14. Claire
14
CLAIRE
“So how’s it going?”
I glance up from my phone to find Sav smiling at me. I hadn’t even realized she’d moved seats. I smile.
“Good, I think. So far.”
“I did an internet search this morning and everyone is buzzing about the youth center visit yesterday.”
“I saw. Seems like it’s going over well,” I say with a nod, and then I flare my eyes. “I’m withholding judgment until the story’s been out for forty-eight hours, though. You never know what kind of drama the tabloids will try to create.”
Sav laughs. “Isn’t that the truth.” She glances down at her phone and starts to scroll. “But still...The headlines look promising. You did good.”
My answering smile is tight, and I don’t argue. She’s right—early headlines are nothing but praise. Selfies from the kids have flooded social media, and news articles are circulating a quote from Ms. Nilsson that’s saying how “wonderful” and “kind” it was that Jonah took time out of his day to visit the Stockholm Youth Center. So far, it’s looking good, but I’m still waiting until I declare it successful.
“Are you planning to say anything?”
I shake my head and tell her what I told Jonah. “I’ve got a social media post scheduled for this afternoon, but it won’t directly address the youth center. I think subtlety is key here. If we’re going to do this and make it last, we need everyone to see it as authentic. If the media thinks we’re only doing this for PR, we’ll never win any of them over.”
Sav smirks and arches a brow, but she says nothing. It makes me nervous.
“What?” I ask.
She shrugs. “You’re good at this.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No. Thanks, but no. Honestly, anyone with a background in marketing would have thought of it.”
“I think you’re being modest.”
I laugh again, and it’s even more awkward the second time.
“Seriously. There’s a reason why Jo’s dad trusted you with this. Give yourself some credit.”
My face falls before I can catch myself, and I know my smile looks tight by the way her brow furrows.
“Thanks.”
It’s all I can manage to say, and the false cheer in my tone sounds so guilty in my head. I look away and rack my brain for a change of subject. If we stay on topic, I’m worried I’ll spill what I’ve been thinking for the last few days. That I’m here just because I’m fucking my boss and not because I’m good at my job. On top of that, he chose me for this task not because he thinks I’m competent, but because he wanted to get me out of the way so he could fuck his secretary.
I can’t help the way I flinch at the thoughts, and I have to give my head a little shake. Then I plaster a smile on my face and turn back to her.
“So do you guys always leave at the break of dawn?” I don’t acknowledge the way she’s studying me, eyes narrowed with concern. I just smile wider. “The private jet certainly made it easier, though. At least I didn’t have to fumble through airport security at four in the morning.”
Thankfully, she follows my lead on the subject change, even though I can tell she’s still trying to puzzle out the previous one.
“Sometimes we leave immediately after shows, and sometimes we leave early the morning after. We just do what Hammond tells us to do.”
I sit up and turn around so I can survey the luxurious private jet. It has plush leather seating that can accommodate up to sixteen people. Several large chairs that recline into beds, two love-seat-type couches, and even two small private areas that can serve as bedrooms. There’s also a small bathroom, a galley kitchenette, and two flatscreen televisions. Not even Conrad travels in this kind of luxury. It’s only my second time flying with the band, so I’m still in awe, but everyone else is obviously used to it. To them, it’s just another 4 a.m. flight in a forty-million-dollar piece of machinery.
Brynn is sleeping on a couch with her head in Mabel’s lap while Mabel watches something on a tablet. She’s wearing big pink headphones and pink pajamas, not a stitch of makeup on her face. Torren and Callie are curled up on another couch, while Levi and Jonah are sprawled out in two of the reclining chairs.
Jonah’s chair is facing away from mine, so all I can see are his feet propped up on the footrest. I don’t know if he’s awake or sleeping. I don’t know if he’s reading or scrolling his phone. Briefly, I picture him with his glasses on with that serious expression on his face. Full lips tilted downward in a faint frown.
“Are you excited for Lisbon?”
I tear my gaze away from Jonah’s feet and turn back to Sav. She’s smirking again.
“Hm?”
“Are you excited for Lisbon?” she repeats, her tone playful. “You said you’ve never been, right?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve never been out of America. I’m excited, but I’m here to work. I probably won’t get much time to see anything.”
Sav’s smile turns mischievous, and it’s got me sitting up straighter.
“What?”
She shrugs. “I know things were a little weird with Stockholm, but we usually get to the cities a few days early specifically to have the free time. You should have some fun. Get out and explore.”
I shake my head. “No. Conrad—um, Mr. Henderson expects me to be working. I’ll have the time off when the job is complete.”
Sav snorts. “So, take Jo with you.”
I frown and arch a brow, and she barks out a laugh. “Okay, good point.”
As if I could trust Jonah not to be an asshole or run off and get wasted in a Portuguese bar or club or something. No. I’ll stick with the hotel gym and spa. I open my mouth to say as much when the back of my neck prickles and my pulse picks up speed. Sav’s eyes lift over my shoulder at the same time I’m hit with the scent of strong coffee and a faint, woodsy bodywash. The same kind I’d smell in the hotel bathroom after Jonah would shower.
Jonah doesn’t say anything. He hovers behind me, and I don’t bother turning to look up at him. I don’t even know why. Something about his presence spikes my nerves, and I fist my hands in my lap. I’m working to steady my breathing when Sav drops her attention back to me. Her lips twitch as she purses them, trying to hide another of her smirks, but there is no ignoring the humor in her eyes.
“I’m going to go get some sleep,” she says slowly, pushing to standing, then looks at Jonah once more. “Be nice.”
She disappears behind me as Jonah steps in front of me. I force myself to tilt my head up, and my eyes run smack into his. Piercing blue and beguiling. It’s enough to make my breath hitch.
“Double espresso.”
He holds his hand out to me, and I look down to find a coffee mug. I take it, and he drops into the seat Sav just vacated. His legs are longer than hers, so when he stretches them out, they bracket mine. His boots dwarf my simple black ballet flats, and I find myself staring at them. I don’t know why the sight captivates me, but it does.
I almost want to slide my foot closer to his and press them together. See what they look like side by side. The heel of my shoe beside the toe of his. The image of a pair of my heels sitting next to a pair of his boots in a closet flashes in my head, and I’m surprised by the excitement that stirs in my chest.
Then, as if reading my thoughts, his foot slides over and nudges mine. I snap my eyes back to his.
“Double espresso?” He leans forward and props his hands on his knees, then nods to the mug in my hands.
“Oh. Yeah. Thank you.” I set the coffee on the small table beside my chair. “Did you need something?”
“Just needed a change of scenery.”
He flicks his eyes behind me, and I hear a deep voice followed by a laugh. I just know it’s Callie and Torren. I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes, studying Jonah’s face. I know that expression. A familiar feeling stirs in my empty stomach, causing nausea and a slight buzzing in my ears.
“Are you jealous?”
He looks back at me, brief surprise passing over his face before he’s stone again.
“No.”
“You’re lying. I know jealousy when I see it.”
“Yeah? You’re an expert, now?”
I jerk out a single nod. “When you’re prone to jealousy, you recognize it in other people. You’re jealous of Callie and Torren. But is it because you want what they have, or because you want what he has?”
Jonah scoffs a derisive laugh. It’s not a confirmation, but it’s not a denial, either. His jaw pops and his index finger starts picking at his thumb again. Such a subtle gesture that you wouldn’t notice if you’re not paying attention. I do. It’s my job to pay attention. Then he turns that piercing gaze back on me, challenge and avoidance flashing over his face.
“Who are you jealous of, Trouble? Is it Callie?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself I’m surprised you have room for food.”
He shrugs and says nothing. I lower my voice, leaning forward so we aren’t overheard.
“Having feelings for your bandmate’s girlfriend is dangerous, Jonah.”
His eyes bounce between mine, then he surprises me by reaching up and fingering one of the curls that has come loose from my clip. He gives it a small tug, then lets it bounce back.
“I was wondering if it would do that.”
I shake my head with a sigh. “I’m serious. Have you talked about it with your therapist?”
His answering grin is sinister. “You’re cute thinking I talk to my therapist about anything of importance.”
“What?” My eyes widen with shock. “Therapy doesn’t work if you’re not honest. ”
I would know.
He tilts his head to the side and changes the subject.
“Why did ‘Landslide’ make you emotional? Is it connected to the men you mentioned? The ones who fucked with women you love?”
My heart stops, stealing my breath, and my eyes sting.
I feel...
I feel exposed. In an instant, I’m completely torn open and laid bare, and I hate it.
“That’s none of your business.” My whisper quakes. It contains none of the ire I try to fake but all the shock. All the fear and hurt. This is bad.
“Stop deflecting,” I say, attempting to do exactly that. “Keeping things from your therapist is serious.”
“You’re going to make personal observations about me. It’s only fair I get to do the same.”
I grit my teeth and breathe through my nose, but I can’t look away. I can’t break eye contact as my stomach roils. My brain is so fuzzy that I don’t think I could respond even if I wanted to. Then he shocks me again.
“I’m not jealous, but I’m struggling with feelings of abandonment, and I don’t need a therapist to tell me that. I understand my emotions and actions perfectly. Callie chose Torren, and Torren chose Callie, and now I’m stuck with you.”
I flinch, but I don’t let myself dwell on that last sentence. I make myself take advantage of this rare moment of honesty. Not for leverage but for understanding.
“Did you and Callie date?”
His lips curl up slightly on one side.
“No. But we fucked. All three of us.” My jaw drops, and he laughs quietly before continuing. “Unfortunately, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to see someone every day after I’d fucked them. It was supposed to be casual—just a one-time thing—and she was supposed to leave. She didn’t leave. Now I have to watch her with Torren, and I feel like I’ve lost my best friend to her. It’s brought up a lot of repressed feelings of inadequacy, and I’m still trying to work through them.”
I blink at him. He grins. “See? I don’t need therapy. I need a lobotomy and a lifetime supply of Xanax.”
The last confession rings in my ears, and I make a mental note to hide my prescription. I know his drug of choice now. Or one of them, at least, and it’s the same as my brother’s. But his explanation...I wasn’t prepared to relate to him. I wasn’t prepared for this version of Jonah.
I’m out of my depth. I shake my head to erase the thought.
“Your turn.”
I look back at him and chew on the inside of my cheek. I shake my head again.
“I gave you something I haven’t even given my therapist, Claire. Give me something back.”
I frown. He’s right. If this is going to work, he has to trust me.
“Okay. ‘Landslide’ triggered me because Fleetwood Mac was my best friend’s favorite band.”
“She dead?”
I fold my lips between my teeth while blinking away tears. “Might as well be. We don’t talk anymore.”
“Why?”
I stare at him and breathe slowly. His expression gives me pause. Curious and interested. I can’t tell if he’s looking at me like a person or a research subject. I think it’s a little of both.
“That’s more than I’m willing to tell.”
“You still owe me more to make it even.”
“This isn’t the trauma Olympics, Jonah. It shouldn’t be a quid pro quo.”
“So it was traumatic?”
“Wasn’t yours?”
He pauses, considering my question, and then he nods. “It shouldn’t be quid pro quo, but it is. You owe me more. I don’t want to tell my secrets to someone I don’t know.”
I turn my head away and grind my teeth. Nausea climbs up my throat. My forehead and upper lip dot with sweat. Then his index finger hooks softly under my chin, and he coaxes me to face him again. It’s the concern flickering in his eyes that loosens my jaw and my tongue.
“The men who messed with the women I loved were also people I loved,” I confess.
His eyes widen with surprise, and I grimace.
“My dad and my brother. My mom and my best friend. My dad was just a selfish, cheating asshole, but my brother struggled with addiction.”
Now that I’m talking, I can’t stop. It’s falling from my lips like rushing rapids. Crashing through my throat and over my tongue like they’re jagged rocks, relieving pressure yet causing pain just as strong. I close my eyes against the sting of tears.
I clench my fists in my lap.
“I was so tied up in my own mess...I was trying and failing to keep my own shit together, keep my mom from having a nervous breakdown, keep myself from self-destructing, that I ended up blaming him for everything. My dad wasn’t there, but my brother was. He became my scapegoat, I guess. But my best friend...the only person I had... She loved him. She chose him, and it broke her, and I was jealous . Jealous and hurt and so fucking angry at them both.”
His hands wrap around my fists. My attention falls to the contact, my eyes opening and releasing the flood of tears. The cuticle on his thumb is picked red, dried blood specked on the bottom corner of his nail. He hurts himself when he can’t handle his emotions. I relate to that, too. I close my eyes again and force that realization to the back of my mind.
“I watched my best friend change. She started to act like him—careless and angry. And then...”
I breathe through my panic as memories flood my head. My brother and best friend, broken and bleeding in different ways. When I speak again, there’s no hiding the waver in my voice. The weakness. The regret.
“I thought they were bad for each other. I thought if I could separate them, just for a little while, they’d see it, too.” I lift my gaze back to his face. “I had an opportunity, and I took it, and I failed them both.”
His eyes are narrowed, almost angry, and a chill skates over my skin. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was protectiveness I see in his expression. But then he speaks, and it’s toneless. Sterile. I’m a lab rat, and he sounds just like his fucking father.
“Neither of them has forgiven you?”
I shrug. “I don’t blame them.”
Sav’s words from days ago come back in a rush. You have to forgive yourself, even if they can’t. It makes me want to laugh. She’s giving me too much credit.
“Where are they now?”
I give him a sad smile. “Together and thriving. They have a son. My nephew. Gabriel Christopher. I never see him.”
Jonah blows out a slow breath and shakes his head. “That’s rough.”
I shrug again. “You know the funny thing? What you said about me being my family’s pride and joy? I never go home. I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas working so I could avoid the discomfort and awkwardness of a family get-together. My mom married my best friend’s dad, so not only is she with my brother, but she’s my stepsister.” I huff out a laugh. “Half of my family hates me.”
“Wait...your brother is with his stepsister?”
He’s trying so hard not to look weirded out that I laugh again.
“One big happy family.”
“Isn’t that, like, kind of incestuous?”
I snort. “No. My mom didn’t marry her dad until we were seventeen. And anyway, you don’t have room to talk.”
He arches a brow. “I never fucked my own stepsister.”
I arch a brow back. “No, but this band is one tangled web of love affairs. Sav and Torren. Torren and Callie. You and Callie. You and Torren.”
“I never fucked Torren,” he protests with a grin. “I just fucked with him.”
I laugh louder. “Whatever. My point is, this band is incestuous. Mabel’s the only one who hasn’t had sex with one of you, but maybe it’s only a matter of time.”
Now he laughs. “Nah. Mabes is bi, but she prefers women, and Sav is only about dick. And now she’s only about Levi. Mabel’s safe.”
We fall back into silence, gazes locked, both smiling slightly despite ripping ourselves open. The tear tracks on my cheeks have cooled, and the longer I look at Jonah, the warmer I feel. Then I realize his hands are still clasping mine, his mangled thumb rubbing softly back and forth over my skin.
I release myself from him and sit back. He doesn’t, though. He stays with his elbows on his knees, invading the space in front of me.
“Thanks for sharing that with me, Trouble,” he says, his voice low .
Goosebumps prickle my arms and the back of my neck. I force a tight smile. “Ditto.”
Finally, mercifully, he sits back in his seat. I take a deep breath, then stand. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
“Your espresso is probably cold.”
“It’s fine. I’ll still drink it.”
Then I quickly make my way to the bathroom. I barely get the door shut behind me before I heave foamy bile into the sink.