by Lauren Rowe
“I know, right?” Henn says, chuckling. “Look at my big muscles! Aren’t they big? I’m so tough. I’m so sexy. I behave horribly because of my emotional baggage, but everyone forgives me because I’m so damned good-looking. Waah!”
Josh and Henn share a good laugh together for a solid two minutes. When Henn finally notices I’m not even close to joining in, he addresses me earnestly. “Jonas, dude. I’m monitoring the situation, I promise. There’s nothing to be done right now, even if we wanted to do it. Because there’s no one to target. If something comes up—anything at all—I promise you’ll be the first to know. And if any action is needed, whatever it is, I’m totally in. No hesitation whatsoever.”
“See, bro?” Josh says. “Listen to the fucking genius. No nervous breakdown required. At least not yet.”
I don’t reply.
Josh exhales. “Are you done acting like an idiot now? At least for a little while? Because I need to know if I can turn my back on you without getting tackled.”
I wait a long beat before speaking. “No, I’m not done acting like an idiot—and I definitely wouldn’t turn my back if I were you.”
Josh smiles and flips me off.
I return the gesture.
“You guys are Neanderthals,” Henn says, shaking his head.
“Aren’t we, though?” Josh says. “Blame Jonas. He’s the one who can’t formulate a sentence when he gets upset. I’m highly evolved compared to him.”
My eyes are suddenly burning. I wipe them.
Josh looks sympathetic. “Oh, fuck. Bro, listen to me. This is more than any sane man could handle, okay? And since you’re not completely sane, God only knows how you’re handling this at all. But you’ve got to get a grip, man. Seriously. Pull your shit together.”
“I think I’m losing my fucking mind.” I wipe my eyes again. I’ve got a massive lump in my throat.
“How is she?” Henn asks quietly.
I take a deep breath. “She’s developed something called DIC from losing so much blood. Apparently, that’s a really bad thing. She’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last two days. Mostly out.” Tears threaten my eyes, but fuck me if I’m gonna cry like a little bitch, yet again. I’ve let my tears flow, sitting alone next to Sarah’s unconscious body, not to mention countless other times in my life, too, and I’m done. I’m especially not gonna cry like a little girl in front of anyone else, that’s for fucking sure. “The doctor says it’s touch and go right now,” I continue, gaining control of my voice. I clear my throat. “It could go either way.”
Henn looks pained. “Sarah’s a fighter, man. She’s gonna be okay.”
I nod.
“Hey, Jonas,” Josh says. “Why don’t we take Henn down to meet Sunny and Luna? By now my nieces think I’m their daddy—which I’m sure tickles them to no end—but I think we should go down there and break the bad news to them.”
I’m suddenly overcome with despair. I cover my face with my hands. If I lose Sarah, how the fuck am I going to be able to live, let alone function well enough to take care of two little girls all by myself? Am I going to fall apart exactly the way my father did? Am I going to subconsciously hold Sarah’s death against my sweet little babies? Or, worse—against one of them? Oh, Jesus. Am I going to become my father in every fucking way?
Josh puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re not alone, Jonas. You always think you’re so alone. Stop doing that. It’s getting old.”
I nod.
“We’re all in this together,” he continues. “Henn, Kat, and I were right there in every bank, transferring all that money, remember?”
“Yup,” Henn agrees. “And shitting a brick the whole time.”
Josh squeezes my shoulder. “We all love Sarah.”
“Love that girl. She’s my George Clooney,” Henn agrees.
“In fact,” Josh adds, “I’m sorry if this is gonna hurt your feelings, bro, but I love Sarah way more than I love you.”
“Same here,” Henn says. “Way, way more.”
I smile.
“I’m actually not kidding,” Josh says. “I love Sarah more than I love you.”
My smile broadens.
“So you see, dumbshit?” Josh says. “You’re not alone. Which means you can stop trying to beat the crap out of your wise and powerful brother.”
I exhale and nod.
“Just talk to me when you’re losing it. Use your words, Jonas.”
I smirk. “Talking lets the feelings out.”
“Exactly,” Josh says. He flashes me a mega-watt smile.
I rub my face. “I’ve been sitting in that room with Sarah, all alone with my thoughts for the better part of two days. I think I’ve lost my mind just a little bit. I’m sorry, guys.”
“It’s all good.” Josh puts his arm around me. “We got you, bro. Always.”
“You bet,” Henn says.
“So, are you ready to introduce Uncle Henny to his beautiful nieces?” Josh asks. “They just took my daughters—I mean, my nieces—off their ventilators an hour ago—check your texts once in a while, man—and they’re doing great.”
“Wow. That’s awesome.” I glance at Henn apologetically. “Thanks for coming, Henn,” I say softly. “I didn’t even thank you.”
“You couldn’t make me stay away if you tried, big guy. Well, unless you attacked me like you just attacked Josh. Then I’d stay away.”
I grimace. “I’m sorry, Josh.”
“It’s what I’m here for—my purpose in life, apparently. Although, make no mistake, I’ll beat you senseless if you ever do that again.”
“You couldn’t beat me senseless if you tried.”
“You’d better hope you’re right about that.”
I smirk. I could beat the shit out of Josh, ten times out of ten, and we both know it.
“So are we good, then?” Josh asks, patting my cheek. “Done talking about our fucking feelings?”
“That was talking about our fucking feelings?” Henn asks.
“We’re good.”
“Good.” Josh gives my cheek one final pat—a very, very hard pat. “All right then, fuckers. Let’s be manly men now and do the thing.”
I nod.
Josh slaps his face, really, really hard, and the sound echoes through the small examination room. “To the NICU!”
“Okay, fuckwads,” I say, breathing a huge sigh of relief. “To the NICU.” I take a deep breath and slap my face as hard as Josh just did. “Let’s go break the fantastic news to the girls that Josh isn’t their daddy.”
Henn is looking at us like we’re batshit crazy.
“Come on, Uncle Henny,” Josh says. “Slap the shit out of yourself so we can go see those babies.”
“Slap the shit out of myself?”
“Yes.”
“Gosh, I would, I really would, fellas, but the thing is I’m not an emotionally stunted dipshit.”
“Hmm,” Josh says. “Sucks to be you. All the cool kids are emotionally stunted dipshits.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, now you tell me,” Henn says. “You could have saved me years of agony in high school if you’d have told me that sooner.”
Josh laughs. “Okay, motherfucker,” he says. “Enough talking about your fucking feelings. Do the thing.”
Henn rolls his eyes and slaps himself, really, really hard—so hard, even I can’t help laughing. “Ah, yes,” Henn says, his cheek blazing red. “Wow, guys. You’re right. That’s so much better than talking things through. I feel so cool now.”
“You see?” Josh says. “Told you so.”
“Okay, Neanderthals,” Henn says. “Take me to see those pretty little Faraday girls. Someone’s gotta break it to them not all men in the world look like Channing fucking Tatum.”
Chapter 16
Sarah
My mind is hurtling through darkness, collecting the swatches of fabric and miscellaneous threads that comprise “The Love Story o
f Jonas and Sarah,” or, as Jonas likes to call us, “The Greatest Love Story Ever Told.” Most of our Jonas-and-Sarah quilt is made up of the small, simple moments, the days and nights we’ve happily spent at home in Seattle, eating a meal together and talking about who-knows-what, watching a movie, going for a jog together—and, yes, of course, having sex. Lots and lots of sex. But there are plenty of exotic patches sewn into our quilt, too. Costa Rica, where I lured a wild monkey onto my shoulder with a piece of watermelon and Jonas just about shit a brick. And Roatan Island, where Jonas took me scuba diving for my first time and I practically peed my wetsuit the entire time, worried we were gonna get eaten by sharks, much to Jonas’ amusement. Sydney. Toronto. Tokyo. Rome. Fiji. Barcelona. Each new location filled with outrageous adventures and sights and laughs and conversations about anything and everything. Oh, yes, and, of course, mind-blowing fuckery, too. Lots and lots of that.
My mind is flying, soaring, hurtling—swooping into each memorable place and memory like a bird of prey eying a rodent—until it suddenly swoops and skids to a stop. I look down. There’s a gold-rimmed plate in front of me, filled with some sort of seafood dish. I look up at Jonas. He’s sitting across the table from me, taking a bite of some other seafood-looking concoction. Looks like prawns. I look out the window to my right and see the twinkling lights of a paradoxical skyline yawning before me into the night. Ah yes, I remember this breathtaking view—ancient meets modern. Thailand.
I take a bite of my octopus. “This is really good,” I say, “but I think those little fried pork thing-a-ma-bobs at Wang Lang Market today were even better than this—those pork things melted in my mouth.”
“Oh my God, yeah, that fried pork was incredible,” Jonas replies. He takes a big bite of his food. “But this is pretty amazing, too. Try this.” He reaches across the table with his fork and plops a huge shrimp covered in a creamy sauce on my plate.
“Mmm,” I say, taking a big bite. “Yummy.” I take a sip of champagne. “But I still think I’d give the edge to those fried pork things.”
“Yet another reason why I love you, baby. I’ve got the only wife in the world who’d rather eat from a stall at an outdoor Thai market than at the finest five-star restaurant in all of Bangkok.”
“Whoa, hang on. All I said was I like those fried pork thingies better than your fish thing. I did not say I’d rather rough it than get fancy-lady treatment at a five-star restaurant—especially after living like a hobo for four days in Mae Do.”
“I loved showing you the climbing life in Mae Do.”
“And I loved experiencing it, of course. But a hot shower sure felt awfully nice after four days of peeing in a bush.”
He smiles lasciviously. “Oh, man. That was the hottest hot shower of my life.”
“Hellz yeah, it was.” Blood whooshes into my crotch at the mere memory of how Jonas fucked me in the shower late last night when we arrived in this city, his muscles glistening and bulging under the streaming water, his appetite for me voracious.
He licks his lips. “Another glass of champagne for my dirty girl?”
“Why, thank you, sir. I’d be delighted.”
“You know I love it when you let your dirty girl come out to play.”
I laugh. “Well, then you’re gonna especially love tonight, ’cause I’m gonna get plastered and let her run amok.”
“Oh, yeah?” He motions to the waiter to refill my champagne glass. “Are we celebrating your graduation, my precious baby?”
I nod. “Definitely. And numbing my anxiety about the bar exam. If I didn’t pass I’m gonna—”
“Oh, Sarah, you passed. The bar exam doesn’t test excellence, merely competence. Some of the dumbest people I know are lawyers. You passed.”
“God, I hope you’re right.”
“I am.” Jonas beams a smile at me and I melt.
The waiter refills my champagne flute and I take a sip. “Thank you for bringing me here, Jonas.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
“So you like Bangkok?”
“I didn’t think I would, but, yeah. I love it.”
“I can’t believe you and Josh came all the way to Thailand your last time here and didn’t at least roll through Bangkok for a night.”
“Oh, Josh came to Bangkok without me. We climbed Crazy Horse together for a few days, and after that he was chomping at the bit to have a different kind of fun. Or maybe just to get the hell away from me for a couple days.” He laughs. “He flew some friends into Bangkok for a few days of partying while I stayed behind in Mae Do to do some more climbing and caving, and then I met up with Josh and his friends in Cambodia, I think it was.”
“Did I just hear you say Josh flew some friends into Bangkok?”
“Yeah. Classic Josh—especially back then. Money wasn’t an object for him. Don’t forget, he’d just inherited half my dad’s estate. An eighteen-year-old with hundreds of millions in his bank account doesn’t think twice about flying friends to meet him halfway across the world to party for a few days.” He takes a big bite of his food and looks thoughtful for a long beat. “I know Josh and I might seem like polar opposites, but we’re more alike than meets the eye. He does what he has to do to cope and so do I.”
I pause, letting that sink in for a moment. I think Jonas may be right about that. “So, what did eighteen-year-old Jonas spend his money on when he first got his inheritance?” I finally ask. “I can’t imagine you flying friends across the world to party.”
He laughs. “Hell no. You’d have to pay me to subject myself to that kind of torture.”
I laugh.
He shrugs. “And I didn’t have any friends when I was eighteen, anyway, even if I’d wanted to fly someone across the world to party.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. God, I love this man. “So, what did you spend your money on then?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Nothing really.”
“Aw, come on, baby. You came into all that money and bought nothing?”
He shrugs again. “I got some new climbing gear? Paid my tuition for school? Nothing particularly noteworthy, really. Nothing like Josh.” He laughs and shakes his head, apparently remembering one of Josh’s many extravagances.
“You were a teenager with hundreds of millions of dollars suddenly at your unfettered disposal, and you didn’t buy anything fun?”
“Well, travel, obviously. For me, money’s always meant getting to see new places any time I want. It’s never been about buying useless things.” He bites his luscious lip for a moment, and then a grin spreads across his face. “Well, actually, there was one thing.”
“Oh?”
“One crazy thing.”
I wait with bated breath.
“A painting.”
I smile from ear to ear. That’s Jonas’ “crazy thing”?
He sighs, looking wistful, and I instantly know the exact painting he must be referring to, though we’ve never talked about it at any length before: the painting hanging on the far wall of our bedroom. It’s got to be the one—it’s a total anomaly among Jonas’ other works of art scattered throughout the house, all of which are starkly modern and masculine. When I once asked Jonas if it was an original or some sort of lithograph from Bed, Bath & Beyond, he laughed and told me the name of the artist. Of course, I blushed crimson when I instantly recognized the artist’s name from my undergraduate art history class.
At the time, I figured he must have bought the painting as an investment or at the urging of a high-end interior designer. But, now, all of a sudden, I realize that painting is deeply personal for Jonas. Of course, it is. It’s an impressionistic depiction of a beautiful blonde woman, sitting in a field of flowers and illuminated seemingly from within by an ethereal light. It’s Jonas’ mother, I suddenly realize. Duh. How could I not have realized that before this very moment? I guess I just chalked the painting up to rich-person art collecting or decorating.
“The painting in our bedroom?” I ask.
His face lights up. “Yeah. How did you know that?”
I grin. “Because I know you.”
He bites his lip again. “Yeah, I saw it in Paris and thought: ‘This is the divine original form of beauty.’ It was transcendent.” His eyes sparkle at the memory. “I wanted it so bad, I was physically aching to own it. But it was ridiculously expensive—the kind of money only an avid art collector or a museum would ever pay—and I couldn’t justify the expenditure. Plus, it was just such a weird-ass thing for an eighteen-year-old guy to want—and so unlike me—not my usual aesthetic at all. So I tried to forget about it. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about it, night and day, for weeks.” He shrugs. “So, finally, just to buy myself some peace of mind, I guess, I flew back to Paris and bought the damned thing.”
Oh my God, this boy breaks my heart. The way Jonas pined for that painting for weeks in the same way other eighteen-year-old dudes long for a Playstation or motorcycle, and then finally broke down and indulged his innermost desire, is classic Jonas, through and through.
“You’re a beautiful, sexy beast, you know that, love?” I say, leaning across the table. Heat spreads throughout my body and pools in my crotch. “You know what I wish, baby?” I say, arousal flooding me. “I wish I could time-travel in my present body, find eighteen-year-old Jonas Faraday, and take his virginity.”
His face lights up. “Oh my God, Sarah. Hello, instant hard-on.” He shoots me a crooked smile. “Just the thought of my eighteen-year-old self getting to experience you as his first time—oh my God, talk about a hot fantasy.” He exhales, totally turned on. “Of course, it’s probably good you can’t actually do that. The goddess and the muse would have ruined poor eighteen-year-old Jonas for any other mortal woman thereafter.”
I smile broadly at him. “‘Darling, if you time-traveled in your present body to take my teenage virginity, you would have ruined me for fucking other bitches after you. Happy Valentine’s Day.’”
Jonas laughs.
“I keep telling you, writing greeting cards is your true calling in life, Jonas Faraday. Forget all your silly entrepreneurialism and rock climbing. Hallmark is where it’s at for you.”