Jasper doesn't make the team.
His distress is so intense that he doesn't even answer his phone for two whole days. I call him over and over, first to ask if he made it and then to freak out about his safety.
Finally I get desperate enough to call Peter.
"Ali-Cat!" he yells. "What's shakin', baby? How you doin'?"
"Where the hell has Jasper been? I haven't heard from him since he drunk dialed me on the last night of tryouts. Thanks for working with your wheelchair buddies to get him laid. I really appreciated it," I snap, not even bothering with the niceties
"Shit, Ali. You know I'm on your side. You don't have to have no worries about our boy and the many ladies that want him," Peter responds.
Peter pretends not to care about anything. That's how he copes, I think.
"Peter! I'm going to crawl through this fucking phone and stomp on your balls if you don't tell me what's going on right this minute!" I shout. Quite a few people milling about on the quad stare at me like I'm a crazy person.
This is a goddamn art school. We're all crazy people. And if we're not now then we will be by the time we're done.
"He didn't make it, Al," Peter says with a sigh. "He's bein' a right little bitch about it. He's awfully resentful of us who did get on the team. I tried to tell him it's an experience thing and he said it was a favoritism thing. I took mild offense, Al. I'm damn good at what I do and it took me years to get here."
"Fine, whatever. You're awesome at quad rugby. Great. Now where is Jazz?" I'm slightly less frantic now that I know that Jasper is just skulking somewhere instead of dead in a ditch somewhere.
"Uh… well.. about that…"
"Pete, just tell me."
He's making me nervous. Really nervous.
"He got a ride back to Dillon with some tattoo artist. He didn't want to hang around here for the next couple of days while I practice and party," Peter says. "We drove here together, after all."
"That doesn't sound that bad," I reply.
"She's a very attractive tattoo artist. I mean, damn fine. And tall."
"Tall?" I squeak. "How tall?"
"Like almost six feet tall."
A whole foot taller than me.
"How worried should I be here, Peter?" I ask quietly.
He doesn't pause for very long. I take comfort in this.
"Not that worried, Ali. Not that worried. This is Jazz we're talkin' 'bout."
Yes, it's Jazz. The boy how lost everything last year. I'm scared he's not done dealing with that yet.
"Whose favorite flavor is vanilla?" I ask through my giggles. Jasper's incredulous expression just makes me laugh harder.
"I don't like all that stuff in mine," he says, gesturing towards my bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough. "It's distracting."
I laugh again. He scowls before leaning down and giving my chair a yank. I squeal as he pulls me closer to him, pleased that our knees touch.
"When I find somethin' sweet," he says, voice low and seductive in my ear, "I like to give it my undivided attention."
A shiver runs up my spine. A memory of his mouth on me, eliciting waves of pleasure.
Two days in Dillon. Seven orgasms for me. Two for Jazz.
Jasper sees my reaction and laughs.
It's good to hear him laugh, to see him happy. It took me two days, a third of my visit, to snap him out of his funk. This quad rugby thing really hit him hard, and I don't totally understand it. Everyone – Coach, the Whitlocks, Edward and Bella – all say that I've been a blessing to Jazz. That I'm so good at helping him deal with this new, post football life. But in truth I don't understand at all. His life is settled now, but he's discontent, restless. I see that now.
Sometimes I get frustrated. Sometimes – especially in the first few days of my trip out here – I want to just shake him and tell him to get the hell over it. But then I imagine a world where I couldn't paint, draw, create. Where doing what I love was a physical impossibility. I think I would be disappointed too, if I found some alternative and then fell short.
I just treat Jazz like I would want to be treated if I couldn't draw.
But now he's okay. He's figured out that he can be sad about not making the team and happy to see me at the same time.
"You've got a dirty mind, Alice Masen. I was simply talkin' about this here ice cream cone." Jazz then goes back to said cone, using his tongue in a way that is meant to look sexy and be reminiscent of that sexual act. Instead he just looks incredibly silly.
I bust out laughing. He frowns for a minute before laughing with me. He leans closer, getting a dab of vanilla on my chin before licking it off.
I'm planning my counter attach when are rudely interrupted as someone sits down at our little table outside the ice cream shop.
"Damn, that ice cream looks good. It's hot as hell today and it's only March. It's gonna be a long, hot summer."
I take in this giant of a woman with narrowed, suspicious eyes. The worst part, besides her towering height, is her general style. It's way too like mine for comfort – short black hair, tight black t-shirt, silver skull earrings, pierced lip.
Arms covered in colorful tattoos.
It is not difficult to figure out who this terrible creature is.
"Aw, it ain't so bad. There's even a nice little breeze," Jasper replies with an easy grin. He is far too generous with his smiles.
The woman shrugs and then seems to notice me for the first time. Her eyes narrow at me and I give her a somewhat maniacal grin, just to get under her skin.
"Shit, sorry," Jazz says when he sees us staring at each other. "Ali, this is Maria. She volunteered at tryouts and gave me a ride home from Huston. She's in town visiting her sister. Maria, this is my Alice."
My crazy person grin softens into a real smile. His. Or yes. Definitely his, despite all the stuff in our way.
"Hey," I say, trying not to be too cold to Jasper's new friend.
"Hey." She fails at keeping her tone friendly and stares down her nose at me.
Jasper blinks, looking a little confused.
"Alice is in for spring break," Jasper explains in a valiant attempt to fill the awkward silence. "She goes to school in New York."
"Oh?" asks Maria. What a crap name. Maria. It just sounds bitchy. "And what are you studying? I've never seen much value in a formal education, myself."
I almost snort and think about making some pithy comment about her spending her whole life tattooing Confederate flags and Cowboys symbols on red necks, but somehow manage to refrain.
"I'm studying art at Pratt. Painting," I explain.
"You don't need a fancy degree to be an artist," Maria says condescendingly. "True visionaries know that."
This time I really do snort. "It's not so much the degree that interests me," I tell her. "It's the journey to get there. I've already learned so much."
"Alice is really great," Jasper says. "Half the time we're together she spends sketching me."
"He's my muse," I say, grinning somewhat wickedly. I know what this bitch wants. She's painfully obvious.
Jasper chuckles and shakes his head at me.
"How… quaint," says Maria. "Speaking of art, let me get a look at my work. See how it's healin' up."
Jazz glances at me, guilty. I scowl at fucking Maria. What the fuck is going on here?
"Aw, now," he says, still looking exceedingly uncomfortable. "It's just fine. No need to check it out."
"Oh, come on, Jazz," she says, giggling slightly. "You embarrassed to take off your shirt? Afraid the good ladies of Dillon would just freak out at the sight of your naked chest?"
"My chest ain't what it used to be," Jazz mutters.
And he's right. It's more impressive what with how strong his upper body is these days. I'm the only one that should know this.
I want to dump my now melted chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream down her shirt.
"Well," Jasper says, looking at me now. "We better getin' gone. Alice and I are goin' to dinner at a friends place. Need to get ready."
And by get ready he best mean explain to me what the fuck is going in here.
I've formulated a theory. I really hope I'm wrong.
We go back to Jasper's place in tense silence. I march along and he follows several paces behind me.
The second we get to his apartment I round on him.
"Take it off," I demand.
"All right, baby," he says, brushing off my anger. "I see you can't even wait to get into the bedroom."
His easy grin falters when he sees my face.
"Jasper, take off your motherfucking shirt right the fuck now." My voice is low and dangerous and almost foreign to my own ears.
He stares at me for a long moment before sighing heavily. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and drops it on the floor.
I scrutinize him, my eyes roaming over every familiar inch. He used to be lean and lanky. Now he's broad, pecks defined, abs sculpted. Golden, smoothed skin.
Nothing out of place.
"Arms up," I demand, snappy my fingers at him.
"Alice, I'm not a fucking poodle in a dog show." Despite his complaints he does as I say.
Still no tats.
I move to walk around him, and Jasper moves around so that we're still facing each other. I glare at him, attempting to move behind him again, only to have him prevent me. Again.
"Jasper!" I yell.
He sighs and leans forward in his chair. I move closer, peaking over his back. And there, right on his spine – around the C7-T1 junction I'd say – is a design of black lines.
"What the fuck is that?" I ask, resisting the urge to touch it. Although I don't have any tattoos myself – they are totally not subversive or interesting now that everyone's getting them – I can tell it's fresh, still scabby.
"In means peace in Sanskrit," he confesses, sounding embarrassed. "And I know it's a little cliché—"
"Well the woman who marked your body is a giant walking cliché so that's really to be expected," I mutter, moving away from him. I don't want to look at it anymore.
"I may have been pretty drunk when I got it, but I like it, Alice. That's kinda the whole point of my life right now," he says. "Finding a little peace with this."
He gestures towards the chair and suddenly I want to cry. I'm powerless to give him peace, but this tall stranger has helped him somehow, left her mark on him. I'm too far away and unwilling to give up my dreams to help him find new ones.
"You're mad," he says.
I just shake my head. Mad is the wrong emotion.
"Then what, Alice? What have I done wrong now?" he snaps.
"You didn't tell me. You disappear for two days without so much as even a text and then get a ride home with that tall lady and now I'm finding out she touched you and saw you with your shirt off and marked your skin," I yell, feeling out of control and unlike myself.
"So that's it? Your jealous?" he asks.
"That is way too simplistic," I reply. Jealousy is part of it. She's here and I'm there.
"I didn't tell you because I just assumed you'd see and then we'd talk about it," he says. "It's not a big deal. Just a tattoo."
"I don't see your naked back very often," I murmur. It's true. When we fuck I'm on top by necessity. "Seven orgasms for me and I didn't see your back once."
"Can we not fight anymore? Please?" Jasper asks.
This fight is just a warm up fight. I can feel it. I know it. Picking a fight about this means we don't have to dig into anything real.
I let out a big sigh and force myself to relax. I'm here and instead of worrying I'm just going to enjoy it. Enjoy him.
"Okay," I reply.
"Come 'ere," he says. "I want you at least once more before we head over to Emmett and Rosalie's."
I let him touch me, obviously, despite that feeling of doom I can't shake. Something is going to happen, and it's going to hurt.
We manage to not fight until the morning of my flight back to New York.
He has plans to grab a beer with Maria tonight. I don't like it. I yell a bunch. He yells about James a lot, saying that if I can be friend with someone who wants me sexually than so can he.
I really freak out after that.
"I can't even believe your admitting that she wants you!" I shriek, pacing around his bedroom. The logical part of me screams that I'm ruining a very good trip, that Coach will be here in just a few moments and I should be soaking Jasper up, not screaming at him.
I've never been very good at listening to the logical part of me.
"What does it matter?" he screams back. "I don't want her. It's just good to have someone to talk to that doesn't know me from before. I feel like most people compare who I am now with how I was then and I hate it."
"Well I hate that you're friends with her," I reply, to worked up to understand where he's coming from.
Coach is picking me up to take me to the airport so soon. I start to get my shit together with shaky hands.
"I'm not even your boyfriend! We don't call each other that! You are a complete freak about labels," he shouts as I stuff my belongings into my duffle without even bothering to fold them.
I wince at the word freak.
"That's because it wouldn't change anything!" I scream back, focusing on the anger instead of my sadness. "You want to call me your girlfriend? Fine! Do it. Call me your goddamn girlfriend. Tell all your little rugby buddies that you have a fucking girlfriend in fucking New York and you miss her like crazy. That label won't change anything, won't change the fact that we live apart."
"How can you say that?" he demands.
"Because it's true!" I scream, totally losing it. "I'll still be far away. You'll still be here. I'll still have no plans of coming back permanently. We're doomed, Jazz. We always were. A long distance relationship is doomed from the start especially when there's no end date for the separation. We're prolonging the inevitable with the visits and the phone calls and the video dates. But we will unravel."
"Than what's been the point of all this?" he yells, waving his hands around his head. "If you've already decided that we won't last, what's the fuckin' point?"
"We love each other. I don't know how to let go of you and I don't know how to be with you and I can't come back here. This town would suffocate me. I can't give up on Pratt. I love it there. I can't ever live in Dillon, Jasper. It would crush me, stifle me."
He just stares at me as if this is new information. This whole time that I've been ignoring the fact that Jasper won't let go of Dillon he's been ignoring the fact that I'll never be back.
"Can you ever see yourself leaving here?" I ask him. "Living somewhere else?"
I already know the answer. I have an urge to cover my ears, to protect myself from the pain of hearing it. It's the question I've been avoiding pretty much since we first got together.
After the accident, Dillon became Jasper's safe haven. His comfort zone. The one thing in his life that was easy and familiar. I could never take that away from him. I could never even try.
"No," he says quietly. "I can't."
We stare at each other for a long time.
A honk from outside disrupts the silence. I close my eyes and try not to cry because it means we're out of time.
"That's Coach," Jasper murmurs.
I nod.
"I'm not goin' to the airport," he says.
"I know."
Another honk. Coach is not a patient man.
"I guess this is it," Jazz says.
I don't know what he means by it. What's at the end here? My visit or us?
I shoulder my duffle and my backpack, moving towards the door. I go slow, giving him time to do something, say something to stop me from leaving things like this.
It's not going to happen. I can tell by the stubborn set of his jaw.
Abruptly I rush over to him, giving him one last chaste kiss before rushing out of the apartment.
Yeah, there is a lot of painful and frustrating stuff happening in this chapter. The next couple chapters are going to be pretty heavy on the angst, too. All will be well. I promise.
Thanks for reading!