“You’re what?” Betty breathed as the entire dining room came to its millionth standstill of the morning.
As all eyes zoomed to Milo, everyone holding their breath, Viola took her first breath in the last several minutes, saying her first genuine prayer of thanks to the highest God for the first time since she’d landed in that miserable city.
Milo’s lips glistened with saliva, eyes filled with tears, chest heaving. “I’m gay.”
Robert collapsed on the table, cradling both his hands on top of it as if to stop himself from crumbling to his knees. Jon and Mary gaped at Milo from the dining room entryway and Jackson from his chair. Baby Beau was back to rolling his toy car back and forth on top of his high-chair with little to no awareness of the havoc he’d caused.
Swallowing thickly, Milo motioned to Viola. “I asked Viola to come down to Utah and pose as my girlfriend because I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready for you guys to know. I… I… I was afraid—I was terrified.”
Relief washed over Viola like a tidal wave, and when she looked across the dining room at Jon and found him looking back at her—willingly—for the first time since the tattoo parlor, she felt alive again. Like she’d been hanging off the edge of a hundred foot building for the last two weeks, but had finally managed to find the strength to pull herself back up and climb over the edge to safety.
Jon tilted his head at her, his eyes gentler than they had been before but still utterly unreadable.
Viola would’ve given anything to get inside his head.
Milo’s trembling voice rang out again. “Please don’t attack Jon or Viola… this is…. This is my fault. I caused this.”
“You’re really gay?” Betty breathed.
“Yes, grandma, he’s really gay,” Jackson cried impatiently, giving Betty a wide-eyed look. “Unlike out-of-touch senior citizens like you, the rest of the world knows it’s not that big of a friggin’ deal. Like, nobody even cares—so what?” Jackson shoveled a piece of bacon into his mouth as his eyes shifted to the Christmas tree in the living room once more, even more longingly that ever, appearing to realize he was never going to have the opportunity to tear into his presents.
A flash of hope lit up Milo’s eyes at the complete lack of dismay from Jackson, who was ten times more interested in whether or not he’d gotten the drone he’d been begging for than he’d ever be in who his brother shared a bed with. The dash of hope that filled Milo’s eyes, however, was gone in an instant as he looked back to Jon.
“Hold on,” Milo said, motioning to Jon. “You didn’t know, though. You didn’t know I was gay.”
“Really?” Jon tilted his head at Milo, cringing softly. “You’re pissed off that I fell in love with your fake girlfriend?”
“What?” Viola breathed.
Jon’s face fell as if even he himself was amazed at the words that’d just come out of his mouth.
Mary chimed in. “Fell in love—?”
“You’ve only known each other for two weeks!” Milo screamed.
“Nah, I thought.” Jon cut his eyes to Viola. “I thought I knew her.”
For the millionth time that morning, Viola’s heart hit her feet.
“We can fix this,” Betty jumped in, her voice hopeful as she leaned toward Milo with big, hopeful eyes, speaking to him like a preschooler who was still learning his ABCs. “We can fix you, baby. Pence is always talking about that electric shock therapy. We can zap the gay right out of you.”
“Yeah, maybe we could even get a two-for-one deal, Grandma,” Jon interjected. “And zap the adulterous mistress out of you.”
Everyone gasped.
Milo locked eyes with Jon, and the two brothers shared a small smile. Suddenly, even if only for the moment, all previous reservations fell away and an understanding, the depth of which would only ever be fully grasped by the two of them, filled the room.
Jon gave Milo a soft nod, and Milo nodded back to him in return.
“I’m sorry…” Mary held her hands up on either side of her head. “What?”
Jon crossed his arms and nodded at Betty. “Grandma’s been sneaking out to nail Mr. Washington since the day I got here, and probably long before then too. That’s why she’s always gone at all hours of the night.”
“Mr. Washington?” Mary breathed, placing a hand over her heart before shooting a look at Betty.
“Ew…” Jackson’s entire face curled into a cringe and his mouth fell open, the barely chewed piece of bacon tumbling off his tongue and back onto the plate as the vision of his grandmother having sex rendered him thoroughly unappetized.
Betty sputtered from her seat and began making a concentrated effort to appear too confused to realize what was going on, her blue eyes darting all over the table.
“Ma,” Robert demanded, waiting for Betty to look at him. “Is this true? Has Mr. Washington been violating you against your will?”
Viola and Jon shared a look. The last thing Mr. Washington had been doing was violating Betty Moore against her will. If anything, it was the other way around.
Still, unable to come to that same conclusion, something broke in Robert, and in the next instant he’d shoved away from the table—violently enough to make the entire thing shift on the floor—and stomped toward the front door.
“Robert!” Mary held her hands out in front of her and tried to stop Robert, but he was moving too quickly.
A man on a mission, Robert’s face was pulled taut with determination as he flew into the foyer, snatched his coat from the rack, and threw the front door open, sliding his arms into the coat as he pounded across the porch and down the stairs. Every member of the family leaped from the table and followed the blazing trail Robert had left—each of them seizing their coats from the rack as well before charging out of the house.
“Robert, please!” Mary cried, tripping over her slippered feet as she chased Robert through the woods. The pleas of the rest of the family came in behind her as well as they all chased after Robert.
But Robert, having taken up a run shortly after leaving the house, had gained too much ground. So even with the youngest and strongest of the bunch: Jon, Milo, and Jackson, chasing him through the woods, Robert still managed to make it to Mr. Washington’s cabin before they could catch up, throwing open the front door without even knocking, and charging inside.
Viola took up the rear of the group, but she could still see inside Mr. Washington’s house, beyond the open door that Robert had just charged into. She could still see Robert approach Mr. Washington, who was sitting alone in his living room, reclining in a rocking chair in front of a Christmas tree. If there was a Mrs. Washington, she wasn’t in sight.
Even as all the running she’d just done slowed Viola’s pace to a sluggish jog, she could still see the moment Mr. Washington shot out of his chair at the sound of his front door flying open unexpectedly. She saw the moment he tried to grab his cane from where it was leaning against his chair—presumably to use as a weapon—but was too slow. Robert had zeroed in and reared back before he could even finish bending down to get it, sending a right hook into his jaw. Viola swore she could hear the sound of bones cracking from all the way outside the house.
She screamed as Mr. Washington went flying to the floor, and so did Betty and Mary. In the next instant, Viola’s view of the door was blocked as Jon, Milo, and Jackson finally caught up with Robert and went barreling through the door. All three of them raced inside and grabbed Robert from behind just as he straddled Mr. Washington, taking hold of Robert’s arms mere seconds before he had a chance to throw another blow. It took all three of them to pull their father off the poor, unsuspecting Mr. Washington.
Viola charged into the house a moment later with Mary and Betty on her heels. Jon, Milo, and Jackson were holding Robert back in one corner of the living room, and Mr. Washington was crouched in the other, covering his face with his hands. The brown pajamas he wore matched his skin almost to a tee, making him seem nearly invisible up against the log cabins mahogany
walls. The dark black Afro on top of his head confirmed that, yes, there was a man lying helpless on the ground, still trembling from the unexpected hit from a man he’d once considered a friendly neighbor.
“Oh my God,” Viola breathed, covering her mouth with her hands, looking back toward the three brothers just as Robert snatched his body out of their hold.
“I’m good, I’m good!” Robert spat, cringing as his sons finally freed him while he shrugged his disheveled coat back onto his shoulder.
Betty charged past Viola the next second, weeping, and collapsed onto the floor next to Mr. Washington. She instantly wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled her crying face against his. Then she cut a look up at Robert as if she were gazing upon the Devil himself.
Silence fell. Nothing but the heaving breath from each pair of gasping lungs in the room there to fill the silence.
Jon was the first to move, rolling his eyes while stomping toward the door. He didn’t even look at Viola on his way by.
She tried to grab him. “Jon—”
“Don’t touch me.” He snatched his arm from her hold and stomped out of the open door, back into the woods, speed walking through the dirt and bark that crunched over his feet.
“Jon, please!” Viola begged, chasing after him. Suddenly, all the running that had taken her breath away a moment ago seemed as easy as pie. The sight of Jon walking away from her caused the adrenaline in her body to spike until she didn’t even feel the exertion from running—fighting, clawing at him for the entire walk back to the Moore house. Jon continued to calmly remove himself from her grasp, ignoring her pleas to talk, as he made his way back into the house and up the stairs. He charged into Beau’s room just long enough to seize his bag from where he’d been keeping it on top of the dresser.
He gave Viola only a passing, dead look before he breezed by her once more and back into the hallway.
“Jon, seriously? Will you please just talk to me?” She pounded down the stairs after him, pausing only for a moment when she looked into the dining room and saw that the entire family had forgotten all about baby Beau, who was still sitting in his high chair.
After making sure he was okay, still enraptured with his toy car and making growling engine noises, Viola charged out the front door after Jon once more. She made it to the bottom of the porch steps just in time to see Jackson and Milo making their way back to the house as well, a few hundred feet into the forest.
Jon threw his bag on the back of his motorcycle and climbed on top, starting it without even looking Viola in the eye. The rumble of the engine stabbed at her ears.
She slowed to a stop a few feet away from the bike, shoulders collapsing, tears filling her eyes. “Jon, if you drive away right now, I will never forgive you.”
Her words froze him in the midst of putting on his helmet, cutting his eyes at her. “You lied to me.”
She exhaled heavily, nearly melting into a pool of regret at the ground when it hit her that she couldn’t argue with that. He was right.
“You let me believe I was betraying him the whole time. Do you have any idea… the agony I’ve been in since the moment I laid eyes on you?” His voice rose. “You lied to me!”
She tried to speak, to fight, but no words came She tried again, finally managing to squeak, “You said you loved me.”
His face fell. It softened.
For a moment, she was sure that had done it. Reminding him that, just a few minutes earlier, in the kitchen, he’d admitted that he’d fallen in love with her. And love always won. Love was always worth fighting for.
As soon as his eyes softened, however, they hardened once more. “I can’t trust you.”
Her heart shattered into a million pieces when he put his helmet on without another word and cradled his feet on the bike pedals, revving the engine.
“No!” Jackson cried, taking up a run when he seemed to realize Jon was leaving. “No, Jon, you promised you’d take me with you! You promised we’d go back to LA together!”
If Jon heard Jackson, he didn’t show it. Perhaps his heart wouldn’t allow him to—allow him to drive away from Jackson knowing his feelings were hurt. Perhaps he knew that if Jackson begged him to stay, it would be a fight too difficult to win.
So Jon took hold of the handlebars, turned the front wheel of his bike, and roared away, the rear wheel kicking up dirt as he went.
“No, Jon—!” Jackson changed course, pivoting to the right in the dirt to cut Jon off at the road. He pumped his legs as fast as they would go, but he was still no match for a Ducati with a V-twin engine, and Jon had zoomed past him in seconds. Still, Jackson fought the good fight, continuing to chase after the bike while screaming at the top of his lungs. His pleas strained with more emotion with every foot the bike gained on him, running at top speed until he disappeared from Viola’s view completely.
Viola stared after Jackson and Jon long after they’d both disappeared over the steep hill that led away from the house, tears tumbling down her cheeks.
Milo approached a moment later, eyes squinted—hands shoved deep in his pockets.
She slapped the tears from her cheeks and met his eyes, forced to suck in each breath as the pain charging through her worked to glue her lungs shut.
“At least now they know, right?” She tried to smile, but the memory of Jon riding away was still breaking her heart just as badly as it had broken Jackson’s, who she could still hear shouting after him in the distance. “Now you don’t have to pretend anymore. You can see that they’ll love you no matter what. And… and I can be free to love Jon, too. It’ll be hard work, but we can fix it, right, Milo? It was an ugly step, but still a step. In the right direction…” When he didn’t immediately respond, her heartbeat tripled. “Right?”
He watched her for a long, silent moment, then his face shifted. “I asked you for one thing.”
Viola’s breath came up short. “Milo—”
“I asked you for one thing.” His voice wobbled with emotion. “As a friend.”
“Milo, I met him on the plane when I had no idea he was your brother. I fell in love with him before I had any idea he was your brother. Do you think I would’ve ever gotten involved with him if I had a choice? That I would’ve ever done this if I had a choice?” She stole Jon’s words from the tattoo parlor. “I didn’t have a choice. I love him.”
He blinked slowly, voice lowering. “I want you to leave.”
“Milo, you don’t mean that.”
“No, I really do. I want you to leave. Right now. Pack your shit and leave, Viola.”
When he pushed past her without a word, Viola was stunned speechless. Motionless. Staring blankly ahead long after Milo had re-entered the house behind her and slammed the door. Long after Jackson’s pleas for Jon to come back faded into nothingness—until she was encased in nothing but silence.
Silence.
Until the Christmas music still playing in the house filtered out of the front door and fluttered through the air, reaching Viola right on time as always.
Just in time for the lyrics to split her heart in two.
Twenty-Four
Long after the sun had dipped below the horizon and the entire Moore family were snuggled in their beds upstairs, Mary Moore sat cross-legged in the living room, eyes swollen and sniffling softly. Trash bags full of demolished Christmas wrapping surrounded her from where she sat in front of the tree, its colorful lights still blinking.
Though most of the gifts had been opened, a handful still remained.
She swept up the smallest of the unopened gifts with hands that hadn’t stopped shaking since that morning, heart heavy as she read the card.
To: Dad
From: Jon
Brows furrowed, she tore open the gift and was met with a small picture frame. A chain had been attached to a frame, which Mary presumed was there to make it easy for Robert to hang it from the rearview of his car or even the city bus he drove every morning.
Tears burned her eyes as sh
e drank in the photo of Jon, Robert, and Milo, so many years ago. Milo sat next to his big brother, looking up at him with stars of worship in his eyes on the very living room couch that sat behind Mary at that moment. Robert sat on the opposite side of Jon, smiling proudly. And in the middle, Jon was cradling his very first guitar—the one his father had given him on Christmas day. A day Mary still remembered like it was yesterday. When Jon’s guitar skills had seemed like a lost cause as his father struggled to teach him the basics from the ground up.
Fighting back tears, she set the picture frame down and ripped open the card Jon had taped on top of it, slamming her eyes closed the moment she read the note he’d left.
I only climbed so high because I wanted to make you proud
I hope one day we can find our way back to this
I love you, Dad.
Jon
“What are you still doing up?”
Mary’s watery eyes flew over her shoulder with a gasp, the first tear jetting down from her reddened eyes just as they locked with Robert’s, who was lingering at the bottom of the staircase.
Robert’s face collapsed, darkened with a cringe at the sight of her tears.
“I’m torn to pieces.” She stood on trembling legs, still clutching Jon’s card while making a claw at her stomach. “How can I sleep when I’m shredded inside?”
“Mary—”
She nearly cracked the glass of the picture frame in her hand. “Jon’s gone. Milo’s gone. Viola. Betty hasn’t even come back from Mr. Washington’s place…”
Robert’s head fell.
“It’s only a matter of time before Jackson goes running for his life.” Mary swept her hand under her runny nose as her voice rose. “And eventually Beau too. You won’t rest until this house is completely empty. Until we have great-great-grandchildren that we don’t even get to see!”
“Right. So this is all my faul—”
“What kind of father is jealous of his own son?”
Refrain (Stereo Hearts Book 3) Page 30
