Sweet Crazy Song

by Vivian Lux

  Sweet Crazy Song

  Kings of Crown Creek Book One

  Vivian Lux

  Copyright © 2018 by Vivian Lux

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To Nancy

  I’m a little broken

  I hope you understand

  Can you take me as I am?

  Can you take me as I am?

  God know I ain’t perfect

  It’s not like I had planned

  Can you take me as I am?

  Can you take me as I am

  Johnny Black - ‘Take Me As I Am’

  Contents

  1. Ruby

  2. Jonah

  3. Jonah

  4. Ruby

  5. Jonah

  6. Ruby

  7. Jonah

  8. Ruby

  9. Jonah

  10. Jonah

  11. Ruby

  12. Ruby

  13. Ruby

  14. Jonah

  15. Jonah

  16. Jonah

  17. Ruby

  18. Jonah

  19. Ruby

  20. Ruby

  21. Ruby

  22. Jonah

  23. Ruby

  24. Jonah

  25. Ruby

  26. Jonah

  27. Ruby

  28. Jonah

  29. Jonah

  30. Ruby

  31. Jonah

  32. Ruby

  33. Jonah

  34. Ruby

  35. Jonah

  36. Ruby

  37. Jonah

  38. Ruby

  39. Jonah

  40. Ruby

  41. Ruby

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  The End

  Also by Vivian Lux

  Chapter One

  Ruby

  The piano music died away. There was a stray cough that sounded like Principal Donovan's persistent dry hack. Then, silence.

  After a moment, Foster King stood up. His family watched him as he stood at the end of his row of chairs, unfolding a piece of torn notebook paper and smoothing it on his thigh before he walked stiffly to the podium in front of us.

  I leaned back and blinked. Watching him meant I had to look at Gideon's casket for the first time. This was the funeral of a man who filled some of the empty space my father left when he died. Not all of it. Who could have?

  But now the emptiness was the size of two dads.

  My ribs were stuck in place, not expanding or retracting, glued with grief.

  When she heard me take a deep, desperate breath, my friend Willa reached over and covered my hand with hers. "You're okay," she mouthed. Always the mother hen, even at a funeral. She handed me a tissue and then reached past me to hand one to Sadie who was sitting on my left. Sadie took it without looking, her eyes faraway, dreaming of being in some place nicer than a funeral home at ten in the morning on a gray November day. Willa nodded as I wiped my nose. "You're okay," she repeated, nodding like the force of her love could make it true.

  I nodded, my eyes filling with tears, but she was wrong. I wasn't okay. Gideon was in that box. My second chance at a father figure, my mentor at the school, and he was gone now.

  I knew people thought it was strange that a twenty-three year old woman and a forty-six year old man could be such good friends. Good friends without a trace of the weirdness that usually plagues male / female friendships. Gid said it was because I was an old soul and he was a big kid. I told him he was right, then admonished him to sit up straight before he threw his back out.

  He always roared with laughter at that.

  He was never going to laugh again, and that was the part that hurt the most. How a man like him could just...end. How was I supposed to do anything now?

  I dragged my eyes away from that box where Gideon lay silent and still, and back up to the podium.

  Mr. King cleared his throat. "Thank you all," he said into the small mic, voice catching before growing stronger. "I am glad to see all of the people here today. My little brother was a hard guy to get to know." His voice caught again. "But an easy guy to love all the same."

  Mrs. King was nodding in front row. Claire rested her head on her mom's shoulder, letting her muss her blonde hair absently. Of course my best friend needed to be up there with the rest of her family, rather than sitting back here with her friends. After all, Gideon was her uncle and lived on their property. But if always made me feel unstable when we got together and one of the four of us was missing. Like a bench with only three legs.

  Next to Claire, her brother Beau was listening to their father, his spine very straight and tall. Finn, his twin brother, was leaning forward so I couldn't see his face. But I could see their brother Gabriel's face all right, and I had to look away because I knew exactly why he looked so angry.

  It was because the seat next to his was empty.

  "I know Gideon wouldn't want us to let our sadness cloud the good memories," Mr. King said. His voice was fading and he had to strain it to get to the end of his eulogy as the wind picked up outside. I touched my cheek, feeling the tears start to track their way down. Willa silently handed me another tissue. Sadie blew her nose quietly. "We all loved him," Mr. King went on. "And I know he loved all of us." His eyes glanced up towards the back and stayed there for a moment.

  I held my breath, wondering if Jonah King had finally arrived.

  But Mr. King just shook his head and looked down again, disappointment flickering across his face. "We're gonna miss you, Giddyup," he said, gruffly patting the casket. "I hope the angels can handle your singing."

  A small ripple of nervous titters came up from the crowd. There was a sound of shuffling and then coughing. I looked over to see that everyone was looking at Isobel Tanner, but she showed no sign of moving, only staring straight ahead with a dazed look of disbelief on her face.

  Dizzy Izzy, as she was known throughout town, was Gideon's long-term girlfriend. At twenty-eight, she was eighteen years younger than him, much closer to my age than his. I felt a burst of sympathy to see her hunched shoulders, suddenly frail looking without her man at her side. They'd been together ten years now, the only love she'd ever had, and to hear Gid tell it, the only one he'd ever had too.

  A hot knife of anger at the unfairness of this all twisted in my gut again as I looked at her. Izzy was fragile, Gid was always saying so. Izzy was the kind of sweet, innocent person the world rushed to protect, to cushion from hurts as deep as this. She should have been selling her herbal tinctures at the Winter Market right now, smiling at all the bundled up kids and touching their heads. She should have been waiting for Gid to pull up in his van to collect her, ready to leap into his arms like their separation had been years instead of hours. This shouldn't have happened to her and it made me so angry that it had.

  Izzy was wearing this light blue dress, totally inappropriate for a funeral, like she had no idea where she was. Her legs were bare, even though it had been sleeting freezing rain this morning when we arrived and...

  "Oh shit," I murmured.

  "What's wrong?" Willa hissed, leaning in.

  "Izzy's barefoot."

  Willa looked over and rolled her eyes. "Oh lord. Where are her shoes?"

  "No idea." I shook my head. The priest had stepped in and was now talking about eternal rest, which sounded like something Gideon would have hated. I tried to look anywhere else, but those bare, dirty toes seemed seared into my retinas. "I have a pair of sneakers in my car," I whispered to Willa. "I'm going to go gra
b them for her."

  "Don't worry about it, honey," Willa whispered back. "I'm sure she just left them in a corner somewhere."

  I glanced at Izzy again. "Maybe, maybe not. I want her to have the option, though."

  "Don't try to adopt her now," Willa warned. Which was pretty rich coming from a girl who tucked seven packs of tissues into her purse before coming this morning because she thought Sadie and I would forget. Never mind she was right.

  "I'm just getting shoes for her," I said, a little too loudly. Willa's mouth twitched and I knew what she was thinking and she was wrong. I wasn't trying to take care of Izzy just because Gid was gone now. I just...

  I had shoes. She needed shoes. Seemed like a no-brainer. It was the right thing to do.

  "If it ends before I'm back, tell Claire I'm coming," I told Willa. She shook her head, but Sadie snapped out of her daydream and nodded, still wiping her nose.

  I ducked past Willa into the aisle and scooted towards the doors in the back, pausing to rest my hand on Izzy's shoulder as I did. My threadbare woolen coat was hanging in the vestibule. I never wore the thing, but my usual practical bright purple puffy jacket seemed the wrong attire for a funeral.

  I was still buttoning up my coat when the car screeched in to the lot of Lowry Funeral home. It had the shiny glaze of newness on it, and the plates were from out of state. I tracked it as it circled slowly before it finally, almost begrudgingly, shoved its way into the last spot in the row.

  My heart was already racing. Grief and worry spun around in my head, crashing into each other until a new emotion was born.

  Fucking rage.

  I threw open the funeral home door, ignoring the slam that ricocheted like a gunshot off the low rolling hills, and tore down the stairs to stand guard. Fuck him if he thought he was going to rush in and interrupt the service like some hero. He could wait til it was all over and live with the fact he'd missed it. Like hell was I going to let him make Gid's funeral all about him.

  The car sat silent at the end of the row for a moment. Leaves skittered across the pavement in the chilly breeze, but anger had me warm enough that it may as well have been a blazing hot day in June. I took a breath, ready to storm down to the car and confront him right then.

  But finally the door opened and Jonah King leaped out.

  His haircut wasn't a surprise. The tabloid that covered it was still sitting in the dentist's office six months after the fact. I'd seen him, even as I pretended to avoid him. He was still working, honing his solo career after the King Brothers broke up two years ago. He'd opened a leg of Wreckage's US tour, played festivals, and showed up for bit parts and cameos in B-movies. His face was as familiar to me as my own at this point. So I knew exactly how upset he was right now.

  But anger tightened in my chest all the same. "You missed it," I called.

  He stopped short. "Ruby," he exhaled, taking me in. "You cut your hair."

  There was a brief flash of pleasure tinged confusion that he would have noticed that, but I crossed my arms over my chest all the same. "The priest is giving the blessing," I went on as if he hadn't interrupted. "Your dad already gave the eulogy, so..." I trailed off. He was fifty yards away from me, across a bitterly cold parking lot, but I could still feel it.

  That magnetism. The thing that made him a star at fourteen and had kept him in the limelight all this time.

  I fucking hated it.

  "So yeah," I went on, stepping into the lot. "You basically missed it all."

  Jonah threw up his hands. "West Ridge was closed!" he complained, distress written in every line of his body. "I had to go all the way up to Johnson Bridge to get across."

  "It's been closed two years now," I said pointedly. "Ever since the flood."

  He pressed his lips together in frustration and hissed out a low breath of pissed off recollection. "Right."

  "If you'd come home since then..."

  "I got it, Ruby," he interrupted, raking his hand through his dark hair. For one moment, his face was pure heartbreak, but as quickly as it came, he smoothed it away and forced his face back down into its usual arrogant smirk. He shook his head. "Anything else you want to say or can I go in and be with my family now?"

  "Yeah I have something to say." I crossed my arms. "You should wait."

  "You said it was almost done, I don't want to miss it." He stepped to the side.

  I stepped right into his path. He was a full head taller than me now, something I never remembered about him until I saw him face to face. Or rather, face to collarbone.

  He glowered a second and stepped to the right. I countered him.

  "We should have had you in the band," he muttered. "You're a good dancer. But let me by."

  "No."

  "Ruby, he's my uncle."

  "And he was my best friend!" I blurted.

  He paused and looked down at me. "I thought my sister was your best friend."

  My voice broke. "She was. I mean, she is." It was hitting me. Tenses were fucking me up. My words got ahead of my brain, coming out in a desperate, angry flood. "Gid is... he was a different kind of friend, like more of a mentor and I can't believe this! Like, he was working on the school play just last week and telling me about the music he was writing for it and now he's gone and.."

  The sobs I'd been holding back all through the service suddenly broke free, which pissed me off because the last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Jonah King. I wanted to rage at him for too many reasons to even count right now, but instead of quailing under the force of my righteous fury he suddenly pulled me into a hug.

  I froze. His arms were around me, my nose pressed into his chest. "It's okay," he breathed. "I know. My uncle was a special guy, for sure."

  I stiffened but for some reason I couldn't push him away. I hated that I didn't start hitting him. I hated that I wasn't yelling at the top of my lungs for him to let go, that didn't need his comfort.

  Apparently I did. Because as he pulled me to him, my tears came harder and faster. I gulped great breaths, trying to stop my sobs and in the process filled my lungs with the smell of Jonah. He smelled fancier somehow, but I still could detect a little bit of something familiar there, the same scent that lingered in the air when he would pass through the room where Claire, Willa, Sadie and I were playing. I knew that scent and I knew him too, which was why my body sagged into his and I allowed myself to soak his shirt. But I hated him, and hated myself, the whole time I was doing it.

  "It's okay," he said again, more hesitant this time. I felt his arms tighten around me, his fingers sinking into the wool of my coat. Clinging, even. Like he needed my comfort as much as I needed his.

  His familiar scent was playing havoc with my memories, steeped in tender nostalgia. My body didn't feel connected to my brain anymore.

  To my shock, I felt my own arms reach up and squeeze him.

  He exhaled in a rush and pulled back. The corner of his mouth tugged into that same studied smile I'd seen on posters and magazine covers my whole fucking life. "Thanks, Ruby. I think I needed that." And in one smooth motion he stepped around me and bounded into the funeral home.

  I watched him with my mouth open, wanting to say something but not knowing what the hell it was.

  He was such a fucking asshole.

  I followed him back into the vestibule and it was only then that I remembered I hadn't gotten Izzy shoes.

  Chapter Two

  Jonah

  I ran inside, convinced Ruby was deliberately making a scene to get sympathy. And I'd obliged her, enjoying the feel of her little body pressed against mine a lot more than I was expecting. But when I stepped into the vestibule, I realized she'd actually been telling the truth.

  I'd missed it.

  I'd fucking missed it.

  I felt the sick realization settle into my limbs, weighing me down. And then right after it came the dull detachment as I pulled back from that awful feeling, unready and unwilling to feel it fully yet. This was Gid's funeral and I'd fucked
up and missed it. I knew the despair was going to hit me soon enough, but right now all I could do was sigh as I opened the second set of doors and entered the funeral home.

  The sickeningly floral smell hit me first - nothing natural or fresh smelling about those flower arrangements, they all smelled like they'd been spritzed with old lady perfume - and then the sound of scraping chairs and stretching bodies. The service was over and everyone was making to leave and no one seemed to be looking for me, or towards me, at all.

  It was odd. I couldn't remember the last time I entered a room without all eyes on me.

  The pissed off adrenaline over the closed bridge was slowly draining away, leaving behind a muddy sort of unreality. Half because I was in a funeral home and that was my Uncle Gid in a box over there. And half because I was back in Crown Creek and I hadn't seen any of these people in almost two years. I stood there for a moment, trying and failing to collect myself, to call on the years of being in front of an audience to pull myself together, but the old creeping anger was still raising the hairs on the back of my neck. And it only got worse when I caught sight of my brothers. I touched the flask in my back pocket. I'd filled it with the good shit when I'd left very my hotel in Ohio very early this morning, knowing I might need a lot of help to get through this day.

  Beau had been the one to call me, and at first I thought it was some kind of sick joke. Maybe a cheap trick to get me to come home and force a reconciliation with my brothers. I'd even been hoping that the closer I got to Crown Creek, because the alternative was too insane to bear. Uncle Gideon, dead? That couldn't possibly be true.