CHAPTER 7
I walked up the steps towards the front door of Rocking Horse. It had been fifteen years since Jace and I had lived here together, but the memory of him carrying me over the threshold on our wedding day was still fresh in my mind, as if it had happened yesterday. Junior slipped his key in the lock and turned the handle of the front door. He pushed it open. The entry hall was dark. I stepped inside and took a look around. The draperies in the adjacent room had been drawn. The air was heavy and warm. There were various empty bottles of beer and alcohol strewn around the area, coupled with piles of discarded clothing, empty pizza boxes, microwave food containers and dirty dishes and glasses. In spite of the chaos inside, there was still a recognizability to the surroundings. I had lived here for two years until my circumstances suddenly changed. There was no sign of Jace in the immediate area. I listened for any sounds of his presence...footsteps, his voice, the movement of a shadow...anything that might tell me where he was, but I was greeted with only the still silence of the house.
"Did you tell him that I was coming?" I turned around to face Junior who was still standing in the doorway. The look on his face was tensive.
"I tried, but he won't answer his phone when I call him."
"You have a key to the house, Junior. Did it ever occur to you to let yourself in so you could check on him and talk to him face to face?" I was becoming increasingly annoyed at how little his own family seemed willing to do for him. There was no doubt that they were concerned about him, but in my estimation, they weren't doing nearly enough or they would have tried their own interventions by now.
"He wouldn't have listened to me, Maddy. There was no use in even tryin'. That's why we called you. We figured he'd talk to you."
"It's still a crap shoot, hedging all your bets on me. I may have come all the way down here for nothing," I said.
"It was the only hope we had, Maddy." His words left me feeling as if they were looking at me to perform some sort of miracle. I was well aware of Jace's feelings for me, but his current state of mind that had been described to me...the state of mind that I may have triggered...may have obliterated any feelings he had for me. If he's lost hope, there may be no getting him back.
Junior closed the door, leaving me alone. I cautiously walked through the entry hall past the staircase and down into the living room. I pulled the curtains open to let some much needed sunlight stream into the room. I took a quick glance around at the mess. I picked up a stray plastic bag that had been thrown on the floor and started filling it with the empty bottles and cans. When it was full, I picked up another bag and began to fill that one. I filled three bags with the empty containers, then started to gather up the clothes that were thrown all over the room. I picked up a shirt I had seen Jace wear several times while he was in Chicago. It was a black Harley Davidson t-shirt that had an ample-sized hole in the front and tattered sleeves. I picked it up and held it to my face. His scent immediately filled my head. I thought about the strong, vital, handsome man I had last seen in the parking lot of The Roadhouse three months ago and began to cry at the thought of him now. I hadn't seen him yet, but the way his brother had described him, he was nothing like that man now.
"Well, well, well...if it isn't the knocked up Mrs. Casey. You come here to take pity on me or to gloat? Either way, you can get the fuck out." The sudden sound of his raspy, weak voice startled me. It wasn't the deep, strong tone I knew so well. I turned around to look at him, gasping at a sight I was not prepared to see. His normally bright blue eyes were glazed and bloodshot. His long hair was unkempt and his beard was overgrown. His face was pale and drawn. He had on a pair of jeans, a dirty ripped tank shirt and no shoes. He looked as though he had lost some weight since I had last seen him. He was wearing his prosthesis and was holding a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He stepped down into the living room, staggering as he took a step forward towards me. I dropped the shirt I was holding and rushed to his side to help steady him.
"I don't need your fuckin' help, Mrs. Casey," he slurred, pushing my hands away.
"The hell you don't. Look at you. What's happened to you, Jace?" I said, wrapping my arm around the middle of his back.
"What's happened to me? That's rich coming from you, Mrs. Casey...that's real rich," he said. I helped him walk over to the couch where he slumped down onto the center cushion. He leaned back and lifted the bottle of whiskey to his mouth, taking a long sip of the potent brown liquid it held.
"Your family is worried about you," I said.
"Is that why you're here...because my asshole big brother asked you to come save me? Christ almighty, he's an arrogant sonofabitch. I don't need savin'. I'm doin' just fine," he said, knocking back another swallow. I sat down on the couch next to him. He turned his face away from me.
"You certainly don't look fine to me. From what Junior and Audra told me, they're concerned that you're going to hurt yourself, Jackson.
"It's nothin' for you to worry your pretty little head about, so just toddle off back to Chicago where you belong and leave me the fuck alone," he said. He kept his face turned away from me as he chugged down another drink.
"Jace, look at me," I said softly. I had never seen him like this before. His demeanor was dark and angry and was scaring the hell out of me, but I had to try to get past that enough to get him to talk to me.
"I don't wanna look at you, Mrs. Casey, or I'll lose my shit," he said. I picked up his hand and held it in mine. He immediately pulled it away.
"Will you at least talk to me?" I said, taking his hand in mine again. This time, he didn't yank it away.
"There's nothing to say. Your charmed life is all set. You made your choice. You chose him and I chose whiskey. Jack Daniels has never fucked me over for someone else," he said. His voice was arrogant and nasty. This wasn't the Jace Walker I knew and loved.
"Is that what you think? That I fucked you over because I wanted to work on fixing my marriage instead of coming back to Texas with you...something you already knew I couldn't do?"
"In a word...yes," he said.
"That's funny because before you left Chicago, you said you understood my decision and that you'd made peace with everything that happened," I said.
"There ain't nothin' funny about it...I lied. I thought you were smarter than that, Mrs. Casey," he said succinctly.
"Shame on me then, for holding you up to some romantic ideal in my head, thinking that you were better than all the other men in my life because you're the only one that never lied to me. Now, you're just like all the rest of them. Congratulations," I said.
"I am better than all the rest...every single goddamn one of them! You know that, Madeleine." He spat out the words as if they were snake venom. I got up from the couch and stood in front of him. I crossed my arms in defiance.
"The man I know as Jace Walker wouldn't act like this. He's stronger than the man I'm looking at now," I said.
"I'm not strong, Mrs. Casey. I'm empty...I'm nothing," he said. I sat back down next to him. His head hung low, staring between his legs down at the floor.
"You are strong, Jackson...you survived years of torture at the hands of terrorists and made it back home, against all odds. And you're not nothing. You mean something to your family, this ranch, our daughter...and to me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. He set the bottle of whiskey down on the floor but kept his head down.
"Yet, you went back to that cheating bastard's bed. That sure as hell don't seem like I mean anything at all to you."
"What did you expect me to do, Jackson...go back to him but never sleep with him again? He's my husband, for Christ's sake! Is that what's bothering you?"
"That and so much more, Mrs. Casey." He took another drink from the bottle, gazing at me with contempt.
"Stop calling me that."
"But that's who you are...Mrs. Matthew Casey...all nice and neat and perfect."
"I was Mrs. Matthew Casey when you came to Chicago a few months ago. It didn't seem to bother you then."
"Oh, it bothered me then and it bothers me now," he growled.
"Why, Jace? Tell me why, because I'd really like to know what happened between then and now to make you like this." He wiped his eyes with his hands and rubbed his face. He straightened his body and leaned against the back of the couch.
"Because I finally realized just how much I've actually lost in this fucked up life of mine. I know now that I will never have you again...not like when we first met and were married...hell, not even like we were in Chicago. You were mine for those couple of weeks and watching you walk back to him after you wrapped yourself around me in my bed nearly killed me. I thought I could do it...accept my fate, hold onto the memories we made and get on with my life...and I was doin' okay with that, until…" his voice broke off. He covered his face with his hands and let out a long, labored sigh.
"Until…" I said, wanting him to finish his thought, even though I already knew what he was going to say. He tucked his long hair behind his ear and looked directly at me. His beautiful blue eyes were watery and red rimmed. The mental exhaustion he was feeling was written all over his face.
"Until you told me you were gonna have his baby, then it all hit me like a runaway train. Matt Casey is living my fucking life...the one that I should have had with you. It should be me with you every day, holding you in my arms every night, kissing your mouth, feeling your body against mine, making beautiful babies together and raising them...but I lost all of that. I told you that I will never love anyone else and I meant it. You're the only woman that will ever exist for me, so excuse me if I go a little fucking crazy when I lose you a second time. I think I deserve that fucking much, especially knowing that you probably spread your legs for him the second I drove out of sight. I guess I should have expected as much from a whore who's been married to three different men."
His words struck me like a knife in the heart. I had wanted so badly to tell him that there was a possibility that this baby I was carrying was his, but the blind rage I felt now wouldn't let me. I raised my hand and brought it down across his face, slapping him hard enough to make his head jerk to the right. He reached up, brushed his long hair away from his face and rubbed his left cheek, looking at me with mild bemusement. Other than the slight sting my slap had caused him, he seemed nonplussed by my assault.
"You bastard...no one talks to me that way and gets away with it! I'm the only woman that exists for you...isn't that what you just said? If that's true, then I deserve a little more goddamn respect than that! You're the man who taught me what real love was and here you are now saying hateful things to me. I'll admit that I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but some of them were a direct result of the circumstances that were out of my control and the lies that other people told me, so don't you dare glorify that for your own personal bullshit that you think justifies this kind of behavior!
"What makes it worse is that I still don't regret any of the things I did when I was staying with you, even though they further complicated my life. Maybe that makes me stupid but it doesn't make me a whore. In fact, you cried in my arms and thanked me for making you feel like a man again or are you forgetting that? None of the decisions I've made in my life were easy ones, Jackson. It tore me up to watch you leave that day and if you knew me at all, you'd know that my heart broke into a million pieces, even though it was the best decision for me and my family. If the circumstances of my life had been different, I would have made a different choice. When we first met, I looked at you as the hero who rescued me from a life in the shadows and a few months ago, you were my hero again, but seeing you now and listening to the nasty words coming out of your mouth makes me glad I chose to stay with Matt. You've made your feelings clear about me and I'll be damned before I waste my time trying to help a self-pitying, drunken sonofabitch who doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself. Go ahead and wallow in your own self-pity, but I'm not gonna stay here and watch it."
My seething anger gave way to a cascade of tears that had been threatening to fall since I had first laid my eyes on him. I turned on my heels and strode defiantly towards the front door. I wanted to get as far away from him as quickly as possible. As I laid my hand on the handle of the front door, I felt Jace's immense presence behind me. He pressed the front of his body against the back of mine and wrapped his arms around the front of me, nearly knocking me over. He pushed his face into the side of my neck and whispered in my ear.
"Please don't go, Cookie. I didn't mean it, baby. I'm a fucking mess. I need you. I still love you so fucking much," he said, breaking down. I held onto his arms, letting him cry. His big body shook as he let his pent up emotions go.
"How can you say that you love me after the way you just talked to me? No one has ever said anything so cruel to me...not even Stephen Gage and he was the biggest bastard I've ever known," I said, choking on my sobs.
"I do love you, goddammit! I said those things out of anger and jealousy because of how much I love you and how much I want…" his voice broke off as he choked up again. His big hands moved down from my waist and cradled my bulging baby bump.
"What, Jackson?"
"I want this baby that you're carrying to be mine, because maybe then, I could get back some of what I lost," he said, breaking down again. "Tell him, Maddy...he needs to hear it now" my inner voice screamed in my ear. I turned around to face him. He slowly dropped down to his knees. His beautiful soulful eyes looked up at me, conveying a deep sorrow that rocked me to my core.
"Tell me what you want me to do, Jackson. Do you want me to stay here or should I go back to Chicago?"
"Stay with me, baby...please."
"If I stay, I'll do whatever I can to help you, but you have to help yourself too. I can't do this alone and the second you turn on me again, this is over."
"I'll try, Cookie...I swear I will."
"Just before I left North Star today, Harper begged me to make you better. She's terrified she's going to lose you. You should know that."
"I love her so much. She's all I have left of you and our life together. It kills me that she doesn't know I'm her father. She's the only child I'll ever have."
"Then you owe it to her to get past this, Jackson. And you still have me. I'm not going anywhere. I told you that we would always be a part of each other's lives and I meant that."
"It's not enough, baby. I want more. I want the life we had." He stood up, almost falling over before he walked back over to the couch. He picked the bottle of whiskey up off the floor and tipped it up to his mouth.
"Even if things hadn't played out the way they did, we could never recapture the life we used to have. You must know that."
"I guess I do, baby...it's just fucking hell letting go of it. It's a dream I've had for the last fifteen years," he said, taking another drink from the bottle.
"I know. I had to let go of it too and it was the hardest thing I've ever gone through. I nearly died. Take it from me, this isn't going to help you feel any better, Jace," I said, taking the near empty bottle from his hands.
"Maybe not, but it helps keep me numb." He said, plunking back down on the couch and covering his face with his hands. I decided to take the bull by the horns. Pity wasn't going to work and it wouldn't serve anyone's purpose except mine. He needed some tough love to shock him back into existence.
"Get up, cowboy, and come with me," I said, extending my hand down in front of him. He looked up at me with an amused look on his face.
"You think you can come in here, take my booze away and give me orders and I'm gonna jump for you just like that?"
"In a word...yes."
"You're wastin' your time, Cook. I'm not ready to start. Maybe when I get to the bottom of another bottle...," he said, scoffing at me and pushing my hand away. I leaned against the back of the couch with one hand and leveled my face with his. My right hand grabbed the sizable bulge in the crotch in his jeans, taking him completely by surprise.
"Get up off of this couch, Jackson Cooper Walker, or I'm gonna pull your testicles out and up over your head with one hand. Don't think I can't do it." He swallowed hard and reluctantly rose up from the couch. I took his hand and led him into the kitchen.
"I know you can do it, you fucking feisty little filly," he murmured under his breath.
"Sit," I said, pointing at one of the kitchen stools by the breakfast bar. Surprisingly, he did as he was told. I cleared the bar of the sea of cans and bottles, tossing them into a recycling container that was at the side of the refrigerator. I loaded all of the dishes from the sink into the dishwasher, then filled it with hot soapy water. I wiped down the stove top and the counters while he watched. I was struck by how much smaller he seemed to me. He had always been a big, imposing man but now he was a shadow of his former self. I rummaged through the refrigerator and cupboards, gathering up things to cook for him. He looked as if he hadn't eaten in a while. I was sure most of his calories over the last few days had been in liquid form. I made him a Western omelet and four slices of toast and set the plate in front of him.
"Eat," I said sternly.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, giving me a salute. "You're always making me eggs."
"It's all you've ever had in any fridge you've owned since we met. Do you want some juice or would you rather have something else?"
"I'd rather have a Bloody Mary," he said without looking up from his plate of food.
"Yeah, that's not happening, cowboy." I checked the date on the carton of orange juice that was in the fridge, then poured him a glass. He cleaned his plate then drank the entire glass of juice. I refilled it.
"Drink," I said. He emptied the glass of its contents a second time.
"Is there anything else you want me to do there, drill sergeant?" An attempt at humor. Maybe my approach was working. I took his plate and glass and added them to the dishwasher before turning it on. I wiped down the counter and put the pan in the sink.
"As a matter of fact, there is. I want you to go upstairs with me and take a bath...because quite frankly, you stink, cowboy." He lifted his arm and took a sniff at his armpit, nodding his head and confirming my statement. I came around to the other side of the breakfast bar. He swiveled on the stool, turning around to face me.
"Why are you here, Cookie? Why do you even give a fuck about what happens to me?" his voice had softened, almost as if he was thinking with a little more clarity than he was a half an hour ago. His blue eyes shimmered and seemed a little brighter now.
"That should be obvious," I said. He nodded his head. I held out my hand to him. He put his hand in mine and followed me out of the kitchen. When we were at the bottom of the staircase, I put my arm around his waist and his arm around my shoulder.
"Come on, cowboy...one step at a time," I said. We took each step up slowly and methodically. He was still unsteady on his feet. We had to stop several times for him to regain his balance. Still holding onto each other, we walked into the master suite. I helped him sit down on the bed and told him to get undressed while I drew a hot bath for him. I grabbed two clean towels and a washcloth from the linen closet and set them down on the side of the tub as it filled with water. I took the body wash and shampoo out of the shower, then rummaged through the medicine chest. I took a comb and a pair of scissors and added them to the pile on top of the towel. When the tub was full, I went back into the bedroom to get Jace. I found him sitting on the bed in his underwear. He still had a muscular upper body, but he was even thinner than he had looked when his clothes were on. It was a startling and upsetting sight.
"OK big guy...bath's ready," I said, making my way towards him. He took my hand, got up from the bed and followed me into the bathroom. He pulled his boxer briefs down past his hips and immediately lost his balance. He began to sway and braced himself against the side of the tub. He winced in pain as he twisted his body around and landed on the edge of the tub. I could see that the left side of him was bruised from his mid back to his hip and down the back of his thigh. He looked like he had been hit by a car.
"Jesus Christ, Jackson! What happened ?" I asked as I inspected the scrapes and bruising.
"Got drunk and fell down the fucking stairs," he said matter of factly. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he said, looking up at me. His face was white and beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. I took his arm and helped him up. He took a step towards the toilet, then turned quickly and grabbed onto the sides of the vanity, vomiting all over it and my arm. He hung his head over the sink and continued retching for several minutes until he dropped to his knees. He dropped his head back and took in a few deep breaths. There was vomit on the ends of his hair, on his mouth and in his beard. I grabbed another washcloth and ran the water in the sink, washing the vomit down the drain and wetting the cloth. I washed off my arm and rinsed the cloth. I gently wiped his face, cleaning off the remnants of vomit .I took a small bottle of mouthwash out the medicine cabinet and handed it to him. He took a large swig and swished it around his mouth for several seconds before spitting it out into the sink. I helped him back up and pulled his boxer briefs the rest of the way down. He stepped out of them, then sat back down on the side of the tub and unstrapped his prosthesis. He swung his legs over and eased himself into the water. He let out a groan as the warm water surrounded his battered body.
"You soak for a while, cowboy. I'll be back in a few minutes," I said. The bedroom was warm and the air was stale. I walked to the far side of the bed and opened the curtains. I opened up the windows, letting the cooler evening air inside. I picked up his dirty clothes and tossed them into the center of the bed. I stripped the linens off the mattress and gathered everything together. I went back into the bathroom and stuffed everything into the hamper. I glanced down at Jace. His eyes were closed and his breathing looked shallow.
"Jackson?" I asked, feeling my panic rise. His eyes fluttered open. "Jesus, you scared me," I said, putting my hand on my chest.
"Just tired, baby. It's been a while since I had any sleep that wasn't induced by me getting shitfaced," he said. His voice was low and gruff, but he seemed more at ease now than he had when I first arrived. His defensive attitude seemed to have melted away while he soaked in the bath. I pulled a set of clean sheets out of the linen closet and made up the bed. I went back into the bathroom and kneeled down next to the tub.
"I'm sorry I got sick all over you," he said. His eyes were red and wet, like he was fighting like hell not to cry.
"I'm the mother of a toddler. I'm used to it. I won't take that as a personal statement about my cooking either," I said, smiling softly at him. "Did you wash up?" I asked.
"A little," he said. "Could you get my back? I'm a little too sore and stiff to reach back there." He handed me the washcloth. I squeezed out some of the body wash onto the cloth. Jace leaned forward and I carefully scrubbed his back. He wrapped his arms around his right knee and laid his head down as I ran the soapy cloth across the back of his neck and shoulders and down to the small of his back. I splashed some water up from the tub to rinse him off.
"That feels good," he said in a tired, raspy voice. I washed the tops of his shoulders, then gently pushed his upper body back against the tub. I lathered up the cloth again and ran it over his neck and chest, then rinsed him off. Then I lifted his arms and washed under them.
"Now for that hair and beard," I said. I grabbed a small plastic basin that was sitting on the floor near the sink and filled it with warm water. I titled his head back and poured the water over his long hair. I lathered it up and massaged his scalp with my fingers, then filled the basin again to rinse it out. I dried it off the best I could with one of the towels before combing through it. Then I washed and rinsed his beard. I picked up the pair of scissors. I ran the comb through his beard and began to trim the long, straggly hairs that had sprouted out in the months since I had seen him.
"Jesus, I think I may need a weed whacker," I said as I continued to snip away at him. He suddenly reached up and grabbed my wrist, startling me. He stared at me intensely for several seconds, his eyes glistening in the stark neon glow of the bathroom light.
"Thank you," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper. I saw a few tears roll down his face.
"You're welcome," I said. A few tears spilled out onto my cheeks, which he quickly wiped away with his fingers. He slowly pulled my face close to his until his lips brushed against mine. He kissed me softly and I didn't stop him. We both needed this connection. He needed to know that I cared about him and I needed to know that the man I loved was still inside of him somewhere. I placed my hands on his and pulled them away from my face. His expression was one of longing...wanting something he knew he couldn't have, even though I wanted to be able to give him more. I helped him get out of the tub and strap on his prosthesis. I handed him a towel and watched as he dried himself off. His ribs were visible underneath his skin. Whether it was right or wrong, I felt tremendous guilt knowing that I had caused him to go into this tailspin. He wrapped the towel around his waist, then brushed his teeth at the sink. He turned to look at me.
"I know it's early, but I think I need to crash now, baby," he said. As he disappeared into the bedroom, I put the comb and scissors back in the medicine cabinet. There were half a dozen prescription bottles lining the shelves...anti anxiety tablets, pain pills, sleep aids, antidepressants, muscle relaxers and heavy duty tranquilizers. Coming across a bottle of acetaminophen, I spilled out four of the tablets into my hand and filled a glass with water. I walked out into the bedroom to find him sitting on the bed and removing his prosthesis. I felt my cheeks flush at the sight of him. Even in his reduced state, he was still an exquisite specimen of a man.
"Here...take these. It'll help with the pain."
"I got stuff stronger than this for pain," he said, looking up at me.
"You're full of whiskey, cowboy, and that would be a dangerous combination and these will set easier on your stomach." He took the pills and swallowed them down. I helped pull the covers back as he maneuvered his big body around into bed. He pulled the sheet up to his waist, then reached out his hand to me.
"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep, Cook? The way my body feels right now, it'll only take about thirty seconds."
"Of course I will," I said. I slipped off my shoes and helped fluff his pillows as he scooted over towards the middle of the bed. "Are you comfortable?" I asked as I sat down next to him.
"Almost," he said, patting at the area next to him on the mattress. "Just lay with me for a few minutes, okay?" The look on his face cracked my heart. My sensibilities told me I shouldn't do this, but my heart told me something else entirely. I sprawled out next to him, staying on top of the covers. He lifted his arm and I laid my head on his chest. I draped my arm over his torso and he laced his fingers through mine. He held me tight against his body.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" he asked. His voice was thick with the remnants of the alcohol and overwhelming fatigue.
"I'll be here, cowboy," I said, pushing my face into the side of his chest and crying softly. We held each other for several minutes until I could feel the rhythm of his breathing gradually relax as his body found the sleep it needed. It was only seven thirty, but I dozed off next to him, praying hard and hoping that I had begun to help him heal. Only time would tell.