Christmas is coming, and Jack Junior is not the only one with a wish list. The Jackal fan site, in previous years, has had a Holiday tradition of indulging five lucky fans with a Christmas wish. This year, a fan manages to contact Jack with a very special wish.
A wish that unearths a scandal Jack tried to leave in the past.
When history begins repeating itself, he finds that the past is always a part of the present. But will this particular part of his past forever change his future with one brightly wrapped present?
To complicate matters, this Holiday Season Marissa is hiding more than Christmas presents. Her complicated relationship with Jack’s sister reaches a new level of craziness. Also, simmering beneath a Christmas colored surface is a psycho situation she cannot see coming.
Jack and Marissa must pull together, and survive LA snow--and flakes!
Read an Excerpt
Do you check up on me every time I leave this house?” His fury was not something she expected or wanted to see. It seemed a sure testament to his guilt. Angrily, he snatched her phone, presumably to look at the map app history, but became further riled. “Why is your phone locked?”
“Don't turn this around on me!”
“Maybe I should be the one watching you!”
“You Jack-ass! Do not fucking turn this around on me!” In playing around with his name, Jackass was always one teasing word. But, in any enraged argument, it always left her mouth as two very distinct words.
“Unlock the fucking phone, Marissa.” His tone had lowered yet was all the more ominous—like the still that lingered in the atmosphere before the severest of storms.
“You have some nerve to come down on me when you have been sneaking around texting whoever you are texting for the last few weeks.”
“It hasn’t been a few weeks.”
“So you admit it!” His voice raised a notch.
“It is Christmas. Yes, I’ve had a few sneaky texts!”
“It’s not Christmas crap. I saw your face last night. Unlock the phone, now.”
“No!” The urge to throw something at him caused her nails to close painfully into the skin of her palm. Violent tendencies vibrated from an ugly place deep inside. Locking her look to his dark flashing gaze, she demanded, “You tell me what you were doing at Dawn Zackerman’s house!”
“This is your last chance. Un fucking lock it.”
Ignoring him, she slid the menu back into its place and slammed the drawer. The next noise, a crack, caused her already frayed nerves to jump. Her phone lay sandwiched between the floor and the heel of Jack’s boot.
“Hope you didn’t need to text tonight.” The words were frosty and flippant.
Disbelief at what she was seeing anchored her feet in place until he began to storm out of the room. Then, she rounded the island in a run.
“What the fuck, Jack? What is wrong with you, you fucking asshole?!”
Grabbing his upper arm, she used it to propel herself to his front side. Using both of his hands, he set her out of his way. Furious, she resumed her pace to catch up with him, but he reached his studio and locked himself in.
The echo of the door in the long hall snapped her toiling emotions. Beating her fists on the solid wood so hard that tears pooled her eyes, she repeatedly called him every foul profanity she had ever heard. She felt empowered as they rolled from her tongue.
All the while, she ignored the stinging pain in her hands and the strobing pain in her heart.
The smashed phone was forgotten. Her rage stemmed from the extreme measures he had taken to keep from answering her question.
When the door opened, she fell inside, and he caught her.
“Is Tristan upstairs?”
Snatching and brandishing a drumstick, she lashed at the cymbal stand. “Why? Would that be a bad thing?” Flinging the stick against a poster of him on the wall, she mocked, “Would it be bad for our son to be hearing this? Would it be bad for him to see that Daddy smashed Momma’s phone on the floor in a ridiculous rage?”
“I was thinking more of Momma standing in the hall calling Daddy every bad word known and some not yet known!”