Refrain (Stereo Hearts Book 3)

by Trevion Burns

  She jumped in to stop it from spreading any further. “Riding off into the sunset with me doesn’t seem like the ideal way to repair the broken bonds that are haunting every room in that family cabin, Jon. Christmas is tomorrow. If we run out on your family, and at Christmas no less, they’ll never forgive you. And if I’m the reason you’re not there for Christmas—if I’m the reason they never forgive you—I’ll never forgive myself. Mary would be devastated, Milo would be smug, and your father would be right. Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t give a fuck about proving them wrong anymore.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “All I care about is you.”

  “I don’t believe that either.”

  He faltered, leaned back, and ran his hand down his face.

  “I want you to heal with your family first—”

  “My relationship with my family will never be healed, Viola. It’s been rotten to the core for too many years, and there’s nowhere to go but down. I’d rather have something real with you than something rotten with them.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and her entire body began to shake as she struggled to hold them back.

  “I told you on the plane. I’m just here to show my face so I can get away with being gone for another ten years.” He shifted, voice hopeful. “Look, you can transfer to a college in California, right? Plenty of great schools there. I’ll pay your tuition. Any gaming console that carries Call of Duty, I’ll have it set-up and ready to play the second you land. Whatever you want, whatever you need, it’s yours. I’ll be there for you. I’ll take care of you. Then, in ten years, when we’re married, with kids, totally crazy about each other… it won’t matter to anyone how we got there. My parents and grandma will be too old to give a shit and Milo will have found someone else to be with by then, anyway, so he wouldn’t care anymore either. Frankly, he doesn’t even care now.”

  “This is beginning to feel like a repeat of dinner last night, which I’m still having post-traumatic stress over, by the way.”

  “He’s not in love with you, V. Not the way you think. I know my brother. I can’t put my finger on it but something’s… off. And you told me you weren’t in love with him either.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Do you love me?”

  She searched his eyes. “Do you love me?”

  “I asked you first.”

  I already told you.

  For some reason, though, he couldn’t say it back. Was it fear? Or worse, guilt? She swallowed back the terror that was suddenly eating her alive and sending goose bumps rising all over her skin.

  Her voice shook. “I don’t think you came here just to show your face…”

  His head fell, every muscle in his body tensing, the veins in his arms throbbing.

  “I don’t believe you came here just to do your time so you can be gone for another ten years. Not for one second. I think you came here to fix it. I think you want to fix it so damn badly, Jon that you can’t sleep at night, that you make yourself sick because you have no idea how to do it. I think you’re so scared of failing—so comfortable with… with chaos—that you’re willing to sabotage it all. But I won’t let you use me to do it. I won’t let you make me your limited edition version of unabashed chaos just to justify vanishing for another ten years because it’s easier when we both know how badly you want to be here. How badly you want them to want you. To need you as badly as you need them.”

  He let a long silence fall after she finished, swallowing thickly and avoiding her eyes, voice monotone. “Nah, I understand. I understand, V. Why would you wanna run away with the black sheep druggie when you could settle down with the straight-laced golden boy?”

  “Jon, you know that’s not—”

  “Nah, I get it.” He stood, still avoiding her eyes, voice still robotic. “Get your stuff and let’s go home. Forget we ever talked about this.”

  “We don’t have to forget.” All of the heartfelt promises he’d just made were just occurring to Viola. Marriage. Kids. College tuition paid. He’d promised her an entire life, and she’d been so blinded by the fear of being the reason he lost his family forever that she’d bypassed them completely. Perhaps a little too carelessly. So much so that she worried it was a topic of conversation he’d never dare re-visit again.

  “Jon,” she begged.

  When he looked at her, there was darkness in his gaze. Not the erotic darkness that often shadowed his blue orbs in the throes of passion, whenever his hands or lips were on her body, but instead an entirely new realm that she’d never seen before. An endless billow of black clouds, one after the other, multiplying, until every inch of light had been washed away. Like a turquoise ocean suddenly going black as the storm clouds devoured the sun.

  She’d hurt him. She hadn’t meant to, but she had. So she gathered her things without another word, her heart at her feet. As she followed him out of the shop, staying a few feet behind as he moved toward the door with clenched fists, she made a vow to herself to find a way to make everything right. Jon was too damaged, Milo was too afraid, and their father was too proud.

  It would have to be her.

  She had to make it right.

  The only thing she could do was thank the highest God that she had another week to figure out how the hell she was going to do it.

  Twenty-Three

  The next morning Viola learned that the Moores were one of those sadistic families that made everyone sit down to breakfast before opening presents on Christmas morning. The way Beau and Jackson kept craning their heads away from the dining room table to gaze longingly at the Christmas tree teasing them from the living room made her poke her lips out softly, feeling the utmost pity for the incredible torture they must’ve been enduring. Beau seemed to be struggling the most—leaning so far out of his highchair to stare at the tree behind him he was one false move from tumbling right out. Thankfully, Betty caught him just in time and put him back in his seat.

  Her smiling blue eyes danced around the table. “Shall we join hands?”

  Everyone at the table joined hands—all dressed in their Sunday best. Betty took Beau’s hand, Beau took Mary’s at the head of the table, Mary took Jon’s, Jon took Viola’s—which sent a warm shiver down her spine as always, Viola took Milo’s, Milo took Robert’s at the other end of the table, and finally, Robert took Jackson’s—who was still distracted by the dozens of gifts under the tree in the living room.

  Once the entire family was hand in hand, everyone bowed their heads, even Jackson, clearly anxious to get this meal over with as quickly as humanly possible.

  As expected, Betty’s prayer was long and drawn out, the rise and fall inflection to her voice dramatic and over the top from beginning to end. Viola tuned out halfway through, unable to quell her thoughts of Jon as Betty’s prayer quickly became overly preachy and repetitive. Viola’s heartbeat picked up a little faster every second her hand was in Jon’s. Not because her body always went into overdrive when she was touching him, but because of how loose his hand felt in hers. He hadn’t bothered to wrap his fingers around hers, opting instead to let them hang loose like a dead fish. Like she had an infectious disease, and he was terrified of catching it.

  When they’d left the tattoo parlor the day before she’d been under the impression that they’d had a disagreement. Jon’s refusal to even look her in the eye, let alone speak to her, for the entire day afterward, however, quickly proved otherwise. Viola had no idea what was in his head because he wouldn’t speak to her.

  Had they broken up?

  Better yet, had they ever really been together?

  Can’t break up with someone who was never yours, after all. Had he ever been hers? She hadn’t realized that she’d opened her eyes and was now staring at Jon with the same longing that Jackson and Beau had been staring at the tree until Milo tugged at her hand from her right. Her wide eyes flew to him just in time to see his steely brown eyes shrink into a glare.

  “Clo
se your eyes,” he mouthed, giving her a look that could kill.

  Rolling her eyes, Viola did what she was told. Not because she feared Milo’s wrath, but rather, Jon’s rejection. She couldn’t spend another minute obsessing about what was going on between them, why he’d refused to speak to her all morning, and why his hand currently felt like a dead fish in hers. If she dwelled on it too long, she knew she might burst into tears.

  “Amen,” Betty finally said.

  Relieved sighs rang across the table from all around as everyone lifted their heads and opened their eyes. Viola’s head spun, having been on the verge of falling into a short nap during the prayer that never ended. In the next instant, everyone was digging in, picking up the platters of eggs, sausage, pancakes, fruit, and croissants in the middle of the table and passing them around so they could each fill their plate.

  As Viola slowly filled hers, she realized she had no idea how she was going to eat the food she was piling onto her plate with her stomach currently on the floor. As per usual, a Christmas tune, Let it Snow, was wafting softly from the speakers of the radio in the living room, the lyrics relating to the disastrous state of her life so succinctly it only made her stomach sink lower. Like it had penetrated the Earth’s atmosphere and was currently plummeting to hell where it would surely burn to a crisp.

  The weather outside really was frightful—the first snowy day in Salt Lake all year—but nowhere near as frightful as the dark energy that Viola felt permeating off Jon at that moment, growing more intense by the second. And there was certainly nothing delightful about the fire blazing in his eyes whenever he accidentally looked at her, proving he’d rather be anywhere but there, stuck at that dinner table with her. To him, there really was no place to go. No escape. No matter how desperately he searched for one.

  Viola gaped at his profile as he made a concentrated effort not to meet her eyes again, wondering if he was the same Jon Baca who’d lain in the tattoo chair next to her as they’d gotten two halves of the word ‘mine’ branded onto their skin. The Jon Baca sitting next to her in that moment seemed closer to a man who’d much rather get ‘anyone else’s’ burned into his hipbone instead.

  Since it was customary for the Moore family to wait until everyone’s plate had been filled before anyone started eating, the entire family waited patiently until the last platter had finally been returned to the middle of the table before they even touched their utensils.

  “We ready? Everyone has everything they want?” Mary smiled brightly, downright giddy, even then, to have all of her children at the dinner table with her on Christmas.

  “Ready,” everyone said.

  “Let’s eat!” Mary beamed.

  “Hold on, before everyone digs in,” Robert held his hands out just as everyone picked up their knives and forks, causing the clatter of utensils on plates and scattered conversation to come to an immediate halt. “I have something to say.”

  The family looked on at him silently.

  Robert clenched his fists on top of the table, his brown eyes shifting to his left. “Jon…”

  Viola held her breath. She could feel everyone else at the table holding theirs too. She swore she could hear the moment it happened. When the silence that already existed plunged to an even deeper level. One that left every heart at the table racing so quickly that not even the Christmas music petering in from the living room was audible in all their humming ears.

  “Jon, I wanted to take this moment, in front of the whole family… to say… to say I’m sorry.”

  A soft gasp left Viola’s lips. Her eyes flew to Jon just in time to see his own mouth fall open as well. The complete and utter shock that washed over his face was enough to break her heart and warm it at the same time. She smiled softly at him, but he didn’t notice, his stunned blue eyes locked onto his father. Glistening with what looked suspiciously to Viola like moisture.

  At the opposite end of the table, there was no question about the tears that were filling Mary’s eyes as she pressed her lips together and nodded sharply at her husband. Looking at him with the kind of pride that would be in a mother’s eyes as she watched her toddler learning to walk for the first time.

  In a way, Viola guessed this was Robert’s own special brand of learning to walk. Of taking that first step. A step he’d been shaky about since the moment they’d all arrived at that house, two weeks earlier.

  Even Viola found herself looking back to Robert with a new softness in her eyes, but even more so, gratefulness.

  Robert drew in a deep breath, spreading his fingers wide with his eyes lowered. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved at the campfire…” A lump moved down his throat as if he were choking down a bed of nails. “I regret my behavior. It wasn’t fair to you, and I really… really hope you can join me… help me… in taking the first step toward making things right.”

  Jon went to speak, but only a soft croak left his lips, and no words came.

  Robert exhaled and shifted his eyes to Milo. “Milo, I was wrong for pitting you against your brother. Not just during this trip… but for all these… all these years. That was wrong.”

  Viola looked at Jon again just as his shoulders collapsed in naked relief. His eyes fell closed, and he shook his head softly as if tangling with the tornado of emotions charging through him was quickly becoming too much to bear.

  “I was wrong, son,” Robert continued to Jon. “I was wrong on all of it. I’m your father, this entire family takes their cues from me, and I’ve been leading us in the wrong… in the wrong direction. For too long. But it stops today.” He pressed his pointer finger into the table hard enough to make it vibrate. “You have my word, Jon.”

  Jon’s nostrils flared, but all he could do was nod as Mary cupped his shoulder with a smile.

  Robert smiled at Jon. “I was wrong about you, Jon. All along. I was wrong. And I’m s—”

  “Jon and Viola was kissing!” Beau cried from his high chair, smiling proudly as every eye in the room flew to him in shock. “I saw Jon’s penis and Viola’s ‘gina!”

  Viola nearly emptied her stomach. Every bone in her body went rigid. A new silence filled the room, one that was much thicker than the one Robert had inspired just a moment earlier. One she’d never in her life experienced. One that made her entire body feel tight to the point of breaking. Like the cold chill that raced down her spine had frozen all her internal organs solid. The goose bumps that prickled her skin and the hair standing on the back of her neck the only signs of life. She couldn’t even look at Jon to see how he’d reacted, too terrified to move.

  Mary laughed bashfully and cupped Beau’s shoulder, clearly convinced that he hadn’t just said what she thought he just said. “Sweetie, what did you just say?”

  “I saw Jon’s penis and Viola’s ‘gina,” Beau announced again, as nonchalantly as he would announce that he needed to go boo-boo.

  This time, every eye at the table shifted to Jon and Viola.

  Viola tried to play it cool, but couldn’t, unable to stand the feeling of every horror-stricken eye hitting her. She leaned forward on the table and buried her head in her hands.

  “What the hell is he talking about?” Robert spat, eyes burning a hole into Jon.

  “He’s obviously confused,” Mary said, still laughing nervously.

  “No, he’s not.” Robert leaned one elbow on the table while pointing a finger at Jon. “He’s not confused, is he Jon?”

  Viola looked at Jon—as did the rest of the table—just as Jon slammed his eyes closed. Probably fantasizing about how fast he was going to take his hundred dollars back from his loud-mouthed baby brother.

  “What the hell did you do?” Robert roared.

  Viola gasped softly, the very act painful because her lungs had caught fire.

  Jackson’s entire body was craned backward as if he were moments from melting into the upholstery of his chair. Teeth clenched tight, his head was pulled so far back he looked like he had five chins.

  Even Betty was
struck speechless, her wide blue eyes dashing all over the table like she was watching a five-man tennis match.

  Even Milo looked upon Jon and Viola like he was looking at two strangers. As if he wasn’t the biggest fraud there.

  When Jon didn’t answer the question quickly enough for his liking, Robert slammed his fist down on the table, so hard it made all the plates jump into the air and clatter back down with a clank. Every soul in the room gasped as their food became upended from their plates at the blow, flying through the air before dropping back down on the table as Robert’s voice rose to a roar.

  “You never fail!” he screamed to Jon, his entire face beet red. “And to think I damn near apologized. To think I believed I was wrong about you! I believed that you’d changed.”

  “Robert, please—”

  “You’d sleep with your brother’s girlfriend? Are you that sick, Jon? That evil? That goddamn depraved?”

  “Robert,” Betty begged.

  “Milo,” Viola begged too, her watery eyes flying to Milo.

  Every bone in Milo’s body shook as their eyes met. When he saw the pleading in Viola’s brown orbs as the first tear popped out and raced down her cheek, he lowered his own, grinding his teeth.

  Robert stood from his seat, which caused Mary to stand too, reaching a desperate hand across the table at him, speechless, entranced in her own daze, so much so that she couldn’t even make a real effort to calm him down.

  Gasping, Robert pointed toward the door, spittle flying from his lips. “You get the hell out of my house, Jon. You get the hell out of my house, and don’t you ever come back!”

  Jon threw his napkin down on the table and stood, causing Mary to break and explode into full-on cries, immediately running to the dining room entry to block Jon from leaving.

  “Get out!” Robert screamed. “You’re not my son! Everything you touch, Jon! Everything you touch turns to shi—”

  “I’m gay!” Milo stood from his seat with his arms thrown out at his sides—his own cheeks red-hot as his shouted voice sent another silence blasting through the room.