“I worked all day and all night, but from home. I could go days without actually seeing anyone, and while the relationships I had with my clients were good, I kept myself very isolated,” I said. “I, well, I put on some weight. And then some more weight, and, well, eventually—you saw my picture. I stopped dating. I didn’t allow myself to meet anyone or take a chance on anything. Holly came home to see me once, and even though she never said anything, I knew she was disappointed in me,” I said, thinking back to the sad look she had when she saw me for the first time in years.
“She’d caught herself and recovered quickly, and we went on to have a wonderful girls’ weekend. But I could still feel the awkward pain of knowing that when she thought I wasn’t looking, she was looking. She was watching, and she was worried. But I made myself forget it. I pushed it down and away and continued on with my life, such as it was.
“Jack, I was so introverted at that point—all the stuff you say you love about me? The crazy? You wouldn’t even have recognized me back then, and I don’t just mean physically.” I sniffed, the tears beginning to collect and spill over. But I wiped my nose on my sleeve, and pushed on.
“Eventually I realized leaving L.A. had been harder for me to deal with than I thought. It represented all the things I grew up wanting, but when they didn’t come easy, I quit. Holly was right: I was a quitter. And to ignore that, to push that down, I coped the only way I knew how. I just withdrew. And as the layers of protection added up, I shut down. I don’t know what I would have done or what I would have become if it wasn’t for one random night—a totally random night that my few friends dragged me out.” I sniffed again, feeling my emotions threaten to overwhelm me. But I welcomed them, as it meant I was feeling something again.”
I told him about going to see Rent and how it had reawakened something inside me. How it changed me, altered my course, reminded me of who I was, and revealed who I’d let myself become. As I talked about the power I felt, sitting in that theater, Jack’s face came alive and he nodded. He seemed to know exactly the feeling I was talking about. I explained how that night, that one night, had become the catalyst for everything in my life to change. In the following weeks and months I started counseling, began working with a trainer, and began to allow myself to dream about the life I’d always wanted again.
“And even though you might not want to hear this part, at that point I hadn’t been on a date in years—I mean years! When I started to feel better about myself, and I began to look more like myself again, I found I enjoyed being in the company of men again, and that I could experience dating in a whole new way…I might have gone a little crazy,” I added with a shy smile.
He just grinned back, and I felt lighter and lighter as I continued, explaining how I’d battled my way all the way back to L.A. and letting go of the black fear I was still cloaked in—even after all this time.
I told him our relationship had taken me by surprise, and I was unprepared for how completely he’d captured my heart and loved me, crazy and all. I told him I loved him so intensely it scared the shit out of me.
“But, Jack, as much as I’ve fixed things on the outside, there’s still a lot of work to do on the inside. That’s still very much a work in progress, and my baggage, sadly, has become your baggage. The meltdown at your premiere? That’s evidence right there. Do you know how hard it is for me to even conceptualize that you want to be with me? With everyone in the world wanting you, you want to be with me.” I shook my head in wonder. “That’s a heady thing for any woman—especially one with such big issues.”
He started to speak and reached for me, but I took his hands and asked him to bear with me just a bit longer.
Then I told him the truth about the relationship Michael and I had in college. I told him how Michael and I had been closer since I’d moved to New York, and that this had made me question what was “right” and “appropriate” and “good” for me. I told him how Keili had put me on the baby train, making me question things I thought had been decided years ago. I’d had some major tunnel vision. On the morning of the premiere—fueled by nerves and paranoia and bagel—I saw myself, in my mind’s eye, with children I didn’t even know I wanted. And rather than discuss it, or let the idea marinate a bit, I immediately dove for the opposite end of the spectrum, where the idea of Jack and I, and the idea of children, could never coexist.
“You were totally right when you said I push happiness away. You knew it before I knew it. There’s a part of me that doesn’t really believe I deserve good things,” I said. “That’s going to take some time to change. I clearly have a lot more work to do. But I never wanted anyone but you. You have to believe that. For weeks I’ve been searching for the right time to call you and beg you to take me back, to apologize for being so shortsighted and not realizing that every single solitary thing I’ve ever wanted in a man is in you.”
I’d left my seat by this point and was on my knees in front of him. The tears had begun at Rent and hadn’t stopped since.
He was perfectly silent, just taking it all in. He started to speak again, and I stopped him.
I still had one more confession to make—one that could break him. This was where he’d either stay in this with me, or decide it was too much.
“There’s something else I need to tell you. I know in my heart if we’re ever going to get past this, I need to be totally honest with you. About everything.” I took a deep breath.
Say it. Be strong. You have to tell him.
“A few weeks ago, I went out with Michael,” I said.
I looked at him. The color had drained from his face. His eyes were almost gray.
“We went out for dinner, and then came back to my place,” I continued, my throat beginning to close.
I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t not finish.
You can do this. Tell him. Come clean.
“What did you do, Grace?” he asked, his voice gruff and almost inaudible, even in the stillness of the room.
I breathed deep.
“Did you f**k him, Grace? Did you? Oh, God, you f**ked him, didn’t you?” he snarled suddenly, standing and leaving me on the floor. I scrambled after him.
“No, no, it didn’t get that far, I swear!”
He whirled toward me. “Did he kiss you?” he hissed, his face stormy.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Did he touch you?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
“Yes.”
He put his hands on me.
“Did he you touch you here?” he asked, placing his hands on my breasts.
I started to sob.
“Did he?”
I nodded. I nodded in horror at what I had done, what I’d allowed to happen.
He stared at me, and I saw the tears. He had tears.
He sat back down, head in hands.
“This is so f**ked up,” I heard him murmur, and I went to him. I was going to fight for this.
“Jack, I’m telling you because I don’t want to keep anything from you, not anymore. When I was with Michael—” I started.
His eyes closed as he winced. Without another thought, I clasped his hand. I needed to feel him, and instinctively I knew he needed my touch as well. He calmed a bit, and I continued.
“You may not want to hear this, but I need you to know. I need you to know how close I came to throwing this away, but I stopped! I stopped because I realized I don’t ever want to feel another man’s hands on me. Not ever.”
I lifted our hands between us and looked down at them. I felt his hands grasp mine more tightly.
“These are the hands I want to hold, that I want on me, and around my waist, and in my hair, and holding my boobies when I go to sleep at night,” I said fiercely, now with no tears.
Jack seemed captivated. He held one of my hands in both of his, and I raised my free hand to his face, brushing his hair from his forehead, then letting my fingertips graze his lips.
“This is the mouth I love—the only mouth I want on me,” I said, allowing myself a slight smile.
He sighed heavily, tension either beginning to leave his body, or starting to build again.
I dropped my hand to his chest and worked my way inside his jacket. I rested my palm flat against him, and I could feel the warmth through his shirt.
“This, this wonderful heart right here?” I said, tapping his chest. The side of his mouth quirked up a little. “This is the heart I need. And if I have this—and a little schmaltz—I don’t need anything else in the world,” I said, and he smiled, my smile. The smile that had changed my life months ago.
But then his face changed. The smile faded. “But what about everything that you said? What about the nine years?” he asked.
“I don’t care. Clearly you are more emotionally mature than me, so we balance out.”
“What about the fame, the cameras, the photographers? What about people finding out about us? What about the next time someone posts a picture of us and says something nasty about you?”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“Grace…”
“Jack,” I insisted.
“What about Michael? What if you decide you want to be more than friends with him again?” he asked.
“I get it. That’s a fair question. And he will likely be around—we’re working together. But know that there could not be anything other than friendship between us. I thought he was back in my life for a reason, but I know now that reason is nothing other than being a friend and the creator of the show I’m in. That’s all there is, and that’s all there ever will be. I know this, he knows this, and now you know this. I belong to you, if you’ll have me.”
I smiled, and after what seemed like an eternity, he smiled too.
“Now, screw lunch. Let’s go fix this,” I said, tugging on his hand. He finally stood, but he put his hands on my shoulders and once again pushed me away.
My heart sank. What if everything I’d said wasn’t enough?
We’ll deal with it…
I was still determined. It didn’t matter what I had to do. I was never letting this man go again.
“I need to tell you something too, Grace,” he said, sinking back into his chair. He took a deep breath.
“Tell me what?” I looked at him expectantly. My heart began to pound a funny beat, as though it knew something my brain hadn’t quite caught on to yet.
“Back in L.A, well, something happened with me too,” he said, and I knew without question what he was going to tell me. The pictures in the magazine with the blonde. He’d done what I’d done. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.
“After the movie came out and I got back in town, well, I went on a bit of a bender,” he said, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. I took my seat across the table once more, waiting to hear what he needed to tell me.
Breathe…
“I was so mad at you, Grace. So mad, and I was drinking so much and…other things were happening, and I just was out of my mind, totally out of my mind. One night, one thing led to another, and, well, I went home with someone. Totally random. It meant nothing, but…oh, God, Grace, it was awful.”
He looked at me now with tears in his eyes, and I saw once more what I’d done to him.
“I tried, Grace. I was so damn mad at you, but, Christ, I missed you, and this girl, she was so beautiful, and she smelled like coconuts, you know? She smelled like coconuts, and that reminded me of you, but they were awful coconuts—synthetic, and syrupy sweet, and not at all like my girl, and I just—I didn’t, I mean, I did things, but I didn’t…” he rambled on, so torn up inside.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t want to hear another word. I’d heard enough.
I came around the table and knelt in front of him again. I lifted his head so he’d look at me. He looked so very sad and so very young in that moment. I pressed my fingers to his lips to stop his words and leaned in. My heart was thumping wildly.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to know. Do you love me?” I asked.
“What?” he asked, his voice muffled through my fingers. He looked at me with wide eyes.
I chuckled lightly and removed my hand, cupping his cheek with my fingers. “Do you love me?” I asked again.
He was quiet for just a moment, and I couldn’t breathe. My world stopped in that instant. It could easily have been a lifetime as I waited for his answer.
“I do love you, Grace, of course I do. But—”
That was all I needed to hear.
I was on my feet and in his lap in a nanosecond. I pressed myself into his arms and kissed him square on the lips. This was my man, and I needed his mouth on mine—right now.
I pulled back to see him staring at me. “Then I don’t care what you did,” I explained. “They can cancel each other out. I don’t want to know the details. Please don’t ever tell me,” I said quickly, then forced myself on him again. This time his lips responded, and he kissed me hungrily. His hands found my h*ps and pulled me against him, pulling me home.
We kissed eagerly, passionately, and I forgot everything except his lips, the scratch of his stubble, and the feel of his hands on me. My fingers found his hair and dug in. I scratched his scalp, and he sighed into my mouth at the sensation.
I heard a scuffle, then a muffled giggle. I turned to see a few ladies from the hotel restaurant peeking in, but all but one immediately scrambled out the door. The one remaining blushed deeply.
“We just came to see if you were ready for your lunch, Mr. Hamilton,” she stammered, clearly feeling his star power.