Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Jonah
I actually thought for a moment that this trip might not be a total dumpster fire.
But that feeling lasted less time than it took to get out of Nebraska.
It wasn’t that I minded playing games with Maisy.
Vivian knew I wanted to listen to music.
And he was bent out of shape because he didn’t get the back seat.
Vivian sighs, threading his fingers through his wavy dark hair. It looks soft, but I don’t have any desire to check.
I stare out the window and watch the rolling hills of Nebraska go by. I thought I was prepared. Vivian and I have been at each other’s throats since the day we met. Thankfully, after senior year, I left for college, and we’ve barely seen each other since. Holidays. Summers. Things like that.
I expected us to butt heads. Argue. Not get along.
I expected him to challenge me every single moment of this trip.
I wanted nothing less. But this? This weird feeling that honestly started before we even left the house.
It started… Well, I’m not sure. But teaching him how to check the oil was a huge mistake.
And then everything that happened today.
Like Vivian taking his sweet-ass time, which I had expected, and then coming out looking…
Well, that’s part of the issue. At seventeen, Vivian was a sparkly butterfly.
No, butterfly implied he was social. He was not.
He was more like a wasp. Or a cactus. Pretty to look at, but don’t get too close or you’ll get stung.
Over the years, Vivian has grown edgy, and I try not to think about why. He traded in his sparkly clothes for black or bold colors that complement his dark hair and flawless skin. Even with his delicate features, he looks like a badass.
And today…today he’s wearing a hoodie. It’s a designer hoodie, not that I know the brand. But when I looked up designer hoodies on my phone… Jesus. Who would pay that much for a hoodie? Vivian, apparently.
It helped keep my annoyance at the guy front and center where it belonged.
The light-pink color of his hoodie softens his features. He looks sweet. Vulnerable. And I have the urge to pull him into my arms and protect him from everything harsh in this world.
Which is a laugh. Because Vivian doesn’t want or need my help.
The last time I felt protective of him was his first day at Hopeview High School.
The kids made fun of him, and I couldn’t take it.
But trying to protect him didn’t turn out well for me.
Vivian told me to fuck off. I have no doubt he’d have the same reaction today.
I don’t need or want these protective feelings. But competing with him? Doing better than him? Proving I’m worthy? Those feelings haven’t changed.
But it somehow feels different now, and I don’t like it.
We have these special balloons at work. They appear normal, plain even, until inflated. Then they have an almost iridescent look.
That’s how this feels. Like our rivalry has been supercharged with something exciting. Impossible. Forbidden.
I shake my head at that. This has to stop.
Maisy falls asleep, and I lie back on the seat, enjoying the peace and quiet. The murmur of voices as Dad, Carolynda, and Vivian talk almost lures me to sleep.
“Jonah should try out for the contest,” Dad says in a louder voice, and I jerk up in my seat.
“What?” I ask, blinking to clear my head. “What contest?”
“The talent show at San Diego Pridefest.” Carolynda scrolls on her phone. “It’s the last night of the festival.”
There’s no way I’d ever do that. I start to say just that when I notice the look on Vivian’s face. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights. But one standing on a fashionable runway. His nose is in the air, but his chin quivers just a bit, like he’s trying to hold a whole lotta stuff inside.
And then Dad somehow makes it worse. “Jonah has real talent.”
Vivian laughs. “At what? Lifting things?” He glances back at me. “No offense, that crowd would probably love watching you lift things, but I think they’re looking for actual talent.”
“F—fudge off,” I say, remembering that Maisy could wake up at any time. Vivian snorts.
“Jonah’s a good singer,” Dad insists, and I sink down in the back seat.
“Is that so?” Vivian looks over the seat, raising his brows.
I’m torn. I don’t wanna give him anything he can use against me. But I also hate being dismissed. Reduced to my muscles and nothing else. I shrug, and Vivian laughs.
“Well, you do you, boo,” he says in a teasing voice. “But the competition is going to be fierce.”
There’s something about the set of his jaw. The shrug of his shoulder. He’s trying to act like this doesn’t matter. But it so matters.
“A competition?” I ask. “I thought it was just people showing off their talent?”
He starts to say something, but then closes his mouth like he’s reluctant to say anything more. Now I’m really curious.
Carolynda, bless her heart—one of Nat’s sayings—is scrolling on her phone. “It says the grand prize is five thousand dollars.”
I sit up. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s a huge event,” Carolynda says, looking up from her phone.
“Nice,” I say, mostly to myself.
“You’re not actually going to sign up?” Vivian looks at me like I suggested he shave his head.
“Maybe.” I grin.
It doesn’t matter if I sign up. Just thinking about it is enough to irritate Vivian. Not that I’d have a chance at winning. But man, that money would go a long way to helping me get my own place.
When Maisy wakes from her nap, she’s grumpy. Dad pulls into a rest stop, and we pile out, thankful to be out of the van for a short period. Considering we still have twenty hours on the road just to get to California, this isn’t a good sign.
Carolynda brings out a basket of food and we eat lunch at the picnic tables. We still have several hours before we reach our first destination in Colorado Springs: Pikes Peak.
After eating, Maisy wants to run around. Carolynda looks beat and Vivian stands off by himself, clearly needing a moment. A moment he doesn’t really deserve after everything he put me through today, but maybe time to himself will put him in a better mood.
“Hey, Squirt! I bet I can catch you.”
She squeals and races away, but she isn’t fast enough. Easily catching up to her, I grab her and swing her in the air.
“Be careful, Jonah,” Carolynda says, but it’s automatic. There isn’t an ounce of worry in her tone.
Carolynda’s a good mom. I mean, I’ve known that of course. But it suddenly hits home, and my chest aches at the thought. Not all moms are caring and loving. Protective. Some moms ditch you the first chance they get.
What’s up with me today? I’m not wasting any more time thinking about her. As we pile into the van, Carolynda moves to the back, stating she wants to rest. Dad gives me a look. One that I understand completely.
“I can drive, Dad,” I say. And then I get a brilliant thought. “Unless Vivian wants to.”
Everyone knows Vivian doesn’t like to drive. I’m not sure he even has a license. But poking at him is fun.
He rolls his eyes. “No thanks.”
I love to drive, so it’s not a problem for me. I don’t want to drive the entire way, but I’ll gladly take my turn.
Maisy complains when Carolynda snaps her back into her carseat.
I thought getting out and running around would help, but no.
Now, she has to get back in the car. And while our sister can be irritating, Vivian takes it to a whole new level.
He’s like a toddler not getting his way as he stands outside the van and glares at me.
This attitude is normal for Vivian, but it feels like there’s something else going on.
Vivian ignores me, rubbing the fabric of his hoodie. I’ve seen him do this before. I used to think it was his way of showing off. Look at how expensive my clothes are compared to yours.
But now I wonder if it’s a sensory thing. Is Vivian nervous? If so, he’s been hiding it well. I also don’t want to give him credit for anything. Least of all, being human enough to have feelings.
I climb into the driver’s seat and catch Dad giving Vivian a nod toward the front passenger seat. Vivian huffs like he’d rather be anywhere else. Do anything else. Whatever. It doesn’t bother me. I don’t care what he thinks. I’m so done with his drama.
Once we’re on I-76 West, I try to ignore Vivian. But he makes it impossible as he hums to himself and taps his fingers on his leg.
Which draws my attention to his fingers, and just like that, I remember my hand on his as we checked the oil. Shit.
I keep my eyes forward and reach to turn up the radio. Dad had it on a country station, and I really like this song.
And I’m not sharing my personal playlist with Vivian. He’d definitely make fun of me.
But as I reach for the controls, Vivian must have a similar idea because our fingers brush. I jerk my hand back.
“What are you doing?” Vivian asks, with his same snarky attitude.
“Turning up the music. What are you doing?”
He snorts. “Finding actual music.”
“You don’t like country?”
“Does anyone? Besides you, I mean.”
I glare at him, and he sounds almost panicked when he says, “Watch the road, Jonah. I’ll focus on the music.”
Something doesn’t make sense. Why does this bother him? I’m not driving erratically. Does he not trust me? That’s probably it.
He tries to connect his Bluetooth, and I watch, knowing it won’t work. After a few minutes, I snap my fingers. “Oh yeah. I meant to tell you, the Bluetooth doesn’t work.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a compliment.” Vivian reaches for the radio. “I’m sure I can find a good station. Or at least, a better one than this one.”
“I don’t want to listen to your crappy music.”
He stares at me. “Do you even know what music I listen to?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Right. So you can make fun of me.”
“If you’re confident in your music choices, what’s the problem?”
We’re arguing in whispers, and it feels weirdly intimate. Vivian leans over again, fiddling with the controls, and I catch his scent. I’m not sure if it’s his body wash or cologne, but it smells spicy. And expensive.
When he leans back in his seat, I can still smell it. It’s as if my brain has cataloged Vivian’s scent and now has to seek it out. And there’s no going back. Stupid brain.
The song changes to “Hate Everyone” by Say Anything, and it’s so Vivian that I almost laugh. Surprisingly, I don’t hate it. But I won’t be telling him that.
Vivian tries to ignore me. His fingers drop again as he taps his leg.
“Does my driving make you nervous, Vivian?”
“Ha. You make me nervous,” he mumbles, but surely, I couldn’t have heard that right.
It’s quiet, the only sounds are the soft music, Dad’s snores in the back, and the tires on the road. And for a while, I can focus on driving and not the man beside me.
“Excuse me,” Vivian says as he reaches over to turn the music up just a little bit louder. His spicy scent attacks my senses again, and it’s a reminder that while Vivian is pretty as hell, he’s still a man, and my body likes to forget that we hate each other.
I need to do something, so I roll down the window to get some air. And by roll, I mean, I push the button. But it only goes down part of the way and then sits at a jagged angle.
I push the button to roll it back up. Nothing. Great. I tap it a few more times, first up and then down. The window slips a little.
“What are you doing?” Vivian asks.
“Fuck off.” My words are automatic. I can’t focus on Vivian. I need to figure out how to fix this. The window is off its track, so I’ll have to manually reset it. If the regulator is damaged, that’s a completely different problem, and we’ll have to take off the door panel—
“Shut the window, Jonah,” Vivian says in a harsh whisper.
“No.”
He lets out a frustrated sound. “Seriously?”
The traffic is getting heavier now. I can fix it the next time we stop.
“Jonah—”
Jesus. “I can’t roll it up.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Is he serious? “Get the fuck over yourself, Vivian. I can’t.” I push the button to show him and the window slips again with a clunk.
He slumps in his seat with a huff. “This is not happening.”
I rub my forehead. Why does everything have to be so dramatic? “It’s fine.”
“Fine?” His voice gets higher and louder.
“Shh.” I glance in the rearview window. No movement. Everyone still seems to be sleeping. “We’re three hours away. I’ll fix it when we stop.”
We just have to make it there without waking up Dad or Carolynda. Or Maisy. They’ve been stressed. I don’t want to add more to it.
“Jonah—”
“It’s fine. We’re fine.”
But twenty minutes later, it starts to rain.