Chapter 23

ABBY

When Jack asked me to be his model, I wanted to say yes, but I felt shy about other people seeing it. From the look on his face, I knew how much it meant to him. There's something about the way Jack works that makes it too appealing to resist. Last time I was his model, it tempted me beyond comprehension. While other models were all lines and curves, shadow and light - I wasn't.

I walk over to Jack and look into the large tubs of paint. "That is a lot of paint. Why do you need so much?"

He grins at me. "Because I have no idea how to do what I see in my mind. It has texture this time. I'm not sure if I want to use the paint or plaster to build up the texture." His glittering blue eyes return to the vat. He pours in more blue and mixes it by hand with a yardstick. The blue swirls in and disappears into the rich violet.

"Won't plaster crack?"

Jack looks up at me. "Probably, but I..." Jack's voice trails off as he gets a far-off look in his eyes. At the same time his mouth opens and I know he sees it. Jack grabs my hands and squeezes. "I know what I'm going to do. Go change."

"What? Now?" I squeak. Gus is still around. So is the new office girl. He's been showing her around. Linda didn't want to come back after everything that happened last year. She said she was way too old for that kind of drama, and I couldn't blame her.

"Yes." Jack laughed. "I'll shut the doors, Little Miss Prude."

"I am not a prude. I just don't want everyone watching, that's all. It's different." I stand there, stubbornly expressing that I'm right. My arms fold across my chest and I throw out my hip. Apparently I'm pouting a little bit, too, because when Jack walks over to me, I expect him to say something, but he doesn't. He just waltzes right up to me and nips my lip. I gasp and step back, startled.

"Prude's the right word. It's okay, Abby. I know you have a dirty streak when the time is right. It's like I married a sexy librarian." Jack grins at me and turns back to the paint. He lifts a container of white and mixes it in.

I want to huff more. My...I don't know what...is wounded. I don't really know how to react to being called not sexy and sexy in the same sentence. I finally say, "I don't get it."

"Get what?" Jack turns and looks at me. There's a playful look in his eye. I swallow hard, thinking that I'm going to regret this.

"The whole sexy thing."

He laughs so hard that I have to look away. Jack realizes his mistake and rushes at me. He grabs my arms and turns me toward him. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect that question, at all. It's the kind of thing kids ask, the kind of insecurity high school girls have." My eyes drift from his and I shrug, feeling stupid. He takes my chin and forces me to meet his gaze. "You are sexy in a completely understated way, which is the best way. You're beautiful, you're confident, you know who you are. Add in that sense of humor and your bedroom brain and, oh my God, I couldn't have dreamed up a sexier woman."

My heart flutters as he says it. I must have a funny look on my face, like I don't believe him, because he doesn't stop. "This curve here," he says, dropping his hand down to my waist and sliding it over my hip, cupping my butt, "this one is my favorite. It's full and soft. And this one right here," he continues, taking his finger and running it over my shoulder and down my chest. He presses lighting as he passes over my breast, grazing the tip of my nipple and continuing down to my waist. "This one is completely sinful. When you were wearing that red thing and the jewelry," Jack lets out a jagged breath, "I couldn't take my eyes off of you. I love this part." He sweeps his fingers under my breasts, making my body react. Butterflies erupt inside of me. "Just talking about you like this makes me want to strip you and show you how sexy you are." He watches me for a moment and smiles. He takes a stray curl and tucks it behind my ear. "You have no idea what you do to me, how incredibly breathtaking you are." His eyes search mine. After a moment, he adds, "That's what makes you so undeniably sexy. And you're all mine."

"Jack," I say, and bury my face in his shoulder as he hugs me. A million thoughts rush through my mind. He really thinks I'm beautiful.

Jack pulls away and asks, "What about me? I've heard the ladies say that I have a nice ass." He turns and looks at it, which makes me giggle. "I don't really see what all the fuss is about."

I wrap my arms around his neck and look up into his face. Stubble lines his jaw, like always. Jack has this pristine messy look about him, like he was made for sex. His hair is always just a little messy, his sneakers are always covered in paint, and all the muscles in his chest and arms are so well defined that I want to lick them.

"You know how hot you are," I tease.

"Do I?" he asks, winking at me.

"Yes. Jack Gray has always turned heads. The entire time I've known you, it's been like that. It was Jack and his lackluster sidekick, Abby. I felt like a ragdoll next to you."

"You feel like a goddess under me." Jack grins wickedly at me and winks. The pit of my stomach falls as a broad smile stretches across my face. He turns me away from him and smacks my butt with his hand. "Go change, Mrs. Gray."

"What should I wear?"

"Nothing at all."

I walk away from Jack feeling happy. I hear Gus and the new girl enter the room. They speak with Jack as I change in the bathroom in the back. When they leave, I walk out in a robe. The back blinds are open. I pad to the back of the room and close them, making it darker, and flip on more lights.

Jack walks up behind me and tugs my robe. "This is totally in the way." He starts to untie the belt and push the shoulders back, but I hold onto it. Jack dips his head and presses his lips to my neck.

"Jack, what if they come back?" I ask, glancing at the door.

"I told them not to bother us. And I told Gus that if he comes back for any reason what so ever, that I'll punch him in the face and ask questions later. No one will bother us." Jack slips his fingers under the robe and it slips off and puddles around my ankles. "I'd like to tell you what I'm going to do."

I nod, feeling very naked. He takes my hand and leads me towards several large canvases rolled out on the floor. Pointing, he says, "I want to do what I usually do and make a stamp on that one. It'll be the backup in case what I want to do doesn't work. Then on this one, I want to make the real one." He's breathing hard as he looks me in the eye. "I want to paint a painting on you, then paint you onto the canvas, shoot it, and make a composite. The finished product will be part painting, part photograph."

I tense. "Jack, I thought - "

He cuts me off. "I know, but this way works so much better and it keeps you from having to pose over and over again. I knew I wanted to paint something on you, I just didn't know what I wanted to do or how I was going to pull it together." He smiles softly at me, pushing back my hair from my shoulder and says, "I see the worry in your eyes. Remember, this can be for us. We don't have to sell it. Do this for me, and then I'll let you decide what we do with it."

I nod. Nerves render me silent. The idea of a naked photograph of me freaks me out. Those images Jack took of me before we were married flash through my mind. Since I have no idea what he plans to paint, I just have to trust him. Jack pulls out a stool and I sit down. He starts to paint me with a translucent white hue. It makes my skin look like snow. Every inch of me is painted with that layer first. As Jack runs the brush over my body, I try to ignore how sensual this feels, but I can't. When Jack finishes the base coat, he looks at me and smiles.

"It is so hard to stand here with you and not throw you to the floor and have my way with you. Talk about something while I work. Tell me a secret that nobody knows." Jack goes back to his paints, this time sloshing huge amounts of violet, blue, and white across my hips. The paint is so cold, but I don't move. His question sent a memory surging forward.

"A secret that nobody knows..." I breathe hard, lost in the memory. "Do you remember our prom?" Jack nods. "I had a cut on my cheek that night. When you pulled me into the corner and asked who did it, you were on the right track. It scared me to death. I made it through eighteen years without a single person noticing but you."

Jack's brush stills as he looks up at me. My eyes sting. I blink, clearing the memory away. "Abby," he breathes, with so much concern in his voice that it kills me.

"Keep painting. I can't talk about this with you looking at me like that." Jack's eyes hold mine for a moment, but he nods and continues painting.

"I bought my dress a few weeks before. I'd gone shopping with Kate and paid for it myself." I smile thinking about it. Kate picked up the sluts-r-us dress and I picked up something more classic. It was a strapless sapphire blue gown with a long flowing skirt. "I was so happy that afternoon when I was getting ready. Kate and I got our hair done. My mother came with us and fussed over both of us. Kate's mom was overly critical and Kate didn't want her around. Anyway, after we dropped Kate off, Mom took me home to finish getting ready." My voice grows quieter as I speak, the memory becoming more vivid, choking me. I blink and clear my throat, forcing a smile. I look down at Jack, but he doesn't look up. He continues to paint swirls of color across my body. He's working his way up my torso with splashes of green.

"Go on," he says, his voice tight. The grip he has on the brush is so tight that I think it might snap.

"Well, Daddy and Mom had dinner without me while I put on my make-up. When I came out of my room, my mother beamed at me, but my dad - he looked angry. I was so proud of myself up until that moment. I thought I looked beautiful. I thought..." My voice cracks. I swallow hard and continue. "We fought. Mom did nothing. She just stood there and watched. The cut on my face and the bruise was from him. He told me that I looked like a slut and forbade me to leave. I tried to leave anyway. He caught my arm as I ran out of the house. His fist just missed my eye. His wedding ring did that to my face. It was like getting hit with a crow bar." My fingers touch the spot. The memory still burns inside of me. "He was drunk, although he'd never admit it. Things like that happened when he was like that. That's the reason why I never touched the stuff. It was a promise I made to myself when I was a kid." I breathe in deeply.

Jack stills. I know he wants to stop, but if he does, I'll burst into tears. "Keep painting, Jack. There's more to the story." His brush goes back to work. His eyes move across my body, painting just below my breasts. "Up until then, I thought I was totally alone, that no one knew - no one cared. Then this guy who wasn't even my date, pulled me into a dark corner and pinned me to the wall, demanding to know the name of the ass that bashed my face in. You thought you could save me, even then."

"I would have," he says, his voice too tight. "I didn't realize it until then. I thought your date hit you."

"It would have been better if he did. At least I could have gotten away from him." I pause for a second and say, "I'm glad we shared so much time together. I wish I'd told you back then. It would have made things easier."

"Abby, I had no idea," he says, looking up into my eyes. There's such remorse on his face that I want to cry with him.

"Of course not. I hid it. I did what my mother told me to do. Look the other way. Pretend it's not happening. My dad was a 'good man,' besides that. She didn't want to ruin him because he had a temper. Sometimes I just wished she would have tried to protect me. She didn't lift a finger. She never said a word." My eyes take on a vacant stare. "She died because of it. Ignoring things doesn't work. Maybe that's why I confront everything. Maybe it's reactionary, but I can't help it. I fix what I can. I try to live a good life. Sometimes I mess up. Other times," I say, shrugging, "I get lucky." I smile sadly at Jack. He's stopped painting and stands and looks at me.

Jack lifts his hands. They hover next to my cheeks, like he wants to hold me. He laughs bitterly. "I can't touch now."

"It's all right, Jack. I never thought I'd tell anyone that. There isn't really a point anymore. He's dead. I'm not. There's a hollow place inside of me that's almost relieved that he's gone. I'm a horrible person for feeling that way, but I can't help it."

Jack's fingers twitch by my face. He presses his hands to the sides of my head and pulls me to his lips. He kisses me gently. When he breaks the kiss I feel like I can breathe again. It's like Jack has restored a part of me that had died. "You are the best person I know. You don't have to feel guilty anymore, Abby. Dads are supposed to make their daughters feel safe. He took that away from you. You have every right to feel however you feel. I wish I could have been there for you." He pauses, his eyes falling to the floor like he's remembering something. When he looks back up, I can tell he remembers. "Oh God. The bike accident? The skis? All of it was him, wasn't it?" Fear wells up inside of me. I hear my mother's voice telling me not to condemn him for one fault. I stare at Jack blankly. I've been conditioned not to answer, and even though I'm grown and my parents are both gone, I still carry the scars. "Abby," he breathes my name. His blue eyes pierce into me and tears begin to roll down my cheeks. They ruin his paint, streaking it.

He takes me in his arms and holds me, smearing paint on his clothes.

There was never a time when I dreamed that I'd tell someone that. It shames me to my core. I feel like it's my fault even though I've learned that it isn't. Jack holds me tight and I wish I'd told him sooner.

Chapter 24

JACK

As his brush slips over her skin, Jack hears Abby's voice stick inside her throat. All these years and he never knew. That night, at their prom, Jack was with some other girl. When he cornered Abby after seeing that cut on her cheek, he knew what it was because he'd had a fist to the face a few times. He remembers the way she smiled, like nothing was wrong. Abby looked him in the eye that night and swore up and down that it was something stupid - a curling iron. But her face wasn't burned. In the dark room, it was difficult to read her eyes. That was something that Jack was very proud of. He could look at Abby and know if she was telling him the truth. They finished each other's sentences. But that night, he ignored what was in front of him, and then a few weeks later, he'd fuck it up so badly that Abby would disappear for ten years.

Jack stands and looks into her eyes. He can't act like it doesn't hurt her because he knows damn well that it does. Her voice shakes as she speaks, but her tone is too level, too apathetic. When she talks about her mother, Jack can't stand it. How did he miss it? How didn't he see? All those years when the two of them were out late, why didn't it dawn on him that she didn't want to go home?

He watches her for a moment, uncertain of how to handle this information. Part of him wants to rush off and bash her father's face in, but the man is dead. When Abby says it, when she spills her confession, everything changes. There's a fragile side to her that she's kept hidden. Without a thought about his work, Jack throws his arms around her and pulls her to his chest.

Stroking the back of her head with his hands, he says soothing things in her ear. Finally, he says, "I'm sorry that I didn't see it then. I wish I could take it away."

Abby sniffles and laughs into his shoulder. "That's funny. I think the same thing about you. There's this painful look in your eyes and I have no idea why it's there. Sometimes I think it's my fault. Sometimes - "

Jack holds her tighter. "It's never your fault. None of it." It's my fault. Every bit of it. Every time I saw you and ignored those bruises. Shit. Jack curses himself. "Abby, you're my life. You're safe with me. I promise you." He pulls away and kisses the tears off her cheeks. Jack's gaze takes in the streaked paint and the glassy eyes. Jack pats the canvas and Abby sits next to him. He lays back and she follows. They both look up at the ceiling. "I was a shitty friend back then."

"No, you weren't. You were a kid. Kids aren't supposed to protect other kids from their parents. The world is fucked up, Jack. We both know that." Her voice sounds a little better. Some of the emotion is returning. She always looks out for him.

"Remember that time we cut class and went to Captree?" It was a boat basin where fishing boats docked. They took out passengers into the Sound to fish for the afternoon.

Abby snorted. "Yes. That was the stupidest thing I'd ever done  -  up until that point anyway."

Jack grins at her and takes her hand. They stare at the rafters overhead. "I didn't know you'd do that."

"I don't know how I did that." When Abby tried to hook a worm onto her fishing line, somehow the hook went through her palm. She screamed and showed him. The hook went through the meaty part of her palm. Jack remembered every bit of that day. She needed him. He got a pair of wire cutters from one of the crew and removed the hook from her hand. She holds up her palm and shows him the scar. "The mark is still there. It's my memento of my fishing trip with Jack." She laughs. "Who cuts school to go fishing?"

"Cool kids, like us. And we didn't just go fishing, we jumped on a flounder boat. Totally different. Way bad ass." He grins at her and she laughs. That sound fills him like nothing else. One moment he can feel completely dejected, but when he hears that sound - there's nothing that makes his heart soar higher or faster.

"Bad ass flounder fishers. Yeah, that sounds like us." Abby smiles at him.

Jack says, "This is horribly tactless, but you look perfect. I have to paint you."

"Now?" she asks.

"Now."

"Like this? I cried. I messed up the paint."

"It's completely perfect." He kisses her temple and jumps up. Abby lies on the canvas as Jack touches up some of the flowers painted on her chest. They dip beneath her pale breasts and vine up her sides. Jack's eyes take on that look he has when he's working.

They talk about lighter things, remembering the past and laughing about the future. Jack feels it as he's painting. Without a doubt, this will be the most devastatingly beautiful thing he's ever made.