Yes, as their eyes locked across the table, he was a closed book. Not a single flare of his nostrils indicated anger. Not a single squish of his eyebrows communicated confusion. Not even the tiniest narrowing of those gorgeous blue eyes as the weight of the situation dawned on him. His poker face remained so unwavering at that moment, Viola found herself wondering if he even remembered her. Fighting back the urge to wave her arms through the air, shouting, “Hey, there. It’s me? Delta Airlines, flight 485? You laid me across the seats and jammed your tongue down my throat? Ringing any bells? No?”
“Looks like you might have a fan.” Mary smiled proudly, squeezing Jon’s arm.
Only then did Viola realize her mouth had fallen open. So she clapped it closed. Then it hit her that her eyes were abnormally wide, so she squinted them. Her hands were shaking as well, so she hid them in her lap.
Jon stepped forward, eyes never leaving hers, dropped his bag in an empty chair, and then leaned forward, offering her his hand.
And there it was.
The tiniest flash of darkness in his luminous eyes. The rapid twitch of his lips. The vein in the middle of his forehead that pulsed and disappeared in a flash—so fast a single blink of the eye would’ve caused her to miss it. But Viola didn’t miss it.
“Jon,” he said.
She swallowed thickly and placed her hand in his. He had to feel it shaking the moment he took it in a death grip. His fingers squeezed so tightly she wondered if he was purposely trying to hurt her. The same flash that’d shot through her when she’d first touched him on the plane was still there. Only this time it was mixed with the complete and utter agony of the situation at hand, which only served to make it ten times more powerful. Forcing her to suck in a breath when it sent her heart racing to twice its speed.
“I know,” she said, searching his eyes before moving her gaze accusingly over to Milo. “Milo never told me his brother was a rock star.”
Jon’s eyes shifted to Milo.
Milo cut a look at Jon as well while keeping his body angled at Viola.
“Yeah, he never does,” Jon said, the first to open his arms to Milo. “Bro…?”
Milo searched Jon’s eyes, hesitated, and then stepped forward. The two brothers shared an embrace so short it looked more like an accidental run-in than a hug. Both took a healthy step away the moment they pulled back, looking in opposite directions as if seeing the dining room both they’d grown up in for the first time.
“How could you not tell me your brother was Jon Baca?” Viola demanded, apparently unable to hold her tongue for a single moment longer.
Every eye in the room flew to her, including Jon’s. She felt his blue orbs burning into her but no longer had the heart to look. A heart that was officially broken as it dawned on her that she’d just lost him forever. The man who, just hours earlier, had lit up her life and made her entire day. The man who’d had her smiling for the entire drive up there as she thought of all the amazing possibilities their future might hold. The man who’d lifted her so high she’d felt like she could kick back and relax on the fat clouds in the sky. A man who’d given her the kind of hope she’d convinced herself she’d never have. The kind she’d once believed only existed in TV shows and romance movies.
That hope was gone now. All because Milo had left her in the dark. If she’d known Jon Baca was his brother, of course she would’ve never kissed him on that aircraft. She’d have never agreed to pose as Milo’s girlfriend in the first place. Perfectly content to go to her grave single, having lived every day of her life in the deluded hope that she might one day have a chance with his fine ass brother.
She’d have never put herself in the position to have Jon looking at her the way he was now. Like a liar. A cheater. A whore. A woman willing to make out with a near stranger knowing damn well she was in a relationship.
If he’d ever taken her seriously before—even for a moment—he never would again. Tears almost came to her eyes. Then she realized how weird that would be and fought them away.
“You know how much I love The White Keys,” she roared to Milo.
“Yeah, I do,” Milo said. “And I didn’t want that to be the only reason you loved me.”
Viola sobered, her gaze shifting to Jon who was watching Milo with flared nostrils, squished eyebrows, and narrowed eyes.
“Thank God he uses a stage name, or I might never know for sure,” Milo added, cutting a glare at Jon.
Viola whispered, “That makes sense, I guess.”
Jon’s irritation was plain. He forced his heated orbs away while snatching up his bag and facing his mother.
“Got you something,” he said to Mary, eliciting a squeal from her.
“Oh, baby, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Mary caressed his reddened cheeks. “Your being here is more than enough.”
“It’s a Christmas miracle is what it is,” Betty quipped.
“Your handsome faces are the best gifts in the world. The only gifts I ever wanted. My two oldest boys—back together.” Mary gasped softly, gripping Jon’s bicep. “How long are you staying?”
Jon unzipped the duffle bag he’d dropped into the chair, his voice low and grumbly. “Just for the week.”
“You’re not staying through Christmas?” Mary’s shoulders sank like helium leaving a balloon.
“Can’t. Gotta do a show in NYC for New Years. Gotta get everything set up.”
“Don’t you have stagehands for that? And what about your stand-in? He’s always so anxious for you to miss a flight or come down with the flu just so he can jump into the spotlight—”
“Mary, if the boy has a show, he has a show!” Betty took hold of Mary’s arm to calm her. “Let’s just be happy he’s here now.”
Milo rolled his eyes.
Viola caught it, studying him with a soft frown.
Jon pulled two small gifts wrapped in shiny red paper out of his bag, handing one to Mary and the other to Betty. “These aren’t your Christmas gifts. Just saw ‘em in the terminal…”
“Baby, you really didn’t have to…” Mary’s voice trailed away, looking down at Beau when he began whining from his high chair, apparently drawn in by the shiny red gift.
“Mines?” Beau clawed for the gift.
“You wanna help Mama open it? Okay, you get that side, and I’ll get this side.” Mary and Beau tore into the present together, and Jon approached Beau’s high chair as he did, placing a gentle kiss hello on his youngest brother’s blonde curly head. Beau barely acknowledged the kiss—unable to focus on anything but tearing into the present, his clumsy hands making his and Mary’s process a little slower than Betty’s, who’d already torn her wrapping away and was popping open a black velvet box.
“Oh, Johnny!” Betty cried, clapping her hand over her heart as she gazed longingly into the box. “Good heavens. 18 karats?”
“No idea,” Jon chuckled. “Like I said, just saw ‘em and thought of you.”
A moment later, Mary gasped as well, her and Beau gazing down at the shiny studs gleaming from her earring box. Since it wasn’t colorful and it didn’t have wheels, Beau lost interest quickly, going back to his juice cup, while Mary looked up at Jon with watery eyes.
She stood and cupped both sides of his face, kissing his cheeks softly. “They’re absolutely lovely, baby. Thank you. I’ll cherish them forever.”
“I’m sure they’ll look beautiful on you, Mom.”
“I’m gonna go put them on right now!”
Mary made a mad dash for the staircase, skipping a beat every other stride to do a little hop, but slowed to a stop at the bottom of the landing when she found herself face to face with Robert, who’d been in the midst of coming back down. With his gray hair now damp and slicked back, he appeared to have showered and changed out of his work clothes. He donned a fresh pair of beige slacks and a white button-down shirt.
“Look what Jon got me, baby. Aren’t they wonderful?” Mary presented Robert with the earring box, the smile on her face a
lmost as bright as the diamonds glittering inside.
“You’d think a ten-year absence might earn you a bracelet to match.” Robert cut his brown eyes across the room to Jon.
“Robert Michael Moore.” Mary lowered her voice to a hushed whisper that was still audible. “You promised.”
Robert didn’t acknowledge his wife’s admonishment, unable to tear his eyes away from his oldest son.
Jon clenched his jaw and averted his eyes from his father. Unfortunately, the aversion only caused his gaze to land right back on Viola, who instantly straightened her spine. He took hold of the back of the chair in front of him, his knuckles turning ghost white as he gripped the wood with all his might.
Her cheeks heated in response to the coldness in his orbs and she was the first to avert her gaze, weakened by the crushing weight of her thoughts. Or rather, his thoughts. What was on his mind as he burned a hole through her with those blazing eyes? How was he judging her? Surely not kindly.
It’s all a huge misunderstanding she yearned to scream. I’m not a giant whore who cheated on your brother in mid-air, I swear it!
Of course, she couldn’t swear it. Not without betraying Milo. So Jon’s judgmental eyes endured, and her stomach tied itself into a knot accordingly.
“That reminds me,” Milo said. “Viola and I brought gifts too, Mom. Babe, toss me the keys so I can go and get them.”
Babe? Man was he laying it on thick. Never in their lives had Milo referred to her using that word. It felt so foreign that Viola was momentarily motionless—dumbfounded, like he hadn’t just spoken to her in plain English—before she finally snapped back to reality, reached into her pocket, and tossed him the keys.
Milo caught them with one hand. “Thanks, babe.”
A smirk bloomed across Jon’s face. Viola truly believed he was going to explode and spill her secret right there. Demand an explanation as to why he knew what “babe’s” tongue tasted like? How her bottom lip felt trapped between his teeth? What a soft cushion her thigh had been against the weight of his raging dick?
She felt her center liquefy and clench at the memory of that hardness against her leg, then dry up like the Sahara desert because it was now a pleasure she had no chance of becoming better acquainted with.
Still smirking, Jon kept his eyes down as Milo announced he’d be right back and left the dining room, the front door opening and closing behind him a moment later.
Jon drew in a breath, looked up, and glared at Viola.
Here it comes, she thought. The inevitable explosion.
“So, Viola,” Jon spoke through slightly clenched teeth. “How did you and Milo meet?”
“Um—” She cleared her throat when her voice broke, eyes falling into her lap. “The financial aid office, day one of freshman year. The line was around the block, and we literally had hours to talk. Then we were in the same Calculus class. I was floundering, and Milo was pulling an A+ like it was nothing, so he tutored me. Saved my life, really. His brain is out of control. Sometimes I wonder if he’s even human.”
“He didn’t get a full ride to NYU for nothing,” Jon said. “So you two have been together for three years, huh?”
She faltered. So he wasn’t going to explode after all. Just interrogate the shit out of her.
“They were friends first, baby,” Mary said, still standing in front of Robert at the staircase, tilting her head to the side and slipping on her new earrings. “She’s all over his Facebook.”
“I might know that if he ever accepted my friend requests,” Jon mumbled.
“Same here.” Betty pouted.
“I’m just special, I guess,” Mary chirped, appearing a little too pleased that she was the only family member Milo didn’t completely ignore on social media.
Milo came back inside a moment later with a Hudson News bag in his hand. With a proud smile, he pulled out two oversized red Christmas sweaters. Each was dominated by a giant stencil of a Christmas tree and had been sprinkled with enough colorful glitter to adorn the cheeks of underage female club-goers for decades to come.
“Saw these and thought of you guys,” Milo said, handing out the sweaters to Mary and Betty.
“Oh, baby!” Mary cried, taking the sweater with the same awe and gratitude as she just had the earrings. “I’m gonna go put it on right now!”
A smug smile found its way back to Jon’s lips, this time in response to Mary’s over-enthusiastic response to that ugly ass sweater.
“It’s not much, but…” Milo dragged.
“It’s heartfelt,” Robert said. “The real gift is you. Not how much you spent, or how shiny it is.”
Jon chuckled and he pushed off of the back of the chair, mumbling, “I need some air.”
Mary’s mouth fell as he stalked toward the door, her eyes following him. “That’s a good idea, baby. Why don’t we all go out onto the porch and catch up? It’s such a beautiful day outside. Probably the last day this year it’ll be over sixty degrees!”
The family hesitantly filed onto the porch after Mary, who’d purposely ignored the fact that Jon had clearly left the house in annoyance and would probably rather be alone.
The expansive front porch wrapped around the entire house, giving 360 degree views of the sprawling forest and bustling streams that made it feel like something straight off a postcard. Viola was the last to file out, and most of the family had taken their seats on the patio furniture to the left. Mary, Beau, and Betty swung on a white porch swing in front of the dining room window. Robert sat in one of the four red cushioned chairs situated around the small patio table alongside the swing. Jon had his back turned to everyone, leaning on the porch railing. Viola could picture the way his biceps must be clenching and relaxing under his leather jacket right then, and her mouth watered at the thought.
It was a watered mouth wasted. A thirst that would never be quenched. A dehydration that would surely end in sudden death. Death by hunger or by heartbreak. Whichever came first. When he cut a look at her over his shoulder, she knew it would be the heartbreak that took her out faster. She hoped her execution would be swift—so fast she didn’t even see it coming—but as he broke their gaze and looked back out into the forest once more, she knew that was wishful thinking. Her death would be as slow as molasses. Ensuring she felt every twinge, every prickle, every sharp blast of white-hot pain charging through her until her body finally gave in and stole her last breath.
Unable to move as her thoughts claimed her and froze her bones, she remained leaning in the doorway, gazing blankly ahead into the forest, wondering how the hell she was going to get through the next three weeks alive.
The sight of a young teenage boy making his way up the path with a backpack slung over one shoulder, however, tore her out of her thoughts. She knew instantly that the boy—with brown hair cut into a bowl cut across his forehead, sparkling blue eyes that claimed her even from several dozen feet away, and an unhurried stride that illustrated he was in no rush to arrive at the house before him—was the famous Jackson, whom she hadn’t yet met but felt like she already knew.
Proving her thoughts right, Robert shot out of his seat the moment he too saw Jackson making his way up the dirt road. He barreled down the porch steps and stomped across the yard, making a beeline for the fresh-faced teenager.
Jackson froze in his tracks as his father came blazing toward him. He even took a tiny step backward.
Robert grabbed the back of his neck before he could take another step in retreat, squeezing so hard it made the young boy wince. Shaking him, Robert craned his neck downward to get eye to eye, since Jackson was nearly a foot shorter than him. Robert’s pinched face and clenched teeth promised that the words leaving his tightened lips weren’t anything nice, and Jackson’s lowered eyes only solidified that. Viola couldn’t hear what Robert was saying, but she didn’t need to. Just watching the exchange reminded her of her own days as a teenager. Days when she’d been nothing but trouble, causing her mother so much grief with her antics it w
as a wonder the woman hadn’t perished from stress-induced heart failure. Robert yanked out the attendance letter he’d showed Mary earlier and shoved it in Jackson’s face, shaking it almost as hard as he shook his son.
“Oh, go easy on him will ya? It’s Christmas!” Betty called from the swing.
Robert paused when his mother’s voice reached him across the yard. Her words must’ve resonated because—after going still for a moment—he released his hold on Jackson, turned, and began a sharp stride back toward the house. Jackson took up the rear, leaving several feet of space between them.
When Jackson looked up and caught sight of Jon, however, his mouth dropped, his eyes widened, and the backpack fell from his shoulder. It didn’t even finish hitting the ground before he’d broken into a run, jetting past Robert in a mad dash toward the porch steps.
“What’s good, bro?” Jon asked with a soft laugh, moving to meet Jackson at the porch steps. He’d barely cleared the first step down before Jackson bounded up, lunging at him and encircling his waist in a bone-crushing hug. It reminded Viola of the way Mary had jumped into Jon’s arms when he’d first arrived. Jon caught Jackson with ease, nearly a foot taller than him as well, only stumbling a little under the weight of the blast. Jon’s laughter slowly faded, giving way to a soft frown when Jackson began to weep softly in his arms. He tilted his head to get a better look at Jackson’s face and, upon seeing his lips curled down and eyes closed tightly, he groaned and cupped the back of his head.
Emotion overtook Jackson—his reddened cheek smashed into Jon’s chest as Jon cradled the back of his head, ruffling his brown hair. They embraced for several long moments as entire family watched with soft smiles. Warmed from the inside out at the brotherly love.
“Dad said you weren’t coming,” Jackson mumbled against Jon’s chest. His voice was hoarse, the way only a teenage boy’s voice could be. Teetering in that valley between high-pitched and deep that caused it to break with every other word he said.
“And, yet, here I am.”
“I missed you so much.”
“Ah, man, I know. I missed the hell outta you. It’s been too damn long, and that’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
Refrain (Stereo Hearts Book 3) Page 7