Twenty-Two
Thankfully, once Jon and Viola had snapped out of their sex-induced haze and re-acquainted themselves with the world around them, the house had still slept soundly. No baby Beau peeking around the corner with his little mouth wide open in shock as he got another gander at their exposed genitalia. No Milo sitting up on the bed watching them in horror as they got it on mere feet away from his bed. No one. Nothing.
Nothing but the amazing feeling of their limbs relaxing as the residual remnants of their orgasms had slowly left their bodies, encasing them in a drowsiness that no sleeping pill on the market could ever hope to match. They’d parted ways in the hallway after risking one last kiss, and Viola’s head hadn’t even hit the bed in her own room before she was passed out cold.
So when she opened her eyes to the sun shining in the bedroom window the next morning and found Jon’s face right above hers, she was almost convinced she was still dreaming.
“Go downstairs and tell my family that you want to go see your mother,” he whispered.
Blinking rapidly, Viola fought to wake up completely, which proved a difficult task since his angelic face and voice did little more than threaten to lull her fatigued body right back to sleep. She tried to lift her head from the pillow, but it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. One look down at her body—which she hadn’t even had the energy to wiggle under the covers the night before—and she saw she was still wearing the black shift dress he’d had her in. Her pussy still ached as well.
He’d taken her harder against that dresser than he ever had before. And with his brother sleeping less than a few feet away, no less. Some part of her couldn’t help but accept that the night before might not have been about making love to her at all, but instead, a way for Jon to stake his claim. To pee in a circle around her in the only way he knew how without destroying his family forever. Proving that perhaps his family had been right about who he really was, at the core, all along.
Chaos, always.
“What?” she wheezed, finally finding her hoarse voice, and squinting against the sunlight that felt like it was stabbing daggers into her eyes.
“Go downstairs.” He lowered his voice and spoke slower. “And tell my family that you want to go see your mother.”
Viola propped herself up on her forearms, suddenly finding her strength. “Why?”
Jon’s eyes shot toward the door at the sound of someone coming up the steps, and he pushed away from her bed for fear of getting caught in her room.
He paused at the doorframe and hissed to her. “Just do it!” Before disappearing down the hallway.
Viola groaned and kicked her legs over the edge of the bed, giving herself a moment to wake up a little more. She waved at baby Beau, apparently the person who’d been charging up the stairs a moment earlier, as he passed by in the hall.
Beau paused in mid-stride, looked into Viola’s room with wide eyes and put his finger to his pursed lips. “Shhhhh!”
Viola’s smile fell so low it nearly hit the floor, almost as quickly as her stomach already had.
Beau continued down the hall with a pleased smile and a new pep in his step, clearly super proud of himself for having kept their secret for so long.
Viola’s head fell once he was gone, her chin hitting her chest just as a heavy groan blasted through it and made it rumble.
Would Beau be able to keep their secret forever?
Viola had her doubts. So much so that the act of standing up from the bed and making her way to the bathroom proved an arduous task under the weight of the world on her shoulders. Still, she managed to shower and get changed into a pair of blue jeans and an oversized black sweater that fell off one shoulder. She rolled up the sleeves so they were bunched above her elbows and threw her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head. A pair of black combat boots finished the look before she left the room and charged down the stairs.
The moment she reached the first level and looked into the dining room, Jackson did what he’d done every morning since the day she’d arrived. His blue eyes lit up, he flew out of his seat, and he raced across the room, encasing Viola it a huge hug that never failed to warm her heart.
“Viola!” He beamed, lingering in the hug just long enough to lay his head on her shoulder before racing back to the table.
“You’re so sweet…” Viola’s voice broke away when it hit her that, soon, she wouldn’t know the feeling of Jackson’s sweet good morning hugs anymore. Such a simple act of love and kindness that she didn’t realize how much she was going to miss until that very second.
“Good morning, Viola,” Betty nodded from the dining room.
“Morning, Betty.” Viola’s eyes shifted to the head of the dining table. “Morning, Mr. Moore.”
Robert looked up from the newspaper he had spread open while lifting a steaming coffee cup. “Viola. You look lovely as ever.”
She blushed. “Thanks. I was actually…” She paused, a lump in her throat rising the moment she tried to speak the lie. She didn’t know when it had happened, but the guilt of lying to these people for another moment further had suddenly left a thousand pound stone weighing down the bottom of her stomach, crushing her organs and making speaking damn near impossible.
“Are you okay, dear?” Mary asked, coming into the kitchen with a breakfast platter full of fragrant eggs, bacon, and pancakes.
“I’m fine, I just… I just got word that my mom managed to get another day off so… I was hoping to go and visit her one last time before I leave.”
“I’ll take her,” Jon’s voice boomed in behind her.
Every eye in the room flew to him. Viola spun on her heel, wondering how he’d gotten down that squeaky ass staircase without her even hearing. He wore a black long sleeved top and jeans too. He’d even chosen black combat boots, matching her to the letter.
“Oh, you’ll take her?” Betty asked, fluttering her lashes at Jon. “Has Milo forgotten how to drive in the last 24 hours? License expired? Vision impaired?”
“No, but he is hungover. Again.” Jon’s voice was filled with amusement in the way only a man who knew all of Betty’s dirty little secrets could manage. “Had a little too much to drink last night and won’t wake up. Again.”
Viola peeked at him over her shoulder, suspicion clouding her eyes.
He raised his eyebrows at her but didn’t say a word.
“Well, that’s sweet, hun,” Mary motioned to the breakfast platter. “Do you want to have some breakfast before you go?”
“Nah, you know I don’t eat before noon, Ma, and Viola’s not hungry either.” Jon began toward the door even as Viola lingered in the dining area, cutting a heated look at him.
She was hungry as shit, actually. How dare he speak for her after all the energy he’d forced her to expend against that dresser the night before? It wasn’t until Jon was in the foyer—out of sight of the dining room—that he widened his eyes at her and snapped his head toward the door, silently demanding she come the hell on.
“I’m not hungry, either, Mary, but thank you.”
“Are you going to be spending the night at your mother’s again?” Mary asked.
Viola looked back into the foyer.
Jon shook his head.
“No,” Viola said, smiling at Mary. “Just a quick there and back for lunch, then she has to head off to the night shift.”
“Your poor mother works too hard.”
“She really does.”
“Try to get back by 8.” Mary beamed. “We’re watching a Christmas story with hot chocolate and marshmallows!”
“Okay, bye-bye!” Viola gave a quick wave before hurrying out of the kitchen—unable to ignore the evil look Betty had been silently giving her for the entire conversation for a moment longer.
Jon took her arm once she was in the foyer while throwing the door open, guiding her down the porch steps and across the driveway in the cool morning air.
As they made their way toward the motorcycle, they both looked over their shoulders at the dining room window and caught sight of Betty peeking through the blinds that she’d ripped open with both hands.
Jon released his hold on Viola’s arm in an instant, both of them holding back laughter as they climbed onto his bike and roared out of sight.
Less than half an hour later, Jon brought the bike to a rumbling stop in a downtown Salt Lake shopping district. It was a weekend, so the streets were bustling with people, tourists and locals alike, with shopping bags on their arms and Starbucks lattes in their hands.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get over the rush of riding this thing,” Viola said, taking off her helmet, not even wanting to think about what a mess it had made of the bun in her hair.
Jon removed his helmet as well, looking off toward the sidewalk as he removed his gloves next. “It’s the only thing on Earth that gives me the same rush I get when I’m on stage. That rush is the most honest feeling in the world.” He paused. “Been looking for that same rush on solid ground for a long time. Never thought I’d find it…” He craned his head a little more to meet her eyes over his shoulder.
She tickled his waist, her heart glowing when a smile broke free on his face as he tried to wiggle away. “So this is why you were so hell-bent on getting Milo drunk last night, huh? To get me out of the house?”
“How else was I supposed to give you your Christmas present?”
“A present?” Viola squealed while pounding her fists into his back, screaming through clenched teeth with each hit. “You. Didn’t. Have. To. Do. That!”
“Starting to wish I hadn’t if this is the kind of thanks I’m gonna get.”
She moaned and threw her body against his back, cuddling him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and squeezing with all her might.
“That’s better,” he said, climbing off the bike and taking her hand. “Don’t get too excited, though. You don’t even know what it is.”
Only once they made it to the sidewalk did it hit them that they probably shouldn’t be holding hands, releasing each other as they walked side-by-side.
“I don’t care what it is. As long as it’s from you—from your heart—I know I’m gonna love it.”
“Well, here we are, then.” His eyes shone down at her as he stopped at a door just a few hundred feet away from where he’d parked his bike, taking the handle and opening it.
Viola’s mouth fell as she gazed into the establishment beyond the open door, her mouth falling open. Then, her stunned brown orbs shifted back up to Jon.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Jon,” she breathed, looking back inside just in time to find the patrons and employees alike glaring out onto the sidewalk, clearly wondering who the hell was holding the door open and letting all the cold air in.
“Get inside before you get us both killed, woman,” he teased, waving her in.
Still gaping at him in disbelief, Viola followed his orders— a mix of excitement and terror charging through her as she stepped inside.
The walls of the tattoo parlor were made up entirely of exposed brick, and dozens of canvases displaying a wide variety of colorful, breathtaking art lined the walls. On the far wall, the shop’s name, New Rose Tattoo, had been spray painted in the most beautiful calligraphy she’d ever seen. It smelled of burnt leather and chewing tobacco, and every customer reclined in the leather chairs that lined the walls on each side left no question as to where the smell was coming from. Customers who’d probably be just as comfortable at the handlebars of Jon’s motorcycle as he himself was, most of them with glorious beards that left Viola unable to help herself from staring in awe. The buzz of tattoo needles rang into the air from all around, along with scattered conversation from the artists holding them as they inquired about news and updates on their customer’s lives, all while decorating their bodies with the same high-quality art that lined the walls.
And since they were now hidden behind the safety of those four walls, Jon was free to slide his arms around Viola’s waist from behind, instantly making her feel warm and safe. He walked forward toward the podium at the front of the shop, which forced her to move forward as well.
“Jon, what’s up?” A heavily tattooed brunette woman smiled from behind the counter. Not an inch of her skin went without ink, to the point that, for a moment, Viola couldn’t even discern what race she was. She shook Jon’s hand over the counter before nodding down at Viola. “You must be V.”
Viola shook her hand with a huge smile. “Yeah, I’m V.”
“Sam.” She popped her gum with a smirk. “Looking a little sick there, V. Nervous?”
“A little.”
“Ever been tattooed before?”
“No, never. But I told Jon how badly I wanted one.” Her heart fluttered at the fact that Jon had not only listened but had taken action to make something he knew she’d always wanted, a reality.
“Cool.” Sam nodded over her shoulder at two empty chairs. “Should only take me a couple hours. I’ll do you first, then Jon.”
Viola faltered. “Wait? Shouldn’t I look at a book or something? To decide what I want?”
Sam and Jon shared a look. Raising an eyebrow, Sam excused herself, apparently sensing an argument on the horizon. Viola watched her go, waiting until Sam had settled between the two empty chairs at her station to look over her shoulder at Jon.
“You chose my tattoo for me?” Viola asked. “Is this just the beginning? Is this one of those relationships that’s going to get controlling and abusive overnight? Am I sleeping with the enemy and don’t even know it?”
“Shut up.” He pulled her closer, tilting his head to look down at her. “I want it to be a surprise. Do you trust me?”
Viola searched his eyes, chest heaving, before covering the arms he still had around her waist from behind with her own. He tightened his hold, pulling her in even closer.
“Yes, I trust you.”
He leaned down and pressed a long soft kiss on her lips, long enough to elicit a few dog-whistles from several of the customer’s in their own chairs.
“Alright, alright,” Jon said, pulling his lips from Viola’s as soft laughter rang out all over the shop.
He began walking forward again, toward Sam’s station, taking Viola with him.
As promised, just a couple of hours after taking their seats in the chair, Jon and Viola’s tattoos were done. They sat facing each other in the shop that was still filled to the hilt with loyal customers, one of whom Sam had already moved on to work with, leaving them alone to admire her work.
Viola lifted the hem of her sweater, revealing the flawless Chinese symbol that’d been tattooed onto her hip in jet-black ink.
Tilting his head from the chair across from her, Jon lifted the hem of his shirt as well.
Viola was momentarily entranced by his amazing abs, still rock hard, even when he was sitting down, not a belly roll in sight. She found herself suddenly sucking in her own stomach, already knowing she had enough rolls for the both of them. So many that all she needed was a little sprinkle of cinnamon and a dash of icing to open her own Cinnabon.
She smiled at her own ridiculous thoughts, and her eyes shifted from his abs to the real reason he’d lifted his shirt. The Chinese symbol that was now tattooed on his hip as well. His skin was still red and irritated around the tattoo’s perimeter, and Sam hadn’t yet bandaged them up, wanting to give them an opportunity to enjoy the finished product.
“Okay, so they’re all done.” Viola wiggled. “Now you can tell me. What are they? What do they mean?”
“Come here…” Jon stood and made his way to the floor to ceiling mirror against the wall between the chairs.
Viola came up next to him, once against astonished at their vast differences in height the moment she was beside him in the mirror. Shirts still lifted, she realized for the first time that their tattoos were on opposite hips so that, when standing next to each other, they became one.
Jon pointed to his tattoo. “M-i…” He moved his finger to her tattoo. “…N-e.”
“Mine.” Tears stung Viola’s eyes.
“No one will ever know they’re there. No one but us. Our eyes only.” Jon watched her hopefully in the mirror, holding his breath. “You like it?”
Viola swallowed thickly, looked up at him, and hopped onto her toes while throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.
“I love it more than words can say,” she whispered. “Thank you, Jon. Thank you for listening to me, for being there for me, for just being you.”
Jon’s shoulders melted under her hold like butter, and he bent forward, arms sliding around her waist. He pulled her in tight, waiting until their bodies were flush to stand tall, taking her feet off the ground. Her legs wrapped around his waist with ease, never breaking the embrace. Not even as he walked back to the chairs with her in his arms and sat her down on the edge.
Once she was down, he leaned forward on the leather chair with his arms cradled on either side of her body, trapping her in. For several silent moments, they searched each other’s eyes. Words simply didn’t seem necessary. Viola couldn’t help a blush when he swept the tip of his nose against hers, his breath soft and warm against her lips.
Cupping his face, she finally spoke. “You’re one of the most beautiful people I know.”
He squinted softly. “But…?”
It stunned her how well she knew him. She was certain she hadn’t just said her last sentence in a way that implied a ‘but’ was on the horizon, but still, he’d sensed it was coming.
She cupped his cheeks. “But it scares me a little.”
“What scares you?”
“It scares me because… sometimes I feel I’m in danger of you only seeing me sexually.”
“No.”
“As something to win or claim.”
“Not at all.”
“Or a way to get back at Milo—”
He covered her mouth with his hand and waited until she stopped trying to speak. Until her muffled voice had quieted and her lips had stopped tickling his palm.
“I’m gonna attempt to keep my voice down so I don’t scare you or any of these artists in here who have needles in people’s skin right now…” He raised his eyebrows, eyes deathly serious in hers. “I’m not just some animal—some monster—who set out to take his brother’s girl—”
“I didn’t say that, Jon.”
“And I chose the word ‘mine’ because that’s what I feel in my heart—that you’re mine. Even if you can’t…” The words seemed to choke him to death before he could finish speaking them, but he recovered. “Or won’t be, forever. I wanted you to have a piece of me because I care about you.” He turned before she could respond and tugged the back of his shirt down, showing her a tattoo on the back of his neck. “Adam has this same tat on his chest.” He faced her again, cradling his hands on either side of her body once more. “Because he’s my best friend, and I felt the same way about him when we went out and got these ten years ago as I do about you now. Only, in different ways, obviously. Much stronger with you, obviously.”
She stroked her thumbs against his cheeks when they began to grow red. “You’re my best friend too, Jon.” The words surprised her, wondering how Jon had snuck up on her like this. How he’d not only become her lover but had also joined Milo in the ranks as one of her best friends.
“I wanted us to have something to hold onto. Something that would always be ours. Just ours. So no, it has nothing to do with fucking you or claiming you. Or winning some imaginary war with my brother. Any other day, any other time, or any other woman, do you think I’d be involved with you if I had a choice in the matter? I wouldn’t. I’m involved with you because I don’t. I don’t have a choice, Viola. I don’t know how to choose if the choice isn’t you.”
Emotion burned her eyes once more. She tried to speak, but no words came.
His voice softened. “This was never, and will never, be just about sex for me. Not from the moment I laid eyes on you for the first time. From the moment I kissed you. From the moment you made me bust one just by grinding against you at that concert… to this very minute… this very second… It was always more. Something I’ve never felt before. Something I don’t know how to even begin explaining, even now. So don’t ever insult what we have by implying that it is anything less, ever again. You understand?”
Viola nodded softly, pressing her lips together when he pulled his hand away.
He took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just so used to guys who… you know what? It doesn’t matter. I’ve just gotta stop letting my own weird insecurities get the best of me.”
Silence fell. Neither of them moved to fill it right away, content to bask in the comfort of just being. In a way that only two people truly connected at the core could be.
Jon was the first to break the silence, his eyes falling to her lips. “Let’s not go back.”
Her heart stopped in mid-beat. “What?”
“Let’s get on my bike, leave, and never come back.” His voice trembled, eyes vulnerable as they rose back to hers.
Viola couldn’t speak for nearly a minute, feeling every last one of the hairs on the back of her neck as they stood tall.
Then, she managed. “No.”
She swore she saw his pupils shatter and drown his shining blue irises in black ink. The heartbreak in his eyes nearly tore her limb from limb.
She jumped in to stop it from spreading any further. “Riding off into the sunset with me doesn’t seem like the ideal way to repair the broken bonds that are haunting every room in that family cabin, Jon. Christmas is tomorrow. If we run out on your family, and at Christmas no less, they’ll never forgive you. And if I’m the reason you’re not there for Christmas—if I’m the reason they never forgive you—I’ll never forgive myself. Mary would be devastated, Milo would be smug, and your father would be right. Is that what you want?”
“I don’t give a fuck about proving them wrong anymore.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“All I care about is you.”
“I don’t believe that either.”
He faltered, leaned back, and ran his hand down his face.
“I want you to heal with your family first—”
“My relationship with my family will never be healed, Viola. It’s been rotten to the core for too many years, and there’s nowhere to go but down. I’d rather have something real with you than something rotten with them.”
Her eyes filled with tears and her entire body began to shake as she struggled to hold them back.
“I told you on the plane. I’m just here to show my face so I can get away with being gone for another ten years.” He shifted, voice hopeful. “Look, you can transfer to a college in California, right? Plenty of great schools there. I’ll pay your tuition. Any gaming console that carries Call of Duty, I’ll have it set-up and ready to play the second you land. Whatever you want, whatever you need, it’s yours. I’ll be there for you. I’ll take care of you. Then, in ten years, when we’re married, with kids, totally crazy about each other… it won’t matter to anyone how we got there. My parents and grandma will be too old to give a shit and Milo will have found someone else to be with by then, anyway, so he wouldn’t care anymore either. Frankly, he doesn’t even care now.”
“This is beginning to feel like a repeat of dinner last night, which I’m still having post-traumatic stress over, by the way.”
“He’s not in love with you, V. Not the way you think. I know my brother. I can’t put my finger on it but something’s… off. And you told me you weren’t in love with him either.”
“I’m not.”
“Do you love me?”
She searched his eyes. “Do you love me?”
“I asked you first.”
I already told you.
For some reason, though, he couldn’t say it back. Was it fear? Or worse, guilt? She swallowed back the terror that was suddenly eating her alive and sending goose bumps rising all over her skin.
Her voice shook. “I don’t think you came here just to show your face…”
His head fell, every muscle in his body tensing, the veins in his arms throbbing.
“I don’t believe you came here just to do your time so you can be gone for another ten years. Not for one second. I think you came here to fix it. I think you want to fix it so damn badly, Jon that you can’t sleep at night, that you make yourself sick because you have no idea how to do it. I think you’re so scared of failing—so comfortable with… with chaos—that you’re willing to sabotage it all. But I won’t let you use me to do it. I won’t let you make me your limited edition version of unabashed chaos just to justify vanishing for another ten years because it’s easier when we both know how badly you want to be here. How badly you want them to want you. To need you as badly as you need them.”
He let a long silence fall after she finished, swallowing thickly and avoiding her eyes, voice monotone. “Nah, I understand. I understand, V. Why would you wanna run away with the black sheep druggie when you could settle down with the straight-laced golden boy?”
“Jon, you know that’s not—”
“Nah, I get it.” He stood, still avoiding her eyes, voice still robotic. “Get your stuff and let’s go home. Forget we ever talked about this.”
“We don’t have to forget.” All of the heartfelt promises he’d just made were just occurring to Viola. Marriage. Kids. College tuition paid. He’d promised her an entire life, and she’d been so blinded by the fear of being the reason he lost his family forever that she’d bypassed them completely. Perhaps a little too carelessly. So much so that she worried it was a topic of conversation he’d never dare re-visit again.
“Jon,” she begged.
When he looked at her, there was darkness in his gaze. Not the erotic darkness that often shadowed his blue orbs in the throes of passion, whenever his hands or lips were on her body, but instead an entirely new realm that she’d never seen before. An endless billow of black clouds, one after the other, multiplying, until every inch of light had been washed away. Like a turquoise ocean suddenly going black as the storm clouds devoured the sun.
She’d hurt him. She hadn’t meant to, but she had. So she gathered her things without another word, her heart at her feet. As she followed him out of the shop, staying a few feet behind as he moved toward the door with clenched fists, she made a vow to herself to find a way to make everything right. Jon was too damaged, Milo was too afraid, and their father was too proud.
It would have to be her.
She had to make it right.
The only thing she could do was thank the highest God that she had another week to figure out how the hell she was going to do it.