Cyrus
Chapter fifteen
Overboard
Jonah’s fist connects before I fully register it. The boat lurches violently beneath us. Wood groans. The rod rack jerks sideways. The cooler tips, cracking open as something spills into the lake. “Shit—” Jonah grabs for the side, but the momentum is already wrong. The boat tilts hard.
Not fully over—but enough.
Cold lake water surges over the edge, soaking us both up to the waist. My boots skid on slick fiberglass and I slam a hand down just to stay upright.
“Are you kidding me—” I bark, half-choking on shock and fury.
Jonah doesn’t answer right away. He’s braced too, jaw locked, eyes sharp in a way I’ve never seen directed at me before.
This isn’t just anger.
It’s a decade of rage.
My fishing rod slips from my grip and disappears beneath the surface, followed by everything else—tackle, bait, cooler, all of it swallowed by dark water. “Of course,” I mutter bitterly. “Of course that’s gone.”
Jonah exhales sharply, wiping water from his face.
“Fuck you, and your equipment. That should be the least of your worries right now.” His hand shoves water in my direction. “Why don’t you drown me and get it over with.” My words are clipped. He looks ready to do just that.
“I’m still fucking debating it.” I roll my lips into a thin line. “You done talking yet?” he demands.
I glare at him, I’m soaked, shaking, standing in a half-sinking boat in the middle of nowhere. “Oh no,” I say. “We’re just getting started.”
He huffs once, humorless. “Yeah, I figured.” We shove the boat toward shore in tense silence, boots dragging through freezing water, wood scraping against rock.
By the time we reach shallow ground, we’re both dripping, breathing hard, the world narrowed down to wet clothes and everything unsaid between us.
Jonah straightens first. “You really thought I’d do that to you?” His voice is lower now. Not just anger—hurt. That lands harder than the punch. I open my mouth to respond.
He doesn’t let me. “You think I would betray you? To take something from you?” His jaw tightens.
“You think I’d do that, McCoy?” A beat. “You were my brother,” he says.
“Not just a friend. My brother in every way that mattered.” Silence presses in.
Heavy. Wet. Unforgiving. Steps as Jonah comes closer, water dripping from his sleeves.
“And you really think I’d cross a line with Fallon?” His eyes sharpen. “You don’t get to use her or me as a scapegoat like that.”
That name tightens something in my chest. I exhale sharply. “I didn’t just make it up,” I say. “I was told.” Jonah stills. I drag a hand through my wet hair.
“Jordan told me,” I admit. “And Rosemary.” Jonah’s expression hardens instantly. Because we both know exactly who those women are.
Jordan—his twin sister.
Rosemary—Fallon’s mother.
And neither of them has ever hidden how they feel about Fallon.
Jonah lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“You listened to Jordan and Rosemary?” he says flatly.
“That’s your source?” I don’t answer fast enough.
He shakes his head once, disgust and disbelief cutting through his voice.
“Those two have spent Fallon’s entire life trying to bury her,” he says.
“And you took their word over hers?” The silence after is brutal.
Because I did.
Jonah steps closer, voice lower now but sharper. “Fallon doesn’t even need enemies in this town,” he says. “She’s got family doing it for her.” That lands differently. Not anger. Truth. A quiet, uncomfortable truth I didn’t want to name.
My throat tightens. “So what was I supposed to think?” I snap, but it comes out weaker than I mean it to. Jonah’s eyes narrow.
“You were supposed to ask her,” he says simply. “Not disappear.” That shuts something down inside me. Because he’s right.
And I did the one thing that mattered least to the one person who mattered most. The air between us shifts again—pregnant now. Not about Fallon anymore. About what I missed. What I left behind.
Billy.
The name rises without warning. Not Jonah’s. Never Jonah’s. Mine. My breath catches. And this time, it isn’t confusion. It’s recognition trying to slam through the denial. “No…” it slips out, barely audible.
Jonah watches me carefully now. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t interfere. Because he sees it happening. The realization doesn’t arrive gently. It collapses. Slow. Crushing. Absolute. Nine years. Pregnancy months.
The timing I never questioned because I was too busy believing I’d been cut out of a story I was never told I was part of.
My daughter.
I left her. I left Fallon. I left without hesitation. And the worst part—no one needed to lie to me. I walked away before anyone even had the chance to tell me the truth. She did tell me. ‘I’m pregnant.’ My voice cracks on the exhale.
“Oh God…”
Jonah finally looks away, jaw tight. Not because he won. Because there’s nothing left to win. His point fully driven home.
“I’m the problem here,” I admit quietly. “I—fuck!” I drag a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, man.” Forest eyes track my movements. He looks smug as I struggle to find the words to adequately describe my remorse for my treatment of him. “Jonah, I never meant to—”
Jonah presses his fishing pole flat, the one that wasn’t lost, against my chest, stopping me mid-apology. The hook dangles dangerously close to my face. I freeze. He looks entirely too pleased with my discomfort.
“No, buddy,” he says. “That was a serious accusation. You don’t get off that easy. You accused me of knocking up your girl and leaving a baby. I’m gonna need something a little more convincing.”
He taps my ass twice with the end of the rod. “Top it off with a small kiss right here.”
I stare at him. “Clever response.” His grin is rakish as he yanks the pole back, casting it smoothly over my head, shifting back like none of this ended in violence.
My heart rate finally settles now that the immediate threat of being hooked has passed. I shove him lightly. He shoves back. “You owe me a new tackle box and cooler, asshole.” We both laugh—real laughter this time—as thunder rolls in the distance.
We turn toward the horizon together. Dark clouds gather over the mountains, charged and fast. Jonah exhales slowly. “Welcome to Bluestone City. The city built on rivers. Great fishing between summer storms.” He smirks. “Almost fucking heaven.”
“Who knew being the local tour guide was your calling?” I mutter.
He snorts. “Stop talking. Fix your family. Leave me to thrive in my lonely bachelor life.”