The Revelation

by Lauren Rowe

  He crosses the room and nestles himself onto the couch next to me, his lips pressed tightly together.

  “She was beautiful,” I say.

  “You’re her spitting image,” he says softly.

  I look down at the photo in my hand. Well, I can certainly see that I bear a resemblance to his mother, maybe even a striking one, but calling me her ‘spitting image’ is pretty far-fetched. For one thing, from what I can see from this photo, Josh’s mother radiated pure kindness—a quality I’m certain I don’t possess, unfortunately. Plus, her features are literally perfect. It’s like she was concocted by mad scientists in some sort of government-sponsored lab. No one would ever say that about me, I don’t think.

  Josh takes the photo from my hand and looks down at it wistfully.

  “Poor Jonas,” he says.

  “Poor Josh,” I add.

  Josh sighs like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. “No, I got off easy. I was at a football game with my dad when she died. Poor Jonas saw the whole fucking thing.” He shakes his head mournfully. “Poor little dude was so traumatized, he didn’t say a word for a year afterwards.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing. Literally. Not a word.”

  “For a whole year?”

  “For a whole year. I did all his talking for him.”

  “How’d you know what to say?”

  “I just knew. Later, after he’d started talking again, he told me I’d always gotten it right. It was like we shared a brain.”

  “What did Jonas say when he started talking again?”

  Josh smiles. “We were sitting in the car with our nanny, listening to the radio, and I was singing along to a song—whatever it was, I can’t remember—and after not saying a single fucking word for a year, my bizarre, hilarious, crazy brother said, and I quote, ‘Shut the fuck up, Josh. You’re singing so goddamned loud, I can’t hear the fucking music.’”

  I burst out laughing and Josh does, too.

  “What made him talk again all of a sudden?”

  “Not what—who. Jonas talked again thanks to one very special and extremely attractive woman: our third-grade teacher, Miss Westbrook. If it hadn’t been for her, Jonas wouldn’t be here right now, I’m sure of it. Which, of course, means neither would I.”

  My stomach turns over. “What do you mean ‘neither would I’?”

  Josh pauses a long time before speaking again, apparently choosing his words carefully. “If it weren’t for Miss Westbrook, there’s no doubt in my mind Jonas would have methodically figured out a way to kill himself before his thirteenth birthday. Granted, fun fact, Jonas actually did fling himself off a bridge when he was seventeen, right after my dad shot himself, but that’s a whole other story. But if it weren’t for Miss Westbrook, he would have done it much more precisely than driving off a bridge, and he would have succeeded.” His eyes glisten. “And if Jonas had succeeded in killing himself when I was still a little kid, if he’d left me alone with my dad in that big house for years and years...” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have been able to overcome it.”

  The image of Josh’s “overcome” tattoo flickers across my mind.

  “Do you think that’s why you never envision yourself in the future?” I ask.

  Josh looks at me blankly.

  “At dinner with Reed, you said when you were twenty, you couldn’t imagine yourself at thirty—and now that you’re thirty, you can’t picture yourself at forty. Do you think your brain has trouble imagining the future because you’re subconsciously not convinced you’ll have one? Because you’re not sure what Jonas might... do?”

  He shakes his head like I just gave him mental whiplash. “Wow.” He makes a face that says “holy fuck.” “Well, shit. I guess that’s as good a theory as any. Whoa.” He smiles. “Deep thoughts by Katherine Ulla Morgan.”

  I shrug. “Hey, even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

  “Can’t we just talk about The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? How ’bout that Raphael?”

  I wince. “Sorry.”

  “No, no, don’t apologize. I’m just kidding.” He sighs. “I guess I’m just not used to talking about this stuff.”

  “Sorry. We don’t have to.”

  “No, it’s good. It feels good.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  I bite my lip. “So how did Miss Westbrook get Jonas to talk?”

  “Well, to tell you about Miss Westbrook, I kinda have to give you a little primer on Jonas first.”

  “Okay,” I say, leaning back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He pulls me close to him and wraps his arm around my shoulder.

  “I know Jonas seems like some kind of gorilla-robot, but he’s actually really sensitive. Always has been, especially when it comes to women.” He shakes his head. “Like, take my mom, for instance. Even when he was little, Jonas didn’t just love her, he worshipped her. I loved her, too, of course. With all my heart. And yet, even I could see Jonas loved her differently than I did. As far as he was concerned, Mom was literally an angel.”

  I feel the sudden urge to get even closer to him. I slide myself onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck.

  He wraps his arms around my back in reply.

  “He was the same way with Mariela, too,” Josh continues. “Our housekeeper before my mom died. I used to beg Jonas to come outside to climb a tree with me and he’d be like, ‘No, I’m gonna clean pots with Mariela.’” Josh laughs and shakes his head at the memory. “Right after my mom died, it’s a long story, but my dad blamed Mariela for my mom’s death and sent her away—and Jonas just completely melted down. I guess losing them both was just too much for the little guy.” Emotion threatens to overtake Josh’s face. He looks down and composes himself.

  “You lost them, too,” I say softly, touching his arm.

  Josh looks back up, his face earnest. “Yeah, but I’m not Jonas.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m Josh. The fixer. The closer. Life throws shit at me, I just deal with it. I solve problems. I fix things. I’m coated in Teflon, baby—shit slides right off me and doesn’t leave a mark. But not Jonas. Even Mariela told me, ‘Take care of your brother, Josh. You know he’s the sensitive one.’”

  “So you thought it was your job to take care of Jonas, even though you were so little, too?”

  “It’s always been my job to take care of Jonas, and it always will be. I’m sure in the womb Jonas was trying to understand the functionality of the umbilical cord or articulate the meaning of life, and I was like, ‘Dude, chill the fuck out—doesn’t this amniotic fluid feel awesome? It’s like a Jacuzzi!’”

  I know Josh’s words are funny, but the expression on his face isn’t. My heart’s suddenly aching for him. I push myself even closer into him, run my hands through his hair, and kiss him gently. When we break apart, tears are streaming down my cheeks, but Josh’s eyes are bone-dry.

  “When was the last time you cried?” I ask softly.

  He shrugs. “Probably not since I was about ten. I cried like a baby when my mom died and Mariela got sent away, and I used to cry a ton the first few years whenever Jonas got sent away. But then one day when Jonas was gone, my dad found me sitting on the grass, crying my eyes out, and he reamed me for being a ‘fucking cry-baby-pussy-ass.’” He shrugs. “And that was that. I never cried again. I’ve come very, very close many times since then, but I’ve never actually shed a tear.”

  I’m blown away. “Not once?”

  He shakes his head. “I think there might be something wrong with me.”

  I make a sad face.

  “So, anyway, I got sidetracked. I was supposed to be telling you how Miss Westbrook got Jonas to talk, right?” He shifts his body underneath me and I’m treated to the unmistakable sensation of his hard-on poking me in the crotch.

  “Oh,” I say. “Hello.”

  “Hello.” He grins.

  “Wha
t’s that for?”

  “You’re sitting on my lap.”

  “That’s all it takes?”

  “Apparently.”

  I grin at him. “That’s all it takes for me, too,” I say.

  “I’m addicted to you,” he whispers.

  “I’m addicted to you,” I whisper back, my heart racing.

  He nuzzles his nose into mine. We kiss gently for a few minutes, listening to the music. My crotch is absolutely burning.

  He pulls back. “What were we talking about?”

  “Miss Westbrook.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He lays a quick peck on my lips. “Jonas became Miss Westbrook’s after-school helper, and to make a long story short, she did this crazy, amazing thing he hadn’t experienced in a really long time: she was nice to him.” He shrugs. “And that’s pretty much it—well, and she was smoking hot, too.” He grins.

  “But how do you think she convinced him to speak? A year’s a long time.”

  “I don’t know exactly what she said or did to him when they were all alone in that classroom, but whatever it was, he adored her. She could have asked Jonas to fly and he would have figured out how to sprout wings.” He sighs. “All I can say is it’s a good thing Sarah’s not some kind of evil madman bent on destroying the universe because if she were, we’d all be screwed. The boy would figure out how to do it for her.”

  “I think the feeling’s mutual.”

  Josh nuzzles my nose again. “Don’t tell Sarah, but Jonas is gonna pop the question.”

  I’m floored. “What?”

  Josh grins broadly. “He’s been sending me photos of rings this whole past week. Hang on.” He rearranges me on his lap so he can grab his phone from his pocket. “See?”

  I look at his screen—and sure enough, Jonas has texted Josh countless images of diamond rings, all of them bigger than my head.

  “Holy Hope Diamond, Batman,” I say.

  Josh laughs. “Which one do you think Sarah would like the best? Jonas won’t leave me alone about it.”

  I scroll through the images, shaking my head. “Hell, if I know. They’re all freaking spectacular—oh, wait. No. This one. Wow.” I point to a princess-cut dazzler that, for whatever reason, screams “Sarah” to me. “She’s gonna totally freak out.”

  “Bless you.” Josh grabs his phone from me and shoots off a quick text to Jonas. “You just saved me from hours of torture, Kat. Thank you.”

  “When’s he gonna ask her?”

  “In two weeks—he’s taking her on a surprise trip to Greece right after her final exams.”

  I gasp. “He’s gonna ask her in Greece? Oh my God.” I clutch my heart. “Oh my shit, Sarah’s gonna crap her pants. Greece?”

  “You ever been there?”

  “No, remember? I’ve only been out of the country to Mexico and on a cruise to the Caribbean. I told you about the cruise and you said the only way to travel by sea is by private yacht.”

  Josh laughs. “I said that? Oh my God, I’m such a douche sometimes.”

  I laugh.

  He nuzzles my nose. “So get this, babe. Jonas is planning to make poor Sarah hike to the top of Mount Olympus—because, he says, she’s ‘the goddess and the muse’”—he chuckles happily—“and then he’s gonna make her jump off the mountain and paraglide down to the beach—and that’s where he’s gonna ask her.” He laughs heartily. “So fucking Jonas.”

  “But Sarah’s deathly afraid of heights.”

  He touches my hair. “Well, sucks to be her, then. He wants to create some kind of metaphor.”

  My brain tells me I should smile and laugh, but my eyes unexpectedly fill with tears instead. Oh my God, I’m a hot mess. I cover my face with my hands. What the hell is wrong with me lately?

  “Kat? What’s wrong?” He looks genuinely concerned. “Why are you crying?”

  I shake my head and laugh at myself through my tears. “I’m just so happy for Sarah,” I say, but even as I say it, I’m not sure if this completely explains my sudden (bizarre) tears (though, of course, I am insanely happy for Sarah). “I dunno, maybe I’m just so freakin’ relieved Sarah’s okay—I was so worried about her when she was attacked.” Another true statement—but, again, I’m not sure this is the source of my tears. “Or maybe I’m just sloppy-drunk. That was a really strong drink, Josh.” I half-smile.

  Or maybe finding out Jonas is gonna propose to Sarah made my heart pang for myself, if I’m being brutally honest. Maybe my heart clanged so forcefully inside my chest cavity when Josh said those words, the sensation literally brought tears to my eyes.

  Josh looks at me funny for a long beat.

  I feel like I’ve said something wrong. Or, at least something awkward. I didn’t just now say my deepest thoughts out loud, did I?

  After a moment, Josh grabs my face and kisses me passionately. Whoa. This is quite a kiss.

  “You’re a good friend,” Josh whispers into my lips, his passion obviously surging all of a sudden. “I like that about you.”

  “Josh,” I breathe. His kiss has ignited me.

  He rises off the couch, taking my fluttering, swooning, aroused body with him—and I throw my arms around his neck.

  “Okay, Party Girl with a Hyphen,” Josh says, his eyes blazing. “Time to finish the tour of my house. Next stop: my bedroom.”

  Chapter 26

  Kat

  “Wow. Katherine Ulla Morgan’s finally gonna be in my bed,” Josh says gleefully. “Glory be.”

  I giggle, peel off my clothes, and crawl into Josh’s luxurious bed, my skin on fire. “Hurry up, Joshua William Faraday. Don’t keep Katherine Ulla Morgan waiting.”

  “I’ll be right there. Just getting some music cued up.” He glances at me from across the room, his blue eyes smoldering. “Another one from James Bay. I can’t get enough of this album.”

  As the song starts playing, Josh joins me in bed, his erection straining as he crawls over me—and in a flash, his warm skin is covering mine.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he says softly, his muscles bulging as he rests his forearms on either side of my head. “Welcome to my bed.”

  “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

  The song is swirling around us, filling the room with words that seem to have been written especially for us—especially for this moment. Did Josh select this song as some sort of coded message to me—or is it just coincidental that James Bay is singing to us to “Let It Go” and reveal our truest selves to each other?

  “I love it,” I murmur as Josh’s lips gently press into mine.

  He moans his agreement into my mouth. “Me, too.”

  Goose bumps erupt all over my body. These words are making my heart pang.

  Josh raises my arms above my head, pins my wrists together with one of his large palms, and proceeds to slowly kiss and touch his way down my arms all the way down to my mouth, where he sucks my lower lips and teases me mercilessly for a while with tender kisses, until finally leaving my mouth for my breasts. Oh God, I’m already writhing with pleasure and we’re just getting started. His lips leave my breasts and trail down to my belly, where he swirls my belly ring in his mouth, and then moves on to laying soft kisses on my hip bone and pelvis.

  “You smell so good,” he breathes. “I’m rock hard for you.”

  I’m on fire.

  When his lips finally move to the sensitive folds between my legs, I let out a long, low moan, already on the cusp of climax, and when his tongue finds my clit, I grip the sheet and arch my back, my body clenching and releasing forcefully.

  “You’re amazing, baby,” he says, his mouth lapping at me. “I love the way you get off.”

  When my orgasm subsides, he works his way back up my body, kissing, sucking, caressing, massaging, and licking me into a frenzy.

  I’m enraptured.

  His face is suddenly in mine. Oh God, I could stare into those blue eyes forever. The room is spinning. He cups my cheek in his palm and presses his warm skin into the full length of my
body. “I can’t get enough of you, baby,” he says.

  “I’m addicted, Josh,” I reply. “I’m totally addicted to you.”

  He slides his fingertips between my legs, brushing my wetness gently until I’m squirming and yelping with arousal, and I return the favor, touching him exactly the way he’s touching me—adoringly. We kiss and kiss, caressing each other gently as we do, until both of us are trembling and making sounds of extreme arousal.

  I feel transported. I can’t think. I can only want. I wrap my legs around him, pressing my body into his. “Please,” I breathe. I’m trembling with desire. “Please. I want you, Josh. Please.” I’m using a phrase I’ve used with him before: I want you. But this time I mean it in a new way. This time, I’m telling him the bare truth: I want him, not just sexually. I want him to be mine in every way. I’ve never ached like this before. My heart hurts. “I want you, Josh,” I say again. “I want you so much it hurts.” Oh my God, I feel like crying, I want him to be mine so, so much.

  “I’m all yours,” he says. He parts my legs and slides his hardness inside me, burying his shaft deep inside me, kissing me deeply as he does, stroking my hair, sucking on my lower lip again, thrusting his body slowly in and out of mine—and all of it as “Let It Go” continues to swirl around us.

  I caress his ass and dig my fingers into him and he responds by thrusting passionately into me. “Why do you always feel so fucking good?” he asks, his voice strained.

  “Josh,” I breathe. But that’s all I can manage. I’m feeling too overwhelmed to say more. With each thrust of his body, each time his chest rubs against mine, each touch of his lips, my heart feels like it’s physically reaching outside of my chest to join with his.

  Sex with Josh has never been like this before. He’s fucked my brains out many times, made me literally pass out with pleasure, but this feels different. It doesn’t feel so much like he’s fucking me, it feels more like he’s... what was that word he used when he talked about the way Jonas loves? It feels like he’s worshipping me.

  I’ve no sooner had the thought than I’m jolted with a palpable electric current. Holy hell, it’s like someone flipped a switch on our mutual circuit breaker.