Broken Records by Bree Bennett
Chapter 30
Lucy realized how out of it Jack really was when the snakes came out.
The first guest on Jerry Manning’s nighttime talk show was a zoologist with the Bronx Zoo. He brought several animals for the audience to fawn over and for Jerry to use as a comedic foil. Jack was on stage to interact with the animals, adding that celebrity color that viewers loved. He smiled and followed the zoologist’s cues—patting a toucan on his hollow-sounding beak, scratching an adorable baby ocelot behind the ear—but when the ball python was brought on stage by its handler, the only sign of Jack’s discomfort was the slight shifting of his hips in his chair. He petted the snake with eyes as dull as the reptile’s own.
When the zoologist’s section was over, the show cut to a commercial break while Jack, Lainey, Hasan, and Maya situated themselves on stage. Jerry introduced them, and they broke into “The Ballad of Mad Jack.”
And, of course, it sounded fantastic, and of course, the audience loved it. Jack flirted with the camera while strumming the guitar, and the atmosphere was charged with the ionic pleasure only found around a stellar performance. The stage was his domain, his kingdom, and he ruled it with an iron fist clutched around the neck of an electric guitar.
Afterward, he rambled toward the main stage, waving and aiming finger guns at the crowd. Parker had found a single seat for Lucy in the very last row, so she doubted Jack saw her, especially with the harsh lighting pointed at the stage.
After charming the audience, Jack settled into a stiff-looking armchair next to Jerry Manning’s desk, his long legs sprawled out as if he were just lounging on the sofa in their living room instead of in front of a studio of captivated viewers. His guitar was laid across his lap, and he plucked at it absentmindedly.
“So, Jack, glad to have you back on the show after all these years.” The bespectacled host gave him an exaggerated look of disapproval. “You’re not planning on running off mid-interview like last time, are you?”
“No,” said Jack with an amiable chuckle. “My running days are over. I’m not even wearing the right footwear.” He kicked up a leg like a Rockette to show off his scuffed leather boots, and the audience laughed.
“So it seems. You’ve had quite the past few months. A new wife, a new album, and a new single that’s defying convention.”
“Yeah, the new song, it’s sort of a—” Jack tipped his head, “—a sea shanty, I guess? But kinda glam rock. Let’s go with a glanty. I like that.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s very popular. And you’ve got some more news, don’t you?”
“I do.” He took the smallest of breaths, and his false confidence faltered for a millisecond. “At the end of the month, tickets will go on sale for the tour. My farewell tour.”
Low gasps punctuated the studio as audience members reacted to this news. Lucy’s inhale was so sudden that she started coughing. Jack’s head perked up, and he squinted at the audience, but by the time she got her hacking under control, he had lost interest again.
What the hell was he doing?
“So you’re really retiring from music? You’re so young.” Jerry rested his head on his fist, studying Jack with a perfectly sculpted, thoughtful expression.
“Jerry, look at this hair.” He leaned over and hung his curls over the host’s desk. “I’ve got more salt and pepper than a potato chip factory.” He sat back up, shaking his hair back into place. “Besides, I’ve always enjoyed the songwriting aspect much more, so I’d like to put more of my focus on that.” He switched keys on his guitar, strumming a few chords that sounded vaguely familiar.
“And what about your new wife? How does she feel about all of this?”
His new wife is not amused,thought Lucy, her hand clasped over her mouth as she shook her head over and over.
“She’s very supportive of me, no matter what I do,” said Jack. “As long as I stay away from the Royal Family and woodland creatures.”
“Your engagement and marriage was a bit of a whirlwind, wasn’t it?” asked Jerry after the audience’s laughter died down.
“Yes, well, when you know, you know. I met Lucy, and I just had to, you know—” he stopped and looked straight in the camera as if imparting some secret message. “I had to woo her.”
Lucy’s mouth went dry as the Sahara in summer.
“Woo her, huh? Well, she definitely has charmed your fans on social media. Your Instagram account is extremely entertaining.” They displayed a photo on the screen, one that Parker had taken of them posing by the Christmas tree at Jack’s party, holding an ornament that said, “Just Married.” He had snapped the photo before they were ready, and instead of the cheesy grins they had prepared, they gazed at each other with something that looked a whole lot like love.
His fingers repeated the same chords, and suddenly, Lucy recognized it, a simple picked melody that was clean and fresh and sounded like summer.
“Neil fucking Diamond,” she whispered.
Jerry continued, gesturing at the photo. “So, how did you two meet?”
“Well, Jerry, what you’ve first got to understand is that Lucy is an expert at rock history. It’s awesome, like she’s got the whole Rock and Roll Hall of Fame up there in her head.”
“So she knows which of your albums to listen to and which ones not to?” Jerry winked at the camera. The audience tittered and Jack laughed right along with them, a sheepish grin spreading across his lips.
“That and more. You can name a line from a Marvin Gaye song, and she’ll tell you the song, the album, the year it was recorded. She can recite the Billboard hits of Gloria Gaynor and the dates of every Beatles television appearance. It’s her special gift, her passion. So, of course, we met at a record store. I was going through the albums, minding my own business, and I picked up one, and I hear—”
“You don’t want that one.” Lucy’s voice shook, and before she could stop herself, she rose to her feet. Jack turned his head, one mischievous curl tumbling down his forehead. Her heart leaped as he craned his neck, and through the lights and the noise and the crowd, their eyes locked. His throat bobbed, and then he stood, taking a few jolting steps forward.
“Oh no, he’s running again,” Jerry said, but his voice sounded distant, far away from that beautiful snow globe world that belonged to just Jack and Lucy.
He dashed off the stage, nearly tripping on a camera’s power cords before vaulting over them with a clumsy leap. He strode up the stairs two at a time, through the bewildered audience, and then he was right in front of her, launching himself at her before a single word fell from her trembling lips.
“There you are.” He clutched Lucy to his chest, holding her in his shaking arms, his face buried in the crook of her neck. His rapid breath warmed the drumming pulse point at her throat.
“Here I am.” She tangled her fingers through his dark curls as he nuzzled her shoulder, rocking her back and forth. She pressed a kiss to his hair, and he tilted his head upward, bringing their foreheads together.
“You came back.”
“I came back.” She gazed at his brown eyes and dark lashes and everything was beautiful brown black brown black brown. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “You’re still on television, you know.”
“I don’t care.” His lovestruck eyes shone as he bellowed to the stage. “Hey, Jerry, how much time do we have?”
The host sighed with a browbeaten expression, but he played along. “You’re on for another forty-five seconds, Jack.”
“Got it!”
A portly cameraman pointed a handheld camera into their faces, and Jack gestured into it. “World, this is my wife, Lucy. Say hi to the world, Lucy.”
“Hi, world.” Her face heated and she suppressed a nervous hiccup. Instinct told her to hide her face in Jack’s shoulder, but she stood strong and waved at the millions of people that would watch this when it aired later.
Jack’s rough hands cupped her cheeks, and his eyes glowed with such utter adoration that her throat tightened, and she had to press her lips together because she couldn’t really cry on national television, could she?
“She’s my best friend and the absolute love of my life.”
Apparently, Lucy could cry on national television. The first of several tears slid down her cheeks as Jack swept a tendril of her hair away, his gaze intent and full of so many promises. He didn’t even look at the stage when he called out again.
“How much time do we have, Jerry?”
“Ten seconds.”
Jack raised an eyebrow and said the two words that caused every producer in the room to thank the heavens for delayed recordings. “Fuck it.”
He kissed Lucy, slanting his mouth over hers, soft and pure and possessive. His hands shuddered against her cheek, and really, she agreed with him because fuck it. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her heart revving like a race car as the audience broke into applause and cheers. Jack drew away with a crooked grin, fiddled with his collar, and tossed his wireless mic to the floor. He reached under her legs and hoisted her into his arms like a newlywed, heading for the exit as Jerry attempted to bring sanity back to the broadcast.
“Well…that was Jack Hunter and his wife Lucy, and we’ll be right back with our special guest, John Stamos.”
“Don’t even think about it, Cottontail,” he said when Lucy looked hopefully back at the soundstage. He plowed through the double doors and didn’t put her down until he found a private nook at the end of an empty hallway. He ran his hands up and down her face and arms and sides, over and over, as if he expected her to vanish without his touch.
“You’re here, you’re here.” Lips replaced wandering hands, and Jack trailed kisses up and down her temple, her cheekbones, her jawline, edging her backward until she bumped against the wall. His hands cupped around the swell of her hips.
She felt safe. She felt loved.
“Matteo and Parker staged a convincing intervention,” Lucy said.
His thumb brushed her arm, circling and tracing her wrist bones. “I know you needed to be there. And I would have waited for you as long as it took. But good God, I missed you.”
“What are you doing, Jack?” she said. “You can’t retire. Everything is going according to plan now. Everyone loves you again.”
“For now they do,” he said, his mouth a firm, pale line. “For now, I’ve got a hit song and a happy marriage and a good reputation. For now, I’m the most goddamned perfect Oreo in the world.”
Lucy studied his face, saw the utter exhaustion there, and at last, she understood. She leaned forward and kissed the worry lines at the edge of his eyes.
“No more watching where you step,” she whispered. “No more looking behind your back. No more pretending to be someone you’re not. No more Jack Hunter.”
He didn’t hug her. He didn’t kiss her. He simply exhaled, and yet in that one single, stuttered breath, Lucy felt the weight of everything that she was to him and everything that she would be.
“I’m still going on tour, Cottontail,” he said, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “One last tour and then it’s all over. I won’t ask you to come with me. We both know you’ll be miserable. And it’s going to be a long time before we’re together every day. But if you wait for me, I promise, I’ll spend every day making you so happy. We’ll listen to music, and go to the diner for cookies, and I’ll take you to Central Park and laugh at your incredibly awful jokes, and I’ll annoy you while we watch television, and I’ll take you to bed and possibly annoy you there, too, and—”
“Shh.” She placed a soothing finger on his lips. “I’ll wait. I’m not going anywhere.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you. I love you so much that I thought I was going to die when you weren’t here. I love you so much that I might just die anyway because there’s no way one person can hold all this love in without exploding, and then pieces of love shrapnel will fly everywhere.”
“Love shrapnel?”
“Hush, woman, I’m working on the fly here.” He tipped her head up, his gaze burning with intent. “I need you in my life, in my bed, in my house, because if you’re not there, it’s not home. Please be my home.”
Lucy took his hand in hers, tracing the guitar string in his ring, the half-moon scar across his knuckle. “I love you too. I think I’ve loved you since the first time you proposed to me. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
“Wait for me?”
“I will.” Her fingers fluttered against his palm—pinky, ring, middle, index. Repeat. “But for now, let’s go home.”