Lorelei
“Lorelei!” Jack greets me with enthusiasm as Ashton shows me into his living room. “Another double date.”
I smile at him as I take in Ashton’s house. It’s the first time I’ve been here. His home is the most masculine home I’ve ever set foot in. From what I’ve seen so far, it’s a mix of browns and greys with a hint of black in places. All cement, marble, glass, and sleek furniture. “Jack,” I greet him in a more subdued manner but am equally happy to see him. Ashton’s hand brushes across my back as he guides me to the sofa. Lust pools in my belly at his touch. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
“Sorry Ashton had to cancel your dinner plans for tonight. I tried to tell him I’d be okay on my own, but it seems my friend thinks I’m going to do something stupid with my life.”
I take a seat and look up in time to see Ashton scowl. “Jack, don’t—”
Jack cuts him off. “Don’t what, Ashton? Tell her how fucked up I am?”
The air is thick with tension between these two. I decide to cut straight through it. Turning to Jack, I ask, “Is he right to think that?”
Jack stares at me. “To think I would kill myself?”
I nod. “Yes, that.” My heart beats faster at the topic of conversation. This hits a little too close to home.
He continues to stare at me and I wonder if perhaps I have misread him. Maybe he doesn’t prefer upfront and honest after all. However, when a grin fills his face, I relax. Glancing up at his friend, he says, “I fucking love her, Ashton.” And then to me—“I would never end my life, Lorelei. That’s a coward’s way out.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “But you’ll find other ways to fuck with it.”
Jack rubs the back of his neck, clearly bothered by that statement. Leaning forward, he says, “You just say it like it is, don’t you, sweetheart?”
I swallow hard. “Not usually, Jack. Usually I have more manners than this, but let’s just say this is a topic close to my heart, and I don’t like to see people going through what you’re going through.”
“How do you know what I’m going through?”
I’m not sure exactly what illness he has, but it’s clear his mental health is suffering. “I can see the signs. I lived with them for most of my life,” I admit softly. This isn’t something I tend to discuss very often.
He cocks his head. “A parent?”
I nod. “My mother and my grandmother were both bipolar. Mum didn’t look after herself, whereas my grandmother did. A car accident ended up taking my mother’s life, but that was after two failed suicide attempts.”
Ashton, who has sat next to me, places his hand on my leg as I speak, and I’m thankful for his touch. It calms me, and my heart rate slows.
Jack leans back and blows out a long breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry to hear that. How old were you when she died?”
“Eight. My grandmother raised me after that and gave me the stable life I’d never known. Mum had always been all over the place, going from one guy to another and one job to the next. I think she was always trying to find a way to make herself feel better. She wasn’t a bad mother; she just wasn’t there emotionally for me.”
Jack’s eyes glaze over; he seems lost in his thoughts. “Sometimes it’s just about making yourself feel something. Anything. Because some days, when stuff happens to you that you know you should feel, all you have is this nothingness. There’s just this fucking dark void, a blank space. And all you want is anything but that.” He stands and gives me one last glance before looking at Ashton. “I’m gonna check out your gym.”
Ashton nods. “Let me know if you need anything.”
We watch him leave and I can’t help but think how scruffy he looks in his worn dark jeans, faded grey T-shirt, and day-old stubble. Turning to Ashton, I say, “Is he seeing someone about this?”
“Yes, I found him a new psych today and he saw her this afternoon. He seemed to get on with her and they’ve scheduled appointments for the rest of the week.”
“Thank goodness. He doesn’t look great. I mean, compared to yesterday he seems to have gone downhill overnight.”
He leans forward and claims my mouth in a long, deep kiss. A kiss that causes me to struggle for air when he ends it. “Your face is better today,” he murmurs, his eyes searching my face.
I touch the skin there. The pain is gone, as is the redness. “Yes, thank God.”
Leaning back against the sofa, he says, “I don’t want to talk about Jack tonight.” I hear the exhaustion in his voice and even though I hardly know him, I sense how much this is affecting him.
Shifting sideways on the sofa, I place a hand on his chest. “Tell me about your day instead.” When he’d called me earlier to cancel our dinner and ask me to come over instead, I’d heard the conflict in his voice. It was pretty clear the last thing he wanted to do was change our plans, but seeing Jack now, I’m glad he did.
His eyes find mine and I see surprise there. “It was the kind of day I’d rather forget. Tell me about yours.”