25. Claire
25
CLAIRE
“This might be my favorite yet.”
Jonah runs his fingers over a row of books, tracing each spine before moving to the next one. I smile.
“We were lucky to be here when it was going on.”
“Bullshit. You could have chosen anything. Another food pantry. An animal shelter. Youth center. You chose this. Take some credit, Trouble.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue. He’s right. I’ve grown mindful of the events I plan for him now. I search for things I know he’ll enjoy.
Doing inventory at the food pantry was a bust because he was bored out of his mind, so I canceled anything with rote tasks. He’s enjoyed working with kids and anything that can involve music. He’s always reading, so when I saw that the local library was hosting their yearly book sale the same week we were in Dublin, I jumped on it.
We spent all yesterday helping the other volunteers organize the used books by genre and author. It was no small task. There are hundreds of books in this room. At the beginning, I was anxious that we’d mess up the system. We wouldn’t get it done in time. The books wouldn’t be alphabetized correctly. But every time I looked at Jonah, he seemed...not happy, exactly...but unburdened. At peace.
I was agonizing over a section of mystery books when he stepped beside me and nudged me with his arm. Leaning down, he whispered in my ear, Relax, Trouble. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I smiled for the rest of the afternoon .
So did he.
“Doors open in fifteen.” He looks at his watch. “You worried?”
I arch a brow. “About what?”
“Dunno. That I’ll make a scene or cause some sort of chaos.”
I shake my head and narrow my eyes playfully. My lips twitch with the need to smile, but I try my best to hold it off. I shrug. “Not at all. You’d never disrespect the books like that.”
For a moment, I think I see a blush color his cheeks. It makes my pulse pick up speed. I want to touch my hands to his face and feel the soft heat on my palms. I almost do, but he turns away and starts fiddling with the books in front of him again.
“You going to get anything?”
He keeps his eyes on the books as he replies.
“I already have a stack.”
Of course he does.
Jonah glances over his shoulder at me. “You?”
“Probably not. I’m not much of a reader.”
“That’s a shame, Trouble. I don’t fuck girls who don’t read.”
I bark out a laugh. “That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. You don’t even ask their names. No way you know if they can read.”
He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t be jealous, Trouble. I’ll get you something.”
He walks away, leaving me smiling stupidly while I stare at his back.
“Hey!”
I turn and find Mabel grinning at me. She’s with Brynn and two guys I recognize from Callie’s band.
“Hey! You’re here! Anyone else make it?” I glance around for some familiar faces, but I find none.
“No. Sav can’t really go anywhere public, so Levi stayed with her. Callie and Tor are doing their own thing. And Rocky and Becket are...”
Mable trails off and looks to the guys with her. They exchange a quick glance, then one of them grins at me.
“They’re making music. Obviously.”
The other one tries to cover up a cough with a laugh, and I narrow my eyes.
“ Obviously .” I flick my attention between the two of them. “I apologize. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Claire. ”
The taller one smiles wider and sticks out his hand. I take it, and he shakes wildly.
“I’m Ezra. This is?—”
“I’m Crue.” He bats Ezra’s hand away and replaces it with his. “I’m English, if you can’t tell.”
I laugh. “The accent gave it away.”
A heavy, tattooed arm is thrown over my shoulder and instinctively, I sink into his familiar body.
“Back off, wanker. Not every chick wants to fuck you just because you have an accent.” Jonah glances at Brynn. “Sorry, Boss.”
“It’s fine.” She shrugs. “It’s true anyway.”
Crue sticks his tongue out at Brynn playfully, making her laugh, then looks back at Jonah.
“You Americans sound like arseholes when you try to use British slang.”
“You sound like an arsehole all the time.”
“Okay, this is boring,” Ezra cuts in, giving Crue’s shoulder a shove. He turns an impish smile on me. “My bad, Claire Bear. He’s still a pup. Hasn’t been properly socialized yet.”
Crue barks out a laugh and lets Ezra push him away. I arch a brow and look at Mabel.
“Are they always like that?”
Mabel laughs. “Yes.”
“No,” Brynn chimes in. “They’re usually worse.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s true. Wait until you see all four of them together. I don’t know how Callie does it. If I didn’t have Sav, I’d have put Jo and Torren down years ago.”
Jonah scoffs, but it’s playful. “We’re not dogs, Mabel.”
I can tell from Mabel’s face that she’s a little shocked. I’m certain she doesn’t get playful Jonah very often, if ever. She smiles, then looks at him with faux innocence.
“Aren’t you?”
Jonah laughs, a deep, genuine sound, and I feel his body quake with it. It excites me. It makes me downright giddy, and when I look at Mabel, I can tell it excites her, too. Then he turns his attention to Brynn.
“What are you doing here, Boss? Don’t you hate reading? ”
“Yeah, fiction.” She puts a sassy hand on her hip. “I hate reading fiction, but there are a lot of books here that aren’t fiction.”
“That there are.” I feel rather than see him nod since he still hasn’t taken his arm off my shoulder. “How much money did you swindle from everyone?”
“I did not swindle,” she says with a gasp. Jonah must give her a look that says he thinks she’s full of shit, because she rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. I got twenty from Dad, twenty from Sav, ten from Red, and Ezra gave me five.”
“Nothing from Crue?” Mabel asks, and Brynn shakes her head.
“He said he was broke.”
Jonah snorts. “Cheap wanker.”
I roll my eyes at Jonah’s comment, then look at Brynn.
“Most of the books here are under five pounds. Fifty-five pounds is going to get you a lot of books.”
Brynn bounces her eyebrows. “Yeah, but then we’re going to get ice cream and go souvenir shopping. I want one of those little stuffed Highland cows.”
Just then, the doors to the large room open and people start filing in.
“Let’s go, kid. We’ll get you some books.”
When Jonah removes his arm from my shoulders, I have to stop myself from frowning. Instead, I smile as he and Brynn walk toward the non-fiction set of tables and leave me with Mabel.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Mabel says, pulling my attention once again from Jonah’s retreating back.
“Yeah, of course. I’m glad you came. I think it’s good for...well...”
I shrug, not knowing how to explain it, but Mabel nods.
“Yeah, me too.”
Jonah needs to remember that he has people who love him. People who have always been there for him and who care about the person he is behind the rock star persona. He needs to remember that he has, at the very least, three people who have not and will not abandon him. I’m going to do everything I can to remind him.
As more and more people filter into the room, I sink quietly into the shadows. Instead of helping, I track Jonah and take photos. He signs a few autographs and takes some pictures, but for the majority of our time at the book sale, he talks to people about books. He helps them find books. He gives book recommendations. At one point, while speaking with an older man about a classic fiction novel, I get to witness Jonah actually smile and laugh. A real smile. A genuine laugh.
For a moment, I’m jealous of the older man. I want those smiles from Jonah. I want to draw those laughs from him. But then I’m overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude. This is exactly what Jonah needed. A day in his element with kind, like-minded, normal people. Not fans. Not other celebrities. Just plain, everyday, regular people.
It’s amazing to watch, actually. I knew there was charisma hiding underneath all that anger, but I never could have guessed it was this powerful.
He’s enchanting, is what he is. It’s the only word I can think to describe it. Jonah Hendrix is fucking enchanting, and I’ve been enchanted.
“Ten years ago, when we were just starting out, this was him.”
I look over to find that Mabel has joined me. I nod, then return to Jonah.
“What changed?”
I see her shrug in my periphery.
“He’s always been a nurturer. He looked out for all of us. But he also has this deep, powerful sense of empathy, and I think...” She sighs. When I look at her, she’s watching Jonah with her eyes narrowed. “I think it was too much for him. I think he broke when he learned that he can’t save everyone. Rather than feel the disappointment, he just...turned off.”
“I see that.”
“Yeah.”
“I also get the feeling he was a perfectionist.”
Mabel laughs. “He still is, actually. I mean, I was surprised when I learned he’d dropped out of Yale, but it makes sense now. Yale was to please his dad, and his dad, well?—”
“Is an asshole?”
“Yep. A big, hairy asshole. Honestly, if I was that man’s kid, I’d have dropped out of college just to piss him off, too. He’s a prick.” I nod in agreement, and then she shakes her head. “But the music? Jo’s meticulous about the music. It’s the only thing he’s never wavered on. Relationships. Himself. Everything else, he’s let go. The music? Never. ”
The statement hits me right in the chest.
“Because it’s the only thing he can control,” I whisper. I get it. I understand it so viscerally that I have to breathe through the sudden sting of tears. “No wonder this tour is so important to him. Why he doesn’t want to violate the morality clause because he would lose the music as he knows it.”
“Yeah. And I...um...well...not to put any more pressure on you...because this is in no way on your shoulders, but...”
“But what, Mabel?”
She shrugs. “Well. I don’t think he believes he can survive without it.”
My heart sinks. I want to rush to Jonah and hug him. I want to shake him, tell him he has so much to live for until he believes it. My feet yearn to run in his direction, but I stay put.
Just when I think I know Jonah, something else is revealed. Something new and heartbreaking. I feel like I’m sifting carefully through sand just to find another hidden, forbidden piece of him. I know I shouldn’t. I should leave it alone and walk away, because with everything I learn, I relate to him more. I understand him on a deeper level.
And that is so very dangerous.
On the way back to the hotel, Jonah sets his tote bag of books on the seat between us.
“So, what all did you get?”
He gestures to the bag. “You can look if you want.”
I lean over and peer into the bag. “Jesus, Jonah. There’s like twenty books in here.”
I pull them out one by one, reading the titles as I do. A lot of novels, which is no surprise. He’s always reading some thick, beaten-up paperback. There’s also a collection of short stories, a variety of biographies, autobiographies, and memoirs of famous musicians. There’s a book about world religions. And then...
“Auden?” I flip the book to read the back cover. “I’ve never seen you read poetry.” I shrug. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. Music is poetry, after all. ”
“That one’s for you.”
I glance at Jonah. I wish he’d look back, but he’s scrolling through his phone.
“For me?”
“Yeah, Trouble. I told you I’d get you something.” He puts his phone in his lap, then rests his head on the seat back with his eyes closed. “I got you a collection of poems by W.H. Auden.”
“Oh. Well, thank you. That was really kind.”
I slide the book into my bag, then mimic his posture. Leaned back. Eyes closed. Slow, even breathing to hide the emotions swirling under the surface.
Later, after we’ve both gone to bed, I roll onto my side, turn on my phone flashlight, and thumb through the poetry book. I scan the titles of a few poems, and then I come to a folded receipt stuck between two pages like a bookmark.
My pulse speeds as I look over the receipt. It’s from today, and it lists a seventeen-book transaction. My fingers start to tremble. Jonah put this in here, I know it, and he never does anything without reason. When I inhale, it’s shaky and shallow. I’m afraid to read what’s on the page, but I’m also curious. So damn curious.
I close my eyes and try to wrangle my emotions, but I can’t. It’s a failure. So, I give into temptation.
The poem is titled “The More Loving One,” which is enough to bring tears to my eyes. But the rest of the poem...
It’s beautiful and heartbreaking. Not just a poem, but a confession. Teardrops fall as I blink, dotting the pages of the book. I wipe them away, but I read it again. I read the poem over and over, my body absorbing every word, and each time I fall a little harder. I sink a little deeper. I lose more and more of my good sense until it’s gone. Until I’m no longer thinking but feeling. Until I’m nothing but adoration and awe. Then, despite all the reasons not to, I let go, and I give in. I can’t ignore these feelings anymore.
I have never met a man like Jonah Hendrix.
I know I never will again.