Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Vivian
Another semi blows around us as we wait for the tow truck.
“Jerk,” Jonah yells at the truck. I’m sure Maisy is the only reason he’s censoring himself. Not that it stopped him when the engine blew on the van, and he let out a string of very colorful words.
We’re in the middle of nowhere.
Pridefest is the day after tomorrow, and we don’t have a vehicle.
I’m tired and cranky. My ears hurt from the stupid window and the smoke from the engine makes my chest burn. But the thing that bothers me the most is my fight with Jonah.
Which makes no sense. Fighting with Jonah is as normal as breathing. So, what makes this time different?
Is it the sex?
But I know the moment it became real. When I answered the call from my father. Why does he ruin everything?
And Jonah. He was ready to—what? Take on my father? What good would that have done?
Stop coddling him, Carolynda. He’ll turn out like Henri.
The few memories I have of my uncle before he died are more fond than any of my memories of my father. So why do I care so much what my father thinks?
I’m not sure what’s worrying me more. That my father would have berated Jonah for trying to defend me, or the implication that I was weak. I could just hear my father’s reaction. What? Now your stepbrother has to protect you? Can’t you do anything for yourself?
I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t mean to hurt Jonah, but maybe it was for the best.
Sure, that’s why of all the places it hurts—my cheek, my body, my head—this pain in my heart is the worst.
The tow truck finally arrives, and we all pile in. It’s tight. We’re definitely breaking a law or two, but this town doesn’t have public transportation. Or Uber.
It does have a hotel, thank fuck. Evidently, being this close to the Grand Canyon gets them enough business to stay open.
I just want to go to sleep and forget this day ever happened. And magically wake up in San Diego.
That’s not too much to ask, right?
This trip was supposed to fix everything, not make it a thousand times worse.
Mom and George check us into the hotel. “There’s a restaurant across the street. Take your stuff up to your room, and we’ll meet here in the lobby.”
Jonah doesn’t say a word to me. Not in the hallway. Not in the elevator. Not as he opens the door to our room and stops abruptly. My heart jumps. But when I go around him, I find two queen-size beds.
I grab the bathroom first because I have to wipe the grime off my face.
“Hurry up, Vivian.”
What would he do if I pushed him to the limit? Would he walk away? Or push me against the doorframe?
“Vivan. Jesus.”
But I don’t antagonize him, even though I desperately want some kind of reaction from him. Lying on the bed, I face the bathroom, waiting for Jonah like the creeper I am.
The alternative is obsessing over everything that’s happened today: my dad finding a video of Jonah and me at the karaoke bar, wondering if Mom’s going to be okay, the fight with Jonah and the car blowing up. It’s been an eventful day.
The door opens, and Jonah steps out like a god. What the fuck is wrong with me? But the description fits.
“Are you ready?” He’s still not looking at me.
Before I can gripe at him, his phone rings. His brows pinch together as he answers it. “Nat? What’s wrong?” After a moment, he huffs out a breath. “Then why are you calling me?”
While Jonah’s preoccupied with the call, I take the opportunity to drink him in. He’s wearing jeans today, and they fit him nicely. He turns, probably for privacy, but it gives me a view of his ass. I remember the feel of it in my hands. The sounds he made when I swallowed his cock—
“Viral? What are you talking about?” His voice gets louder, breaking me out of my lustful thoughts. “Yeah, he’s right here,” he says, turning to look at me. He laughs. “That’s not happening.”
Now that I’m focused on something other than Jonah’s ass, I have questions.
Why is his boss calling him? I met Nat when I was in Mule Creek.
She was obsessed with the cook from that grumpy Irish man’s café, so there’s no reason to be jealous.
But I hate that everyone knows Jonah better than I do.
That they get to be included in his life when I never was.
Whose fault is that?
“No, Nat—fine. Don’t make me regret this.” He looks at me and rolls his eyes. “I’m putting her on speakerphone.” He jabs the button aggressively and sets it on the nightstand. “Okay, go ahead. Just remember…we’ve both had a hard day.”
“You make me sound like a monster.” She hesitates for a second. “Vivian?”
“Yes?”
“How’s the trip going?”
“It’s been eventful.”
“Nat,” Jonah growls, and she chuckles.
“This is sweet, Jonah. I remember when you two fought—”
“I’m hanging up.” Jonah grabs his phone from the nightstand amid Nat’s protests.
“No. No. No. I’ll be good.”
“What’s going on?” I ask Nat, but my eyes are on Jonah.
“Your voice is fucking amazing. You sing like an angel and devil all tied into one cute package. I just wanted to tell you that—”
“What?” I jump to my feet. “Nat? What are you talking about?”
“You seriously don’t know?”
I glance at Jonah, but he’s staring at the floor. No help there. “I seriously don’t know. But someone better start talking.”
She sighs, which seems out of character for her, but what do I know? “You and Jonah were singing ‘Shallow,’ and it was…so good. Oh, and it went viral.”
Viral. Oh God. “That’s…that’s not possible.” Jonah still isn’t looking at me, so I pinch his arm to get his attention and get a glare in return. Good.
He holds his hands up and shrugs like he doesn’t get it either.
My mind is racing. I’m not surprised my father found the video. He keeps close tabs on me. But he would never share it with anyone. “I don’t understand.”
“Guys,” she says, sounding a little exasperated. “Check the video. That should clear everything up.”
I grab my phone, and that’s where I get stuck. “What do I even search for?” Karaoke songs? Lady Gaga wannabees?
“I’ll send the link. Jonah?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah?”
“We’ll chat later.”
It sounds like a threat more than anything else.
Jonah ends the call and throws his phone on the bed. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
His phone pings, and we both stare at it. Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away. We need to see what everyone else has already seen. When he makes no move to check his phone, I sit on his bed and grab it. “Sit down, Jonah.”
He does, and I hand him the phone. He clicks on Nat’s message—she’s listed as Boss Lady in his phone—and then he hits play, and the video starts.
We’re a smidge past tipsy but not full-on drunk.
I’m singing my heart out—my humiliation is tempered by the memory of how freeing it felt—but that’s not what has my heart jumping around.
Jonah. He’s staring at me as if I’m…everything.
In the video, he misses his cue. At the time, I thought he was nervous.
But he was staring at me. Was that the alcohol, or does he really see me like that? Like I’m worthy—oh God.
How many people have seen this video? Seen my stepbrother staring at me like that. No wonder my father had a fit about it.
Sure, it’s a good, solid performance, even tipsy. But there’s no reason for this video to go viral. I check the number of views. It’s staggering.
Jonah groans. “This is my fault.”
Typical. “It was my idea. You’re not responsible for everything that goes wrong—”
He yanks his phone out of my hands. “It was shared by someone on my friend’s list.”
Why is he always blaming himself? “Unless you’re friends with Taylor Swift, I don’t think it matters.”
He shakes his head as he clicks on several things and then holds up his phone.
It’s a profile picture of Roz. Seriously? “That’s not their real profile, Jonah. People are always pretending to be celebrities. I can’t believe you fell for that.” I grab the phone out of his hand to prove it’s not them, but the number of followers stops me. “Wait. You’re friends with Roz?”
“Yeah.” He stares at his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“The Roz?” I scroll through their posts. Videos from their Vegas shows. First peaks at new outfits. Their style is amazing. And I heard they make their own clothes, though I’m not sure if that’s true.
“Are you mad?” Jonah asks in a quiet voice.
“No. Of course not. But I don’t get it. How—why?”
“Why are we friends?” He scrunches his nose in confusion. “They asked, and I figured it’d be rude to say no.”
“Stop talking.” I grab his arm. “Explain this. You’ve met Roz?”
“You’re giving me mixed signals, Vivian.” A smile plays around his lips. “You’re the one who told me to be clear about what I want.” He raises his brows.
Jonah ordering me to my knees. His voice no longer hesitant.
I close my eyes against the onslaught, but that doesn’t really help.
“Vivian?”
I glance up, and our eyes meet. Everything disappears. My irritation with him. My need to get to Cali. My frustration with the van. It’s all vanished by the burning desire in his eyes.
His phone pings again, and he turns away. I take a deep breath and imagine my dad watching the video. That takes care of the problem like nothing else. “You’ve met Roz?”
“The Bishop Fields’ grand opening was a charity gala event. Roz was our headliner.” He shrugs. “They’re really nice.”
It’s a lot to take in. Jonah knowing Roz. Roz sharing our video. And now the world knows…what? We were clearly drinking. Maybe we can use that excuse.
“I’m so sorry, Vivian.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m not mad. Just surprised.” The video’s out there. We can’t take it back—and then reality hits like a punch in the gut. “What if Mom and George see it? We aren’t acting particularly brotherly.”
“The world’s going to shit.” He throws himself on his bed and covers his face. Then he takes a deep breath. “We need to focus on one crisis at a time. Nothing we can do about the video. How are we getting you to San Diego on time?”