You know, for as long as this chapter is, it came back awfully quickly (and if it's too long, please let me know; trying to figure out where to split dates and events has not been as fun as the rest of it).
It was shortly followed by a reminder to ask you guys not to kill me yet; we're still mid-journey.
I must again (for the rest of the story, actually), give massive thanks to mscangel2 and lawand_disorder for their stellar work in not just beta reading, but in helping me get the emotions drawn out as we take this journey with Jayne and Chris.
So . . . well, I hope you enjoy this one.
Amplification
September 6, 2012
As Jayne stepped out of the courthouse, she felt the last vestiges of not just sadness fade away, but also the suffocating exhaustion and just a general malaise she'd been drowning under for nearly four months. In fact, the only thing she felt was an unexpected sense of freedom.
It was done.
She was no longer Phil Christensen's wife.
And this last thing, the actual court hearing, had been so easy, so straightforward, that she was still blinking. It hadn't even been emotionally painful, because Phil had never been able to bring himself to realize that she was utterly serious about divorcing him, so on top of everything else, he also hadn't bothered to come to the hearing. Jayne honestly wished she had been surprised by his absence, but she had been forced to accept the true nature of the man she'd married long before today, and because of both her children and her partner, she hadn't had the luxury of ignoring reality once it slapped her in the face.
The warm September air felt wonderful after the chill of the courtroom and Jayne wandered to the edge of the parking lot, tilting her head back so she could simply admire the beauty of this sunny, cloudless sky. As she inhaled, closing her eyes, the last little bit of tension dissipated and a smile came to her lips.
But even as it formed, it faded, because she felt someone watching her.
And it wasn't Chris.
Or Nick (neither of whom she had let come with her, despite all three of them wishing otherwise; she had needed to do this last bit by herself, as the final nail in the coffin of Phil's selfish, sanctimonious, and just all-around disturbing fantasy world).
But if it wasn't her partner or any of her other friends, then who . . . oh, for heaven's sake. Had Phil actually decided to show up after all? This late and without any contact with anyone?
Well, of course he had. Why on earth had she expected him to show any manners, courtesy, or respect today?
A shiver rippled through her when she abruptly registered that she was in essence alone with him, but it wasn't deep or heavy. She'd never quitebeen afraid of Phil, though she had been somewhat justifiably wary of him once he'd finally stopped hiding who he really was. Which was why, after he'd been such an unmitigated ass when he'd come to see her after she'd demanded a separation and she'd had no way to stop him if it had become necessary, she'd made it a point to keep her mobile on her person, regardless of Nick — or anyone else, to Phil's irritation and utter lack of comprehension — being there.
That being said, even though she'd become so used to Nick's presence in the last several weeks that she simply took it for granted, she didn't really need him with her, in spite of Phil's . . . heavy-handedness about — well, about her. Despite everything, she still couldn't bring herself to actually slap him (or knee him in the groin, which would have been infinitely more satisfying), or even let Nick hit him again, but Jayne had no problem whatsoever calling the cops if she felt it was necessary . . . and Phil wasn't actually lacking in intelligence. So while she felt a little exposed at being alone with him, she wasn't worried. There were bailiffs standing in the doorway and the parking lot was covered with cameras. He could be as much of an ass as he wanted, but she wasn't concerned that he would try something physical.
And he no longer had any hold over her emotionally, nor did he have any say in her future. His absence today, combined with the record they had of his refusal to acknowledge the divorce filing, had culminated in the judge granting her sole custody of Kieran and Jessica, and everyone was pleased with the monetary distributions.
She wasn't even sorrowful or regretful that Phil had thrown their children away, because she had decided, after more than a week of agonizing and failing to figure out how the hell she was going to explain things to them, to break her rule and have one no-holds barred conversation with Chris. They had talked in-depth about how he'd handled that aspect of things, in dealing with both his sons and Jill.
Remembering the beginning of that conversation, which had happened three days after their weekly call, made her smile now, though at the time, it had . . . well, she had — it — for something like the third time in her life, Christopher Dean had caught her completely off-guard.
"Do I need to catch a red-eye?" was the first thing he said, sounding remarkably calm about the prospect. Jayne knew better, of course, and though both his question and his assumption made her blink, they also warmed her heart and she somehow found a smile for him, knowing he'd hear it in her voice.
"No," she assured him gently but firmly, and then patiently waited out the ten or so seconds it always took him to shift gears when what she wanted wasn't what he was expecting.
Only, that wasn't what happened this time.
"Don't lie to me, Jayne," he replied softly, but with steel in his voice, and she swallowed, nervous but also touched. In the normal course of events, he wouldn't dream of saying that to her — and she'd slap the tongue out of his mouth if he did. Of course, in the normal course of events, she wasn't in the process of divorcing her bastard husband and trying desperately to figure out how in the hell she was going to explain things to Kieran and Jess.
Since Chris didn't know that was why she was breaking the rule and calling him when she wasn't supposed to, of course he thought she needed him to come to her. And her unfortunate (irritating, he had groused more than a few times) habit of not reaching out to him when she should (again, his words, but she . . . well, he wasn't wrong) made his assumption that her denial meant she was trying to shield him perfectly logical, and his refusal to let her was equally in character.
She'd argued with herself for two solid days about breaking the rule against talking to her partner too much versus making sure her kids were as protected and un-traumatized as she could make them. But out of everyone she could ask, Chris and Jill had actually accomplished that with enviable results — not to mention the minor fact that she trusted him completely — so she finally gave in and rang him. If this one call should become an issue, so be it. She'd deal with it then.
Right now, she needed her partner and best friend help her navigate waters she was in serious danger of drowning in.
"I'm not, I swear," she said just as quietly but with the implacable authority that rendered Chris mute for several seconds. He knew that tone very, very well and after one hard swallow, he nodded so emphatically, Jayne actually heard it on her side of the call. "But I need you."
In retrospect, that was a very poor choice of words.
"I have a suitcase packed and ready. There's a red-eye I can catch in two hours," he stated, his tone brooking no argument, and she teared up so quickly, her vision actually blurred.
His instant, unquestioning willingness to not just drop everything but also fly quite literally across the world because she needed him had Jayne stuffing a pillow to her mouth because there was no way she could hold back a sob and if Chris heard her, he might just try to skip the commercial airplane and steal the closest jet.
Which, given how close he lived to a military base, was a lot more likely than one would have thought. Very little flustered Christopher Dean, much less set him off like that, but her tears topped that list.
And with what she was facing now . . . no. It would truly be insane to let him hear her cry.
"NO, Chris," she said more insistently, forcing down her emotions so she could keep them both calm and holding her breath until it worked and she heard him stop moving around. "I don't — well, I need . . . I need — it—" she stuttered, her voice wavering a bit as she wiped her eyes and saw one of Jessica's dolls under the settee, which was a sharp, unpleasant reminder of the reason she was calling. Despite her desperate attempt at control, her breath hitched, coming dangerously close to a sob, and Chris responded without thought, comforting her and supporting her and holding her together until she could do it herself because that's why he'd been born: to be Jayne Torvill's partner.
"Shh. Breathe with me," he murmured, his voice now as soft and gentle as cotton and working the magic she needed, helping her to regain the stability she knew she'd have to have in order to get through this conversation. For several minutes, they simply breathed in silence, punctuated only by him quietly counting off beats, letting their hearts find the natural, syncopated rhythm that had been the cornerstone of their lives since they were fifteen.
"Good," he finally crooned when they had breathed together with no hiccups for three minutes. "Good. Go get a bottle of water and we'll go from there. Okay?"
"Yeah," she managed to say, obeying that gentle command and shaking her head at the sudden realization that even in this, he was taking on the role of trainer. Which, given the reason she needed to talk to him, made total sense. And was an absolute necessity for her right now.
But it still made her smile.
She didn't pick the phone back up until she'd drunk half the bottle and tears were no longer threatening, which took less time than she'd thought. Then again, he'd always been a marvel at calming her down on those rare occasions it was necessary.
"Thank you," she told him quietly, her lips quirking when he coughed, clearly not expecting her to be back so quickly. He recovered immediately and said, "Always. So, if you don't need me there, what do you need to me do?"
Sometimes, his refusal to sugarcoat things for her annoyed her to no end. Today? She could have snogged him for it, because now she didn't feel like she needed to tiptoe around the subject. Not that she generally did with Chris, of course, but this . . . well, again, this wasn't normal, and she didn't have a clue about where to start. So his blunt question was a Godsend.
"I need to know how you and Jill handled things with Sam and Jack," she replied just as bluntly. Her lips quirked again when he almost choked in reply, his shock echoing across the phone line.
But that only lasted a minute before he was back with her.
"Ah," he said around a sigh. "Yeah. That's . . . this is going to take some time, Jayne," he warned her, sounding more serious than she'd heard from him in years.
"I know," she replied. "And I don't care. Kieran and Jess are more important."
"Absolutely," he agreed. "So let's start there: what do they know?"
What followed was a long, exhausting, excruciating conversation, filled with things she would never have thought of herself . . . and a new insight into Chris that somehow managed to raise him even higher in her estimation, something she hadn't believed was possible, because he had been completely unflinching about who, what, when, where, why, and how he and Jill had worked things out and through with their sons.
Granted, their split hadn't been nearly as acrimonious as Jayne's was shaping up to be, but certain things are a universal constant. And when they hung up, exhausted but also shockingly content for the first time in weeks because they'd finally been able to just talk like the friends and partners they were, she had a mostly-solid plan for finally sitting down with Kieran and Jess and having a very frank discussion about what was going on.
And also about why it was happening. Chris had been firm in his emphasis that hiding the truth would only come back to bite them all in the ass, and the other divorced parents she knew emphatically agreed with him (Karen had not been one of them, however; she had distanced herself so much from Jayne that calling her never presented itself as an option). That had been a joint conclusion, in fact. They'd all agreed that badmouthing the ex was poor manners, but making them a saint was worse. You could tell the kids the truth without turning the other parent into the devil.
Kieran confirming this had her in tears, because he had indeed been much more aware of things than she was, and the first thing he'd said to her after she'd told them she'd filed for divorce had been, "I'm glad he's gone; he kept saying stuff about you that was bad and wrong."
She desperately hadn't wanted to ask but knew she needed to, so she'd bitten the bullet and encouraged her son to talk, silently thankful that Jessica was too young to understand what was really happening, and why. Then again, neither child had asked to see Phil and only inquired to her about his whereabouts twice since the separation, which had told her a lot more than she'd wanted to know. But it had also given her hope that the divorce itself wouldn't be too traumatizing for them.
By the time Kieran was done unburdening himself about his father and what he'd seen and heard, things that his mother would never in a million years have dreamed of despite Chris warning her this would probably happen, she had run the emotional gauntlet from disbelief to devastated tears of grief to a bone-deep rage that had slowly burned itself out into a hard, implacable satisfaction that she had left him. Her fears of him trying to corrupt their kids' innocence and make her partnership, her friendship, with Chris, into something sordid, had unfortunately been well-founded, something that still infuriated her. But getting sole custody today ensured she had the chance to undo the damage Phil had done.
Unsurprisingly, learning this truth had been the final breaking point. Jayne could have lived with the knowledge of how little Phil thought of her. But knowing that he had deliberately tried to poison their children not just against their mother and her best friend, but also against the concept of having any kind of friendship between a man and a woman, had shoved her over the edge and what little love and affection she'd been unable and unwilling to let go of had died a quick, fiery death. She'd been so emotionally volatile, so upset, that cuddling with Kieran and Jess for a while to give them some much-needed comfort had offered her no respite from the instability of her own feelings.
And despite desperately, almost manically, needing to, she'd called neither Chris nor Nick after the kids were in bed and she was alone. Chris would have gotten on a plane while they were talking and even she couldn't say whether killing Phil or coming to her would be first on his 'to-do' list. That was a debate she knew Nick wouldn't have had with himself; he'd just kill Phil and then comfort her . . . and she wouldn't have made so much as a token attempt to stop them. Not after what she'd learned (which was also why she didn't reach out to any of her other friends; Pearl was the only one who could have dealt with her fury, but she also would have put Phil in the hospital and then called Chris because . . . well, he was always what Jayne needed).
The problem was what likely would have happened next with either man, given not just the direction her friendship with Nick looked like it was trying to go, but also the knowledge of how much comfort and peace of mind she and Chris had both gotten that night on tour, despite it not being any part of their relationship, much less something they even thought seriously about in the normal course of their lives.
But then, this was not remotely within the bounds of normal, not for Chris and sure as hell not for Jayne, and it had knocked her so far off-balance, both emotionally and physically, that she wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to keep from asking her partner for not just that comfort, but also that reconnection . . . especially since they'd been so brutally, so cruelly, separated for so long.
No, contacting Chris simply wasn't safe, not for either of them
(it was very, very telling that the incongruity of this thought utterly escaped her. And so did the underlying implications)
Instead, she'd curled up alone in her bed, clutching a teddy bear Chris had given her ages ago and grieving the loss of not just the little bit of hope she'd been clinging to, but also the loss of innocence that Kieran and Jess didn't realize they'd suffered.
But the next morning, she awakened in a grateful mindset, because the uncertainty and the hesitation were gone, washed away under the new knowledge of what Phil Christensen really was: a hateful, self-indulgent child who didn't care who he hurt or even what the truth of the matter was, so long as he could claim the spot of 'victim' while reaping all the benefits of what other people could give him. Jayne wasn't the only one, she'd finally come to understand. Knowing this did not make things better, though it was oddly comforting nonetheless.
But he had just been stripped of his ability to continuing using her.
With this knowledge bolstering her, along with the heady joy that was her newly-claimed freedom, Jayne turned to look at Phil . . . and realized that she felt nothing. Not even disgust. He could have been a stranger.
It was wonderful.
She said nothing, merely stared at him until he began to fidget, his eyes darting to and fro (looking for Chris, she assumed), but when it became clear that he wasn't going to speak until she did, Jayne shrugged and went to her car. Without a look back and with no regret or hesitation, she drove off, leaving him standing alone in the parking lot of the courthouse while she tried to decide how she wanted to . . . she didn't want to celebrate this, not in the strictest sense of the word, but she did want to — to take the time and actually enjoy what the ending of this chapter meant.
For all of them.
But what did she want to do? Being Jayne Torvill, planning ahead wasn't one of her strong suits, so she tossed several ideas around until she glimpsed a billboard out of the corner of her eye and one single thought resonated in her mind.
Of course. Why it hadn't been her only idea, she couldn't say. But it was perfect, so she pulled into the next service station and dialed a familiar number.
"You okay, cara mia?" came that now-precious endearment, making her smile with genuine amusement at his name for her (he'd tried piccola for a time, but she refused to have her short stature brought up that often, no matter how fond it was).
"Completely," she assured him, her voice ringing with the truth of it, and Nick laughed softly in both joy and relief. "But I . . . I need a—a favor?"
Her voice rose as she spoke, so it came out more like a question, and she was biting her lip as she finished speaking.
"Anything," he answered before she'd taken another breath and she smiled again, though her lips were trembling a little as her emotions finally began to bubble up, set free by the bang of the judge's gavel.
"Will you — would you mind calling the Nottingham ice rink and — and make arrangements for a private session?" she asked softly and with a bit of hesitation, because it was a huge favor, in more than one way. But she knew that he would understand, because he had made that very clear over the last several weeks, and she was nearly giddy from the knowledge that she finally had her life back. So for the first time in quite some time, she felt little guilt about asking him for something. No, her guilt was about what she was asking. But she needed it too badly and because of that, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep her emotions under control.
And, quite frankly, Nick was very, very good at making sure her privacy was protected, which she needed more than almost anything in the world right now. His skills in this regard were such that, when combined with Rex Tennant — well, being Rex Tennant — it was more than a month before the public found out about the divorce. And the typical paparazzi feeding frenzy didn't happen, since several scandals had occurred by the time Jayne stopped being deaf when asked any questions about Phil (also, Nick had no problem at all taking the camera away from the idiot trying to photograph Jayne, on those rare occasions him stepping in front of her to block the picture didn't work.).
"Of course," he said quietly, the jubilation gone from his voice but not the relief. Or the understanding. "Do you want me to order dinner or make reservations for you?"
"No," she replied after a few seconds of thought. "I want to stay low-key."
"For sure," he agreed. "Then I will make it so. And Jayne?"
Something in his tone made her pause.
"Yeah?" she whispered, swallowing hard.
"Be happy."
Tears blurred her eyes at the utter sincerity she heard and she only just managed to hold back a soft sob at the knowledge of how much he cared about her.
"Thank you," she managed to reply and was ridiculously grateful when he gave her a gentle laugh, filled with that same understanding. But before he hung up, a burst of courage surged through her. "When we get back, though, will you take me to one of those crazy places you swear I'll enjoy?" she asked — again, a little hesitantly, but this time for a different reason altogether.
His sharp inhale of breath made her smile again, and it widened to a grin when he almost stuttered, "Hell, yes. And it'll be the wildest ride you've had in a while."
The somewhat overdone ludicrousness of this pulled a giggle from her throat and he laughed ruefully as well. "Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. "I did not intend for that to be so cheesy."
"It's okay," she replied. "I was thinking that nachos sounded good anyway."
He burst out laughing at this and she followed suit, unable to believe how giddy she felt.
"What am I going to do with you?" he wondered when his laughter tapered off, and she giggled again.
"I can't wait to find out," she said. "But until then . . ."
"Right. Nottingham ice rink. Tell him I said 'hey'. And have fun," he answered, so sweetly and sincerely that it took several minutes for her to beat back the tears after they hung up. But when she did, she looked up into that bright, sun-filled day, and smiled.
She was free.
Her fingers steady, she thumbed through her call log until she came to his number and hit 'call' with a level of joy she hadn't experienced since the day she'd brought Jessica home. It didn't get through the first ring.
"What do you need, sweetheart?"
Fresh tears threatened at his steady, reassuring, beloved voice, but these were happy, so she let them fall. Her world had settled back into place and she and her best friend, her partner, could finally reclaim their places at the other's side.
"I'm going home, but I need my skates," she told him, euphoria spreading through her like wildfire and so many memories rising that they were overwhelming her, but in the best possible way. "Will you bring them to me?"
His breath hitched, but when he answered, the smile she heard was so bright, it almost blinded her. And just like that, all was right with her world. And his.
"I'm on my way."
September 25, 2012
As she and Nick stumbled out of the front of door of No Escape, laughing with triumph and the exultation of victory (and in her case, surprise, because she would never have thought that an escape room would be something she enjoyed), Jayne realized with the smallest bit of shock that not only had she had an extremely good time, but that she had just been on a date — a date! — without thinking once about Phil, not even in passing. Despite the abominable way he'd treated her and the even more detestable way he'd behaved, the memory — the reality — of twenty-two years of marriage hadn't just completely vanished; no, it had lingered in the background like a musty smell, refusing to go away despite her intense desire to move on.
Nick had been so understanding of it that she'd found herself wondering a couple of times if the man was actually gay; he hadn't shown the slightest hint of jealousy or even frustration that she couldn't quit thinking about Phil at some of the most random (and inconvenient) times and places. He hadn't even been annoyed when she'd snapped at him after a trip to the zoo had stirred up some memories she'd been trying to forget while they were being made.
(she would never know how often he went to the gym or dojo to beat the hell out of something when an unpleasant or unwelcome memory came back to haunt her; he refused to let her see his anger, but the fact that her ex-husband had so deliberately, so maliciously, ruined so many of her memories enraged him)
His calm acceptance of — well, of apparently everything, given his behavior since . . . okay, since the day they'd met. So not gay, just . . . Zen. She mentally sighed at this thought, knowing that it — she — wasn't giving him enough credit. Because Nick wasn't Zen. Or, well, not just Zen. No, Nicholas du Lac was a mature adult who understood life and was utterly accepting of the fact that he wasn't the center of the universe. It was an incredibly nice change.
And she would readily admit that it was beyond nice to not feel smothered by expectations.
Or obligated to them.
But she would also admit that it was . . . puzzling . . . because he was clearly interested in her, but had yet to make a single move that could be considered romantic.
His hands circling her waist to steady her brought her attention sharply back to him and she laughed again, feeling almost drunk at the realization that she was finally free from her ex-husband. He laughed with her, but his eyes were dark and full of . . . oh. She took a shaky breath as she processed the want she saw in that vivid blue gaze, and a tiny smile curved his lips.
"May I, Jayne?" he asked huskily, making her shiver, but the sudden reality of getting the very thing she'd just been thinking about made her a little slow on the uptake and all she could do was blink at him. The intensity in his eyes began to fade and he took a half-step back.
Oh, hell no. She was done letting Phil Christensen dictate her life.
And she wanted to move on. She wanted to try with Nick.
With a sudden burst of courage — and more than a little defiance — she buried her left hand in his hair and tugged him down, catching his mouth with hers.
Oh.
Wow.
His lips were warm and pliant against hers, and she let herself relax into him. His hands tightened on her waist, but he kept the kiss light, undemanding, and she found herself grateful for that, even if it lacked the heat she was expecting. And it was nice — beyond nice — but his kiss was so very different from the ones she'd had for twenty years that it was jarring, too, and she slowly pulled back, really understanding for the first time that moving on wasn't going to be as smooth or easy as she'd thought. But when she looked again into his tender, accepting eyes, eyes that held no wariness and no caution, she knew it would be worth it.
"Okay, cara mia?" he murmured, licking his lips. The sight made her smile and she stretched up on her tiptoes, brushing her mouth over his again. He audibly caught his breath but she dropped back down to the sidewalk instead of letting the kiss deepen and took his hand. He laughed and gestured expansively down the street, falling into step with her as they headed to a little hole-in-the-wall Thai place she'd discovered several years ago. As they walked, Jayne glanced up at the man beside her, feeling very lucky that she had found someone who was truly, genuinely nice and seemed only to want . . . to want whatever she wanted.
Who would never ask for anything she was unwilling to give.
And on realizing that, Jayne paused, looking at him with more than a little wonder.
This man would ask for nothing that she didn't want to give him. And he had shown repeatedly, in so many different ways, that he had no problem deferring to her wishes, even during their dance lessons where he was the instructor. For the first time in more than twenty years, she had the chance to be with a man in a relationship where things were equal. She would never need to explain or apologize for Chris and their bond.
Chris!
Oh . . . that . . . how was she going to tell him? If she was happy, he'd be happy for her; that wasn't her concern. It was the sudden consideration of what adding a third person to their dynamic (again) would do. Only, Nick wasn't Phil, which was the main thing, but this—
"What is it?" Nick asked softly, breaking into her thoughts as he turned to face her, his expression full of gentle concern as he reached for her other hand. She hesitated for a few seconds before firming her resolve and letting him take it, enjoying his delighted smile when she drew them to her waist in a silent bid — okay, it was a test, she admitted to herself — to see how he would react.
How far he would try to go.
When his fingers curved over her hips and no further, his touch light and undemanding, Jayne let out a silent sigh of relief before she let her hands slowly come to rest on his shoulders as their eyes met. Still not quite able to trust the situation, she shifted as though she was going to step away . . . and he immediately released her, cocking his head as he studied her face.
"Jayne? What's wrong?" he said hesitantly, searching her eyes for whatever had made her pull back, and she gave him a tiny smile of happiness at having judged him correctly, though it was tinged with the barest hint of trepidation. She was almost positive this man was safe, but it would be a while before she could trust that completely, it seemed. Still, in the four years she'd known him, Nicholas du Lac had never been anything less than a complete gentleman (other than to David Seaman, that is, but she'd readily admit the man had it coming. Phil didn't count. At all.). And it was time for her to be brave. This thing with Nick might not last, but it had been much too long since she'd allowed herself to truly want something just for her.
The thought was terrifying, to be sure, because it had been so longsince she'd had to make this choice, but it was also exhilarating. So for one of the first times in her life, Jayne Torvill threw caution to the wind.
"Nothing," she demurred, giving him an innocent look that made him snort with amusement even as he took a step closer, fingers coming to rest back on her hips, though his touch remained butterfly gentle. She ran her hands up to his hair in response, absently stroking the soft strands at the nape of his neck. "But . . . would you consider going out with me, Nicholas du Lac?"
His wide-eyed expression of shock was comical, though he rallied quickly. "Why, Jayne Torvill!" he exclaimed, eyes full of humor and more than a little relief. "Did you just beat me to the punch? You?"
She laughed back, acknowledging his point with a rueful smile of her own but not letting herself be sidetracked. She had never done anything like this before and her surge of bravery was fading, leaving her a little nervous despite being almost sure of his answer.
However, Christopher Dean had been her best friend for more than thirty years, and could both ham it up and fake it with the best of them, skills he had taken great pains to teach her and ones that had come in very handy many, many times over the course of their lives. So she drew on her own assurance of his feelings and faked the rest. After all, the worst he could say was 'no'.
"Looks like I did," she replied saucily, tossing her hair back. "So . . ."
"Oh, hell, yes!" he said so quickly and excitedly, she actually blinked, even as relief flooded her body. Then he was kissing her, his lips eager but still undemanding, and she happily returned it, kissing her new boyfriend on the sidewalk in front of God and everyone and not thinking once of Phil.
But she wasn't able to push aside how she was going to tell Chris.
Or stop wondering what he was going to think.
October 3, 2012
"So, I'm leaning toward Better Together for our major routine this year because I think it'll work best with whatever artistic thing they have planned. What do you think?"
Visibly (audibly?) distracted silence was his only answer and Chris sighed quietly, pacing toward the window. Jayne had been preoccupied — no, she'd been downright spacey — for the last week and he was getting frustrated. Not because she was distracted but because she wouldn't bloody tell him why, which was unlike her. Having said that, he was pretty sure he knew the reason, but if he was right and she had finally admitted she liked Nick as more than a friend — or, heaven forbid, they'd actually started dating — then he was going to keep his mouth well and truly shut until she said something.
Phil had caused so many problems and issues that it was almost impressive, but the end result was that Jayne was very — and understandably — touchy about being questioned now. About anything.
Even by Chris, and he'd had to buy tampons for her more than once.
So while he felt safe in assuming that her distraction was caused by Nick, he wasn't dumb enough to say so. But waiting for her to actually talk to him was grating on his nerves, especially since that crap about them keeping their distance should have ended the day her divorce was finalized. Unfortunately, the habit had been too well set, at least for her, because she'd had Nick, and the resulting disconnect left Chris floundering more than a little. Jayne wasn't the only one who'd lost her main source of support during those hellish months and he was beyond desperate to get back on an even keel with her.
He just couldn't quite figure out how, which was driving him up the wall. He hadn't felt this out of step from her since about eight months after they'd been partnered and it was NOT good for his mental health. Or his emotional well-being.
In fact, it was plain bad for him all around.
But he still couldn't find a way to get there from here witho—
"Hm?"
Her soft hum broke into his thoughts and he glanced up, meeting her vivid blue eyes and, as always, melting at the affection so clearly gleaming in them. Oh, he'd missed her so much, a void that hadn't been filled even with their day spent at their old stomping grounds in Nottingham, new though the ice rink was to them. Remembering the joy of their reunion and how intense, how passionate, their embrace had been when she'd barreled through the doors of the rink, scaring the hell out of the rink manager — whom she'd almost flattened in her rush to reach her partner — drew a smile of tender amusement to his lips.
When he thought about the way she'd flung herself into his arms as though she would die if she didn't touch him right that second, his throat closed again, because he'd felt the exact same. He was finally whole, his soul was complete, and he was never letting her go again. And for the next five hours, they hadn't gone longer than three seconds without touching each other. Literally. So when Jayne finally had to leave him to go to the restroom, neither of them had handled it well.
Which just went to show how badly this whole miserable ordeal had affected them, especially because that should have been amusing instead of the near-trauma it turned into (he'd actually been reduced to waiting for her at the restroom door and when she came out, she'd hugged him instead of snarking at him, and having to get into separate cars for the drive back had been agony. They'd spent the entire trip on the phone, even after he got to his flat, talking nonsense just to have that connection, until she'd finally gotten to Sussex so she could finish packing up her half of the house).
Even a month later, it was still a little shocking at how happy he was just being in the same room with her.
A little shocking and a lot unnerving, because he didn't understand why the feeling was so intense now.
Wait. She'd finally responded to his question.
"Better Together," he repeated, amused when she blinked at him before visibly rerunning his words through her mind. When her mouth opened on a silent 'O', he could no longer contain his snort of laughter.
"Earth to Jayne!" he teased, laughing again when she gave him a glare that held more than a little chagrin.
"Oh, shut up," she groused with no heat, blushing when he just chortled at her discomfiture before throwing himself into his recliner.
"You know, you're going to break it doing that," she informed him, looking positively cheerful all of a sudden. "And I hope I'm here when you do."
With his luck, she would be. And would she help him? No. No, she wouldn't. She'd be too busy laughing at him and taking pictures to make sure he'd never forget it (and post on Twitter to make sure their fans never forgot it either).
Eh. It was something to look forward to.
"And yes, I like the song," she added, seating herself in the left corner of his settee and stretching her legs out. "I have a lift I really want to try and I think it'll go perfectly."
Intrigued, he tilted his head, only to get an enigmatic smile.
"Not yet," she scolded him affectionately. "We'll have to work out what you've already drawn up first; how are you still so impatient after thirty-seven years?" she asked with loving exasperation, making Chris grin in utter delight.
This was his Jayne.
"The same reason you're still so methodical," he replied, arching an eyebrow when she opened her mouth to protest, clearly registered what he'd said, and closed it with a snap, silently acknowledging his point. Then they sat there in a slightly-awkward silence until Chris couldn't stand it anymore.
"Ja—"
"Nick and I are dating," she said in a rush, blushing so furiously that her whole face went red.
He blinked and her blush somehow deepened, spreading to her neck. But she didn't say anything else, for which he was grateful.
Well, hallelujah. She'd finally told him.
And he was happy for her. Nick was a good man, and they would make a fantastic couple.
That little twinge of irritation was just him being protective. After Phil . . . well, it was only too understandable that he'd be wary of any potential romantic partner, especially this soon.
But he didn't — he wasn't — he couldn't — oh, fine. He was feeling proprietary as well. Jayne was his, dammit, and he hated sharing her, even with someone as nice and respectable as Nick. However, sanity prevailed and he said none of this, because he didn't want to die by way of a petite, infuriated woman who knew him better than he knew himself and would therefore make his death as excruciating — not to mention imaginative — as possible.
And no, he was not being figurative. For her entire life, people had assumed that because Jayne was quiet, she had no fire. Those people were morons, but it was what they thought. Bolero, anyone? Or, hell, History of Love. And Song of India and the tango they'd danced a couple of years ago and . . . yeah. No, lack of fire was not a problem Jayne Torvill had, which was yet another reason they were the perfect partnership. And another reason he detested sharing her. But he didn't like sharing himself, either, not really.
For more than half his life, his fire, his drive, his passion, had been given to Jayne first. He loved skating, yes, but without her, that's all it was: a love of skating. He needed her to give his love focus and direction and mastery. And she needed him to summon her passion to the surface and make sure she gave him — gave them — every last drop of it so they could weave their spell around the audience and immerse them in the love Chris and Jayne had for the dance.
So the thought of her sharing that passion with someone else . . .
Chris was self-aware enough to know most of this was jealousy, so he would keep his mouth shut and just watch; if he saw something that he legitimately didn't like, he'd speak up, but only if. He'd gotten a brutal, ugly look at the damage keeping quiet about Phil had caused and he wasn't about to let that happen again. But Jayne wasn't stupid and for the same reason, she wasn't going to trap herself into another toxic relationship.
So. Casual observer was the word of the day.
But in the meantime . . .
"Good," he told her, holding out his hand and smiling when she took it and tugged, silently asking him to come to her. He did so without thought, sliding out of the chair to kneel on the floor in front of her. "I'm glad," he continued, mostly meaning it, and determinedly ignoring that little twinge of 'mine'. "He's a good man. And if I'm wrong, I won't feel nearly as bad if I need to kill him."
"Chris!" she snapped, torn between outrage and laughter. He was deadly serious, she knew, but he'd also said it just to make her laugh. Which it did; she tried, she really did, but she was unable to hold back a spate of giggles.
"What?" he asked, looking so innocent that his eyes were watering from the effort.
Idiot man.
Oh, she'd missed him. So, so much. And it had been so long since they'd been able to just . . . relax together, tease each other, that this almost felt like the first time they'd done it. Plus, she'd gotten used to confiding in Nick for the last few months, and now it was turning out to be surprisingly difficult, getting back in step with Chris. But they were finding their rhythm again — astonishingly, frustratingly, slowly, yes, but they were getting there. And this was his way of letting her know that she had his complete support, when and however she needed it. He wouldn't interfere if she didn't ask him to . . . unless and until he felt it really was necessary. Phil had taught them both some harsh lessons, but they had learned them well. So Chris would support her like he always did, just with the caveat that he had the right to speak up if he thought something was wrong.
And she was finally giving him that privilege with the trust and assurance that he wouldn't abuse it.
Okay, that was enough of the heavy, semi-depressing thoughts. She had an ego to puncture.
"If that becomes necessary, I'll do it," she shot back, eyes dancing with humor as she observed his genuinely shocked expression. "I'll let you hold my purse. And, you know, give me an alibi."
He went still at that, giving her a probing look.
"I . . . see you've thought this out," he finally observed, his voice dry but holding humor, and she broke, laughing.
"Of course," she said around a giggle. "Might as well get it out of the way."
"Uh-huh," he said a touch laconically, giving her a pointed look and making her giggle again, before turning serious and fixing her with an unwavering gaze.
"Are you happy, Jayne?" he asked quietly but with the intensity he reserved solely for her. "Honestly?"
She thought that over; the short answer was 'yes' but since they'd only been together for a week, well . . . oh. She should tell him that.
"Well, we've only been together a week, so it's a bit early to tell," she replied, biting her lip as she watched him take that in, relieved beyond words when he just nodded and sat back on his heels. "But yes; so far, it's been — it's been good. Really good."
She didn't mention the fact that despite the relationship being so new, the overwhelming passion she'd expected had yet to materialize. She loved cuddling with Nick and he was a fantastic kisser, but there still wasn't any . . . well, there still wasn't any heat. That night on tour had been more passionate. But she suspected the lack was because she was extremely hesitant, cautious even, about letting herself get in that deep, so she had hope that it would build with time.
And while Chris had held and comforted her through more than a few bouts of cramps, she wasn't about to share the intimate details of her love life with him. He knew enough about her as it was, thank you.
"Okay," he said with a nod, jarring her out of her thoughts, and she gave him a brilliant smile, one that he returned with interest. Then they sat there, smiling at each other rather goofily just because they could, for a good two minutes before his knee popped and he hit the floor with a bitten-off curse that made her laugh; as a rule, he rarely swore around her and when he did, he tried to keep it 'clean', which frequently resulted in some hilarious words. And this one was new; she'd never heard 'gravy boat' used for such nefarious purposes.
"Shut up," he grumbled, pushing himself to his feet and giving her a disgruntled look. She countered with the same innocent look he'd used earlier, only she was better at it, and he blushed, mumbling an apology as he looked away and almost making her burst out laughing; he was such a little boy sometimes.
And it was adorable.
"Oh, come here," she cajoled after getting her amusement under control, deciding he'd been tormented enough for the day. He obeyed, sinking down on the settee and curling up against her, resting his head on her shoulder and murmuring appreciatively when she started to stroke his hair. He enjoyed being petted more than anyone she'd ever known — and that included the dogs.
"I am happy, Chris," she whispered after a minute, her words gently breaking their comfortable silence. "Phil's gone, my kids are happy, I have you back . . . life is great."
He took careful notice of the fact that her new boyfriend wasn't listed among the reasons life was good, but made no comment. As she'd said, it was early days. And Phil had left a much deeper scar than he'd first imagined; as difficult as things had been with Jill, she had genuinely loved him. He hadn't suffered the cold, callous, deliberate cruelty that Jayne had been forced to endure.
Out of the blue, he suddenly remembered what he'd told John Hennessey so many years ago: to hurt Jayne was to hurt him and Phil had hurt her beyond imagining, something that had spilled over to Chris because he hadn't kept her safe, and that was his primary purpose in life. That had been devastating enough, but being unable to protect her from any of what came after, much less avenge her, had been a million times worse, made even more unbearable by their forced — but ultimately unnecessary — separation. In a lot of ways, the four months it had taken to end her marriage and reclaim her freedom had been worse than those eight miserable years of their retirement.
Chris would be the first to admit that his protective instincts were now in serious overdrive, something he had not the slightest desire to change. Or even tone down.
So yes, he was going to wholeheartedly encourage her caution and slow speed with this new relationship.
And as much as he liked Nick, if he hurt Jayne in any way, there were all sorts of interesting things one could do with an ice skate; he also toyed with the idea of giving him a shovel talk before ultimately deciding against it. For one, there really wasn't a legitimate need for one; the man wasn't remotely stupid, after all, and he was well-aware of how deeply Chris felt about his partner. Second, he wasn't Jayne's father, and he sure as hell wasn't her brother.
(the thought actually made him queasy, though he couldn't say why)
And third, if it did become an issue, as Jayne had already said, she'd handle it. He'd be there for support, clean-up, an alibi . . . whatever she needed.
So he shifted a little until he was flat on his back, his head in her lap, and their eyes met. For first time in months, they were able to sink back into their unique method of communicating when talking just didn't cut it, and they both relished it, wordlessly sharing everything they couldn't put into words.
And as dusk fell, bathing them in soft, gentle warmth, Christopher Dean finally began to heal.
