130: One More Night

While cramming socks into his duffel, Jon covertly watched her move with efficiency through the suite, packing her suitcase and sorting souvenir bags without so much as a glance in his direction.  Ever since she’d warned him about owing her more than an inane thanks for the horse ride, the counselor had been under radio silence and it was starting to make him edgy.

Although, to be fair, he’d been edgy from the instant she’d uttered the news of Owen’s death.  In those early moments, when she’d been seemingly crippled with devastation, edgy was like calling King Kong a chimp; it didn’t even begin to describe his feelings.  Panic-stricken was closer to the cold, hard truth. 

He’d held her steady while a sickening fear coursed through his veins like poison.  That was partly due to the psychological impact of being responsible for loss of life when he’d had no idea it was coming, but it was worse realizing that he may have misjudged her.   With Chiara shaking like a leaf in his arms, Jon agonized that he hadn’t known best this time around, and that what he thought would provide much-needed relief had actually caused more grief. 

When she told him it was relief…  Well, that’s when he really fucked up. 

Pulling a tight frown as he threw his book on top of the clothes inside the bag, Jon kicked himself in the ass for the hundredth time in the last half-hour. 

From the first time the counselor told him she’d never remarry, he’d known he could work his way around it if he wanted to – but that it would take time and planning.  Circumstances would have to be just so, and she would have to feel completely safe and unthreatened. 

So what did he do? 

Leapt on her and blurted it out at the worst possible time, because he was desperate for more tangible proof that she wasn’t shattered by Owen’s death.  The terror that flooded teary eyes and drained her face of blood made his fear look like a hangnail next to a full-arm amputation – exactly the reaction he would’ve fucking expected if he’d stopped to think for one goddamn minute. 

With him barking out the words like a command instead of an invitation…  The whole scenario was as far from safe and unthreatened as it could get.

You’re a fucking idiot.

Zipping up his bag with unnecessary force, Jon reached the end of his patience with the silence and skirted around the end of the bed.  Crossing the short distance to the bathroom, he silently loomed in the doorway to watch her gather makeup and toiletries while contemplating his approach. 

The zippers on her two makeup bags were treated just as cruelly as the one on his duffel before she tucked them into her arm and looked up to find him blocking the exit.  Impatient eyes ordered him to get the hell out of the way, but her lips didn’t follow suit.  She only frowned up at him. 

“I didn’t think you were capable of the silent treatment.”

“You’re the one who needs to talk, not me.  I already apologized.”  Wedging an elbow between him and the door, she sidled out to dump the cosmetic pouches in her suitcase and drop the lid on it. 

Swallowing a sigh, Jon remained where he was but turned to track her movements.  She was right to be annoyed with him.  Hell, he was still annoyed with himself.  “I’m sorry.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.”  A sharp flick of the wrist committed a final act of zipper abuse as she sealed her luggage.  “Are you ready to go?”

“No.” 

He owed her more than a couple of apologetic words, as evidenced by her sarcastic receipt of them, but did he dare offer what was on his mind?  Would she throw it back in his face? 

Oh, what the hell.  She was already ticked, so presenting his earlier idea wasn’t going to make it worse. 

He approached from behind to slowly band an arm at her waist while the opposite hand slipped under her Cinderella tee.  Jon’s pinky grazed the subtle indentation of her navel, and he dropped his head to murmur, “I was thinking we might stay another night.  Would you like that?”

“Why?”

“I want to see you smile again.”

The breath that she exhaled seemed too big for her body as the counselor twisted in his embrace, and her pupils dilated with criticism.  “More accurately, you want me to get over being angry with you.  Well, guess what?  I’m not angry, nor do I want to be, which means fucking me won’t have the edge you like.  So I don’t see the point in staying.”   

Ouch. 

She didn’t just throw his conciliatory gesture back at, she shot it from a fucking cannon right into the center of his chest.  The question now was whether he was going to let it land in a lump at his feet and step over it on his way to the airport, or dust it off and offer again?

I am the fighter…

Using only the very ends of his fingers, Jon dusted her cheek and willed those wide pupils to fill with a puddle of softened chocolate.  He studied them for a sign of Chiara – or Charlie.  Anyone but the counselor.

“It’s not the edge I care about, it’s you.”  Fingertips trickled down the side of her face to trace the silky underside of her jaw.  “C’mon.  Let me make things right.”

“Jon…”  Both eyes squeezed shut, and she shook her head before opening them again.  “I swear to God… one of these days, it would be nice to hear the sweet words because you mean them; not because you want to get your way.”

“I do mean them.”

“Maybe you do, but you’re an opportunist and-“

Jon sandwiched her face in his palms and slanted frustrated lips over hers, squelching the debate and prompting a short struggle before she relaxed enough for him to take the kiss deeper.  He used the opportunity as an outlet for frustration and fear as well as feeding her a taste of his soul.  She might not listen to his words, but she’d goddamn well accept this as proof of what he meant.

No, he might not always put voice to those softer emotions without the help of a guitar, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have them.  They lived and breathed inside him just like they did anybody else.  The difference between him and the rest of the world was that he’d openly offered those emotions to only one person in his life – and she filed for divorce six months ago. 

Turning them loose again, to a woman who was free to walk out the door at any moment and never look back…  It was going to take time before he trusted her not to do that.

Gently withdrawing to find doe eyes blinking up at him, he tenderly thumbed away the erotic sheen from her bottom lip before dropping a final, chaste kiss there.

“I love you.” His quiet declaration broke the silence as Jon continued to lazily decorate her face with his fingerprints.  “Those are the three most over-used words in the English language.  People have mindlessly repeated them over and over in every situation until they've lost importance, but that’s not me, Chiara.  Maybe I don’t say all the shit you want to hear, but what I do say, I fucking mean.  Got it?”

Mahogany waves bobbed in their ponytail, along with her head.

“Then stay another night here with me, knowing I really do want to see you smile – and forgive me.  That’s all.  No edgy sex required.”

Thoughtful eyes studied him as she considered, but his girl didn't leap at the opportunity.  That simply wasn't her style.  “Why did you do it?”

The smile he’d hoped would encourage her to say yes slipped a little at the corners.  “Do what?  Bring up the dreaded ‘m’ word?”

“Yes.”

His hand fell from her face to worm restlessly into a pocket as Jon weighed his reply.  Did he reveal  his talk with Tico and implicate her after the fact?  Hell, how could he?  He didn’t even know what really happened, but it was something he should find out sooner rather than later.

“Can I defer my answer until we go to bed tonight, when I’ll be better equipped to answer the string questions that will inevitably follow?”

The ponytail swung to one side when she tipped her head to regard him through curiously narrowed eyes.  “Tell me now and I’ll defer the questions.”

Meeting those narrowed eyes, he only flinched a little when saying, “Fear.  Are we staying or not?”

Ohhhh, she wanted to ask the questions she’d promised to defer.  They were dancing all over her face as rosy lips parted and then compressed together not once, but twice as she undoubtedly searched for a legalese loophole. 

To his relief, she didn’t find one - or at least didn’t voice it.  All she said was, “I have to make some phone calls.  Daddy or Vince will have gotten wind of this, and since I turned my phone off, they’re likely going nuts.  I also need to call Lilah about keeping Nana an extra day.  And… the boys.”

“I need to make a couple of calls, too, but about the boys…” 

There had been a heartbeat of relief when she started listing the necessary tasks that would allow them to stay, but when she mentioned her sons, Jon stomach churned with acidic guilt.  Thinking of only Chiara, he had facilitated the extermination of a cockroach, but that cockroach was the father that Noah and Caleb only recently realized was a cockroach.  He wasn’t sure how they were going to react and thought it would be best to look them in the eye when breaking the news.  

“Let’s fly you out there tomorrow so you can talk to them in person.  Or we can bring them home for the weekend.”

Blinking up at him, it was another instance where she opened her mouth to speak yet closed it again before she did.  The counselor finally nodded and said, “I’d like to have them at home for a couple of days.  Thank you.”

Jon’s head bowed so that he could lingeringly press lips to her brow appreciate being half – even if it was the sometimes-stupid half – of a couple.  Without knowing that he was troubled over not being able to fix the world, she allowed him fix something in their corner of it and gave him at least some sense of accomplishment.  It was a hell of a lot better than feeling like he’d fucked everything up today.

“We’re a team.  You don’t have to thank me, just give me a pat on the ass once in a while.”