“Jon can give me the money for school—”
“Jon’s not giving you anything,” Robert spat. “That’s his money, not yours. Stop with the entitlement.”
“If he needs money for college, of course I’ll give it to him. It’s his. I’ll pay every dime—”
“No you won’t,” Robert interrupted Jon mid-sentence, cheeks red.
Jon continued on as if he hadn’t heard, looking directly at Jackson. “Every dime. You hear me? But there won’t be any reason to pay for college if your grades stay in the gutter. UCLA won’t look twice at an application dominated by Bs and Cs. Start focusing on As or this conversation is moot anyway.”
Jackson pouted down at his plate.
A long silence dominated the table. Not even the clatter of plates and silverware rose to fill the air.
Viola watched Jon.
He looked up and locked eyes with her.
She drew in a sharp breath that made her chest swell.
He curled his top lip at her. The tiniest lift. Barely enough to be visible to the naked eye.
But Viola caught it. I’m not the woman you think I am! It’s all a sham! I’m 100% single and your brother loves the cock! It scared her how close those words came to leaving her mouth, so she bit down on her tongue. Hard enough to nearly bite it in half.
Jon raised an eyebrow at her as his gaze fell from her face to her breasts—still heaving in her sweater dress—and down to her ribcage. He kept his eyes low as if he could see her fingers tangling together under the table. Her knees bopping incessantly. Her pussy, which, amazingly, had still managed to find itself slippery and wet even given the current circumstances. His lowered eyes darkened as if he could feel just how wet her velvety walls were. Like he could smell her essence across the table, even over all that fragrant food and drink. His gaze slowly climbed her body once more, making her breathing come a little heavier with every inch they traveled until they met hers again.
“Yo, this house is really old.” Noodle’s voice was the first to break the silence, his blue eyes dancing all over the log cabin. “To hell with Jackson’s education, Jon needs to buy you guys a new place.”
“Jon tried,” Jon grumbled.
“And Robert declined,” Robert said. “Because Robert understands the importance of tradition. Robert never forgot that this house has been in the family for generations. Robert works his fingers to the bone to take care of this house so it’ll remain in the family for another generation.”
“Well, Jackson thinks this house blows.”
“Adam thinks it’s pretty weird how everyone’s referring to themselves in the third person.”
“And Shaun thinks Noodle still hasn’t mastered the art of thinking long and hard before he speaks.”
Noodle’s eyes widened, clearly having no idea he would touch another nerve with a comment meant to be a lighthearted change of subject.
Still, somehow, he went on. “I don’t get it, though. It’s not like you’d have to get rid of this house if it has sentimental value. Jon could still buy you guys a new one. In every city, every state, every country, if you wanted. Why the hell not? He’s got money to burn. Can’t take it with him when he’s dead. My mom has a vacation home in every city in Italy—she has a thing for Sicilians…”
“Really, Noodle?” Shaun leaned over in her chair just to shoot him a look of disbelief that begged him to shut up already.
He shrugged his shoulders high, sputtering. “What? She likes Sicilians!”
Shaun’s chin fell into her chest, shaking her head softly as her admonishment flew right over his head.
“And they wonder why I’m selling the place in Yalecrest,” Jon said around the bite of food he’d just shoveled into his mouth.
Mary gasped. “You’re selling the house?”
“Yes, Mom, it’s just sitting there. I bought it for you guys, and you haven’t even gone to look at it.”
“It’s such a beautiful home, baby. Why not keep it? You could give it to Milo!”
“What am I gonna do with it? I live in New York, Mom.”
“Yeah, but you’re obviously coming back home eventually…”
“I am?”
Mary’s voice slowed. “After you graduate, I mean…”
“Mom…” Milo took a moment to choose his words carefully. “I’ve told you a million times how much I love New York. New York is it. New York is my home now. Forever.”
Mary stared at Milo, mouth agape. She seemed to struggle for the right words to say, and when they didn’t come, tears filled her eyes to the brim. She clapped her mouth closed to try and compose herself, but that only caused her taut lips to tremble.
Robert groaned softly, along with his three oldest boys.
Even Shaun cupped Mary’s shoulder from the seat next to her with a soft pout, as if the emotion glimmering in Mary’s eyes were actually filling her own.
The moment Shaun placed a kind hand on Mary’s shoulder, the first tear popped from her eyes and raced down her cheek. “So I’m officially the only mother in the neighborhood who’s driven all her children away.”
“Mom, you know it’s not like that,” Milo said.
Mary’s voice hitched as she dabbed her cheeks, staining her white tablecloth with mascara and foundation as she motioned to each of her boys. “Milo’s madly in love with New York, Jackson’s already planning his escape upon graduation, and Jon didn’t even bother to graduate before he fled to LA and never looked back—” She sucked in a breath.
Robert dropped his utensils onto his plate, causing them to clatter, before motioning to Jon. “You see what you’ve done now?”
“Oh, of course, this is my fault. Sure. It’s all my fault, Dad. Whatever you say.”
“Stop it,” Mary cried, slamming her fists onto the table. “Stop fighting.”
“Dad’s right, man,” Milo said to Jon. “Only when you’re here…” He didn’t finish.
Apparently, Jon didn’t need him to. “Only when I’m here?”
Milo raised his eyebrows with a shrug.
Jon nodded, letting the words sink in for a long moment before wiping his mouth with his napkin, throwing it down on his plate and standing from his seat. “Maybe I won’t be here, then.”
“Sweetie, please don’t…” Mary begged.
Jackson clawed at Jon’s arm with both hands as he gathered up his leather jacket and the keys to his motorcycle. Jon ignored Jackson’s silent pleas for him to stay, his fiery gaze shifting to Viola.
Viola swore she saw it in his eyes. The words he was seconds from saying. The words he knew—or assumed—would hurt Milo the most. The words that would blow everything up.
“That’s why I kissed your bitch.”
She waited for Jon to say the words. It was what she’d likely do if she were in his shoes, after all. Spew the petty words that she knew would to hurt Milo as badly as he’d hurt her. Just to touch the deepest nerve she could and walk out of that house with the last word.
“Merry Christmas,” Jon spat instead, keeping his eyes on Viola. He craned his arm out of Jackson’s grip before turning and leaving the dining room, with Mary calling after him the entire time.
The front door slammed closed a moment later. Every pair of wide eyes in the dining room stared, stunned, after the blaze of smoke Jon had left in his wake. Silence dominated. Every soul remained motionless, save for the darting of their bulging eyes back and forth between each other.
Viola held her breath as she looked off toward the front door. Every bone in her body yearned to follow the furious trail Jon had just left. Dying to go after him, catch up to him, and ask if he wanted to talk. To take him in her arms and give him the biggest bear hug she could manage. The wounded look on his face right before he’d walked out the door felt branded into her brain. It turned her stomach inside out like she’d just inhaled an entire plate of bad sushi. It made her yearn to fix it even though she wasn’t quite sure what was broken. It made her want to comfort him—but of
course that would look insane. If anything, she should’ve been comforting Milo, whose chest was also heaving as quickly and heavily as hers from the seat next to her.
But as she cut a look at Milo and confirmed that his face looked as disturbed as her heart felt, she couldn’t bring herself to give him so much as a squeeze of the shoulder. If anything, she found herself fantasizing about punching him instead.
“Well…” Adam spoke in a polite tone that didn’t suit him, teeth clenched as he set down his napkin and slowly stood to his feet. “This has been such a lovely dinner, Mrs. Moore.”
“So lovely,” Noodle said, nowhere near as subtle as Adam in the manner with which he shot up from his seat, like a mosquito darting a fly swatter.
“But we should probably…” Adam motioned to the living room without finishing.
Shaun stood from her seat too, bending over at the waist to give Mary a hug goodbye and a soft kiss on the cheek.
Mary sniffled and accepted Shaun’s embrace, her eyes remaining lowered as she did.
“It was so nice to meet you all,” Shaun said, giving a wave over her shoulder as she, Adam, and Noodle shuffled awkwardly out of the room, eventually leaving only Viola and the family to stew in the thick, tension-filled air.
Watching them go, Viola couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d ever felt so conflicted. So torn in two. Like her arms were in Hong Kong and her legs in Brazil. One piece of her heart outside and the other in the seat next to her. One part of her Jon’s and the other Milo’s.
At that moment, she didn’t even belong to herself.
Seven
Hours later Viola found herself cringing at Milo as he straightened his tie in the standing floor mirror across the guest bedroom. She saw just how sour her face looked in the reflection, but her expression was still no match for the bitterness eating her alive from within. A smug smile lived on Milo’s face as he adjusted the skinny black tie he’d paired with tapered jeans and a white button-down shirt.
Viola’s stomach tightened beneath the yellow shift dress she’d chosen for the evening.
“You couldn’t have told me your brother was Jon fuckin’ Baca, Milo?” Her glare deepened in the mirror. “How could you have kept something like this from me for three whole years? How?” It took an incredible amount of effort to bite her tongue around the words she really wanted to say.
I want your brother so badly I could scream. I need to kiss him again like I need air to breathe. You stole that from me. If I die alone, it’s your fault. You are so selfish!
“Why are you looking at me like that?” His smile fell in the reflection as he studied her pinched face. “You look like a serial killer.”
Probably because I’m ready to kill you.
“Like a child predator.” He doubled down. “All you’re missing is a pair of bifocals and a pedophile mustache.”
“If anyone in this house is a predator, it’s you. The way you ganged up on Jon at dinner, my God. That pile on was pretty severe. I don’t blame him for storming out. I probably would’ve too.”
“He stormed out because he can’t handle the truth. He’s so used to being surrounded by people who worship him blindly he immediately balks at the tiniest shred of criticism.”
“Still not sure what he did to deserve all that criticism. Seemed like he was bending over backward to avoid a disagreement. Honestly, you were being a little condescending toward him—you and your Dad.”
“We lived with him for years. You just don’t get it because you weren’t there.”
“So explain it to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I just wanna go to this concert and get it over with—get the next three weeks over with.”
“How long has it been since Jon was home?”
“Ten years, I think.”
“Wow, so he wasn’t even here for Beau’s birth?”
“None of us were. Beau’s adopted. When Mom brought him home, Jon was overseas on tour, but he always sends free tickets. Most of the time, Mom takes Beau and Jackson when he does.”
“What about your Dad?”
His jaw clenched.
The tightness returned to her face like she’d just eaten an entire lemon in one bite. “All these years we could’ve been going to White Keys concerts, for free.” Jon and I could’ve fallen in love years ago. We could’ve been married with kids by now. She contemplated her thoughts, voice lowering in astonishment. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to forgive you for this.”
“Will you come and fix my tie for me?”
With a roll of her eyes, she stood from the bed and crossed the room, yanking his tie roughly enough to choke him. Then she found it in her heart to let go of her fury long enough to fix the pathetic, crooked knot he’d made. He watched her as she pulled him together, his eyes growing tender like a little boy whose mother was tying his shoes, softening under her attentions like melted butter in the microwave.
“You try growing up with Jon Baca for a brother,” he whispered. “Wondering if your friends are really your friends. If your lovers are really your lovers. If the people in your life are choosing you because you’re you, or because he’s him.”
“Well, now that you know for a fact I chose you because you’re you, no more secrets, okay? Promise me.”
“I promise. And I’m sorry I lied.”
She finished his tie and turned him toward the mirror so they could both admire her work. “Much better.” She let her hands leave his tie and slide down his biceps, squeezing as they smiled at each other in the mirror. “You know what I don’t get? Why you would keep your sexuality a secret from Jon. I mean, he’s a rock star. Spent half his life immersed in the entertainment industry. He’s gotta be surrounded by gay people all the time? Probably working right alongside them. Befriending them. Celebrating birthdays and holidays with them. Sitting down to eat with them. If anyone would accept you, it’s him.”
His gaze fell to the floor. “I don’t give a shit about anyone’s acceptance.”
“Then why am I here?”
His eyes shot up with a new blaze at their depths.
Just as he opened his mouth to respond the door to the bedroom clicked, causing both their heads to snap toward it, just as it flew open at the speed of light. Jackson appeared, giving the frame all his weight just as the door hit the wall, dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a black t-shirt and classic Chuck Taylor’s.
“Let’s gooo!” he begged, his cheeks hot, apparently having reached his patience threshold waiting for them to get ready. “Before Dad changes his mind!”
——
If fixing Milo’s crooked tie had sparked a motherly instinct that warmed Viola’s heart enough to forgive him earlier that day, the sight of his brother’s beautiful face across that backstage dressing room was enough to turn it cold as ice once more that night.
The vanity lights shining on the wall-to-wall mirrors behind Jon amplified his handsomeness tenfold. They sent a sharp gleam across his slicked-back brown hair. Made the muscles rolling under his black and white tattoos more prominent than she ever seen them—straining against the sleeves of his white tee like they were seconds from bursting through. Those lights made his already glimmering smile even more luminous—almost blinding—like some merciful angel in the sky had dropped him straight down from heaven just to rip her heart to shreds.
His laugh was more beautiful than any guitar riff he’d ever played, which was no small feat, as Viola had always regarded his playing as the most beautiful she’d ever heard. Even as he shoved handfuls of trail mix into his mouth, the sound of his muffled laughter was still otherworldly. His smile remained as he sampled a little bit of everything from the assorted snacks and beverages that’d been set up in the dressing room, nodding as he listened to Jackson, who was leaning on the table beside him. Jackson’s jean-clad legs were crossed the exact same way as Jon’s since he naturally mimicked everything his older brother did, all the way down to the pitch and tempo
of his voice. His laughter. Even his crossed arms—which, as a freshman in high school, hadn’t yet grown as big and wide as Jon’s.
When Jon took Jackson in a headlock and yanked his giggling body in for a bear hug, Viola couldn’t help wondering what a great dad he’d be one day.
To some other woman’s kids, of course. Never hers. Milo had fucked that up for her real good. She cut a sharp look at Milo, sitting on a bright red sofa across the room, too busy glaring at Jon and Jackson to notice her glaring at him. She drank him in from where she sat alone on the arm of her own sofa, unable to fathom how it was possible to love someone who’d ruined her life so incredibly, but at that moment she found herself in that very position. Trapped in a world where she wanted to kill him and cradle him, all at once. Where she wanted to pick his brain about the weird unspoken dynamic between him and his brother but also wring his neck. She squinted at him, fantasizing about all the places she’d love to hide his body when she inevitably snapped and ended him for good.
Shaun and Adam were on the sofa with Milo. Shaun was leaning deep into Adam’s chest with lazy eyes as if the cushion of his pecs were seconds from lulling her to sleep, appearing in no condition to follow through on their plans of being front row for Yoshi’s show that night. Adam seemed to be right on her heels, his head cradled on top of hers with a serene smile on his face, stroking her Afro curls while gazing blankly into the distance, with no awareness of Viola’s attentions. One of the fattest, shiniest diamonds Viola had ever seen glittered from Shaun’s left ring finger. The same ring Adam had slipped on her hand when he’d proposed to her onstage at a White Keys concert just a few months earlier. A symbol of all the beautiful years they’d shared as a couple and the beautiful years yet to come. Viola could still remember the embarrassing tears that’d filled her eyes when she’d stayed up until 2 a.m. watching every video she could find of the proposal on YouTube.
Refrain (Stereo Hearts Book 3) Page 9
