it make you feel something you don’t want to feel?”
He’s being so honest with me, my answer is swift and true. It has to be. “Probably.”
Jet’s smile is dazzling. “I can’t say I’m disappointed to hear that. But my guess is that I’d better leave well enough alone tonight. Don’t want to push my luck.”
He makes no move to get up, however, so, reluctantly, I push myself to my feet. “That’s probably a good idea,” I tease, with a smile, hoping he can’t see how shaky I am.
Jet gets up and makes his way to the door, turning as he pulls it open. My lungs completely shut down with the desire for him to kiss me and the fear that he might do exactly that.
“I know it’s awfully soon and probably ballsy as hell to ask, but I’ve got back-to-back gigs this weekend. I don’t suppose you could find time in your schedule to come help a guy out, could you?” Just the thought of what I saw tonight and how I felt about it make me want to decline, but this is what I need to be doing—helping him. “It would really be a big thing for me. Seems like a lot of bad in my life is wrapped up in that stage.”
“Then why keep it up?”
Jet sighs. “Well, I need to work, obviously. And I love music. I’m still hoping to get some notice for my songs, and this is great exposure for ’em, so . . . And I don’t want to spend my life running from weakness. That’s not the answer any more than embracing it is.”
“No, you’re right. And I get that. I agree. If you have to be there, and this is what’s toughest, then of course I’ll come.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly, his eyes dropping to my mouth. Once again, my lungs just seize right up. “You know, I’ve never thought violet was a color that had much light in it. But now, I’ll probably never look at it the same way again.” He reaches up to trace a single fingertip from the corner of my eye all the way to the tip of my chin. “Could be that I’ll never look at a lot of things the same way again.”
