Seven
Hours later Viola found herself cringing at Milo as he straightened his tie in the standing floor mirror across the guest bedroom. She saw just how sour her face looked in the reflection, but her expression was still no match for the bitterness eating her alive from within. A smug smile lived on Milo’s face as he adjusted the skinny black tie he’d paired with tapered jeans and a white button-down shirt.
Viola’s stomach tightened beneath the yellow shift dress she’d chosen for the evening.
“You couldn’t have told me your brother was Jon fuckin’ Baca, Milo?” Her glare deepened in the mirror. “How could you have kept something like this from me for three whole years? How?” It took an incredible amount of effort to bite her tongue around the words she really wanted to say.
I want your brother so badly I could scream. I need to kiss him again like I need air to breathe. You stole that from me. If I die alone, it’s your fault. You are so selfish!
“Why are you looking at me like that?” His smile fell in the reflection as he studied her pinched face. “You look like a serial killer.”
Probably because I’m ready to kill you.
“Like a child predator.” He doubled down. “All you’re missing is a pair of bifocals and a pedophile mustache.”
“If anyone in this house is a predator, it’s you. The way you ganged up on Jon at dinner, my God. That pile on was pretty severe. I don’t blame him for storming out. I probably would’ve too.”
“He stormed out because he can’t handle the truth. He’s so used to being surrounded by people who worship him blindly he immediately balks at the tiniest shred of criticism.”
“Still not sure what he did to deserve all that criticism. Seemed like he was bending over backward to avoid a disagreement. Honestly, you were being a little condescending toward him—you and your Dad.”
“We lived with him for years. You just don’t get it because you weren’t there.”
“So explain it to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I just wanna go to this concert and get it over with—get the next three weeks over with.”
“How long has it been since Jon was home?”
“Ten years, I think.”
“Wow, so he wasn’t even here for Beau’s birth?”
“None of us were. Beau’s adopted. When Mom brought him home, Jon was overseas on tour, but he always sends free tickets. Most of the time, Mom takes Beau and Jackson when he does.”
“What about your Dad?”
His jaw clenched.
The tightness returned to her face like she’d just eaten an entire lemon in one bite. “All these years we could’ve been going to White Keys concerts, for free.” Jon and I could’ve fallen in love years ago. We could’ve been married with kids by now. She contemplated her thoughts, voice lowering in astonishment. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to forgive you for this.”
“Will you come and fix my tie for me?”
With a roll of her eyes, she stood from the bed and crossed the room, yanking his tie roughly enough to choke him. Then she found it in her heart to let go of her fury long enough to fix the pathetic, crooked knot he’d made. He watched her as she pulled him together, his eyes growing tender like a little boy whose mother was tying his shoes, softening under her attentions like melted butter in the microwave.
“You try growing up with Jon Baca for a brother,” he whispered. “Wondering if your friends are really your friends. If your lovers are really your lovers. If the people in your life are choosing you because you’re you, or because he’s him.”
“Well, now that you know for a fact I chose you because you’re you, no more secrets, okay? Promise me.”
“I promise. And I’m sorry I lied.”
She finished his tie and turned him toward the mirror so they could both admire her work. “Much better.” She let her hands leave his tie and slide down his biceps, squeezing as they smiled at each other in the mirror. “You know what I don’t get? Why you would keep your sexuality a secret from Jon. I mean, he’s a rock star. Spent half his life immersed in the entertainment industry. He’s gotta be surrounded by gay people all the time? Probably working right alongside them. Befriending them. Celebrating birthdays and holidays with them. Sitting down to eat with them. If anyone would accept you, it’s him.”
His gaze fell to the floor. “I don’t give a shit about anyone’s acceptance.”
“Then why am I here?”
His eyes shot up with a new blaze at their depths.
Just as he opened his mouth to respond the door to the bedroom clicked, causing both their heads to snap toward it, just as it flew open at the speed of light. Jackson appeared, giving the frame all his weight just as the door hit the wall, dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a black t-shirt and classic Chuck Taylor’s.
“Let’s gooo!” he begged, his cheeks hot, apparently having reached his patience threshold waiting for them to get ready. “Before Dad changes his mind!”
——
If fixing Milo’s crooked tie had sparked a motherly instinct that warmed Viola’s heart enough to forgive him earlier that day, the sight of his brother’s beautiful face across that backstage dressing room was enough to turn it cold as ice once more that night.
The vanity lights shining on the wall-to-wall mirrors behind Jon amplified his handsomeness tenfold. They sent a sharp gleam across his slicked-back brown hair. Made the muscles rolling under his black and white tattoos more prominent than she ever seen them—straining against the sleeves of his white tee like they were seconds from bursting through. Those lights made his already glimmering smile even more luminous—almost blinding—like some merciful angel in the sky had dropped him straight down from heaven just to rip her heart to shreds.
His laugh was more beautiful than any guitar riff he’d ever played, which was no small feat, as Viola had always regarded his playing as the most beautiful she’d ever heard. Even as he shoved handfuls of trail mix into his mouth, the sound of his muffled laughter was still otherworldly. His smile remained as he sampled a little bit of everything from the assorted snacks and beverages that’d been set up in the dressing room, nodding as he listened to Jackson, who was leaning on the table beside him. Jackson’s jean-clad legs were crossed the exact same way as Jon’s since he naturally mimicked everything his older brother did, all the way down to the pitch and tempo of his voice. His laughter. Even his crossed arms—which, as a freshman in high school, hadn’t yet grown as big and wide as Jon’s.
When Jon took Jackson in a headlock and yanked his giggling body in for a bear hug, Viola couldn’t help wondering what a great dad he’d be one day.
To some other woman’s kids, of course. Never hers. Milo had fucked that up for her real good. She cut a sharp look at Milo, sitting on a bright red sofa across the room, too busy glaring at Jon and Jackson to notice her glaring at him. She drank him in from where she sat alone on the arm of her own sofa, unable to fathom how it was possible to love someone who’d ruined her life so incredibly, but at that moment she found herself in that very position. Trapped in a world where she wanted to kill him and cradle him, all at once. Where she wanted to pick his brain about the weird unspoken dynamic between him and his brother but also wring his neck. She squinted at him, fantasizing about all the places she’d love to hide his body when she inevitably snapped and ended him for good.
Shaun and Adam were on the sofa with Milo. Shaun was leaning deep into Adam’s chest with lazy eyes as if the cushion of his pecs were seconds from lulling her to sleep, appearing in no condition to follow through on their plans of being front row for Yoshi’s show that night. Adam seemed to be right on her heels, his head cradled on top of hers with a serene smile on his face, stroking her Afro curls while gazing blankly into the distance, with no awareness of Viola’s attentions. One of the fattest, shiniest diamonds Viola had ever seen glittered from Shaun’s left ring finger. The same ring Adam had slipped on her hand when he’d proposed to her onstage at a White Keys concert just a few months earlier. A symbol of all the beautiful years they’d shared as a couple and the beautiful years yet to come. Viola could still remember the embarrassing tears that’d filled her eyes when she’d stayed up until 2 a.m. watching every video she could find of the proposal on YouTube.
It was all still so surreal to Viola, the fact that she was sitting in a dressing room, backstage at a Yoshi Cho concert, with Adam Brand and Jon Baca in the same room. Letting her listen in on their most private conversations. Sharing the same air with her—on purpose.
Unable to help herself or wipe the syrupy smile off her face, Viola spoke to Shaun and Adam, “You guys are so cute, I could just die.”
Shaun gave a blissful shrug. “We try.”
“I have to be honest, in high school, I used to be obsessed with your relationship. I never believed all the rumors about it being a big PR stunt either. I always knew your love was genuine.”
Shaun and Adam shared a look, the corners of their lips lifting up at the same time.
“Thanks, girl,” Shaun said, managing to tear her amused eyes away from Adam to wink at Viola.
Recognizing the feeling of being on the outside of an inside joke, Viola tempered her excitement and let the conversation die, telling herself to shut the hell up before she ruined a good thing. It was miracle enough that she was in the same room with these people in the first place. No reason to push her luck.
She was snapped out of her reverie when the door to the dressing room flew open. Gus Van Sant, Yoshi’s manager, who looked like an Elijah Wood clone, popped his head inside the room, his bulging blue eyes going straight to Adam.
“They’re opening the doors to general admission in less than ten, so if you guys wanna be dead against the barrier, you gotta move now.”
“I really don’t wanna be dead against the rails,” Shaun said, suddenly wide awake as she sat tall and looked at Adam. “Babe, it just feels really foolish and unnecessarily dangerous. What if someone recognizes you?”
“We have two guards assigned exclusively to you,” Gus reassured. “They’ll be right there in front of you, standing at the rails for the entire show.”
“It just feels so reckless,” Shaun pressed. “Aren’t there any seats on the upper-level rails? Next to the stage? Much safer and just as good of a view.”
Jackson’s face fell as if Shaun had just suggested he cut his own dick off, then his eyes filled with tears.
“Come on, Molten,” Jon said, using Shaun’s longtime nickname, short for molten chocolate. “It’s Jackson’s Christmas gift. He doesn’t wanna be on the sidelines.”
“I wanna be in the piiiiit.” Jackson bounced on his heels. “And I want Adam and Jon with me. Please, Shaun? Pleeeese…?”
Shaun hesitated.
“Or you could just ruin everything.” Jon shrugged. “And break a young lad’s heart at Christmas.”
Shaun’s shoulders fell, and she rolled her eyes, holding up her hands in surrender as she stood. “Fine. But if you guys get mauled just know I’m not jumping in to help. None of your mosh-pit-loving fans are going to recognize me, anyway. It’s your heads on the line, not mine.”
“That’s the spirit, baby.” Adam stood with Shaun and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Come on. We’ll grab Noodle on the way.”
“God, I forgot all about Noodle. How long has he been in the bathroom?”
“Too long to spell anything good…”
Adam and Shaun’s voices faded away as they left the room and turned the corner with Milo right behind them, looking just about as excited about the concert as Shaun. Viola held steady from the arm of the red couch, watching over her shoulder as they all filed out of the room. Jackson abandoned Jon at the vanity and raced to the door just in time to jump on Milo’s back, causing him to trip over his own feet, barely recovering before taking hold of Jackson’s thighs with a laugh and carrying him piggyback out of the room.
The door slammed closed behind them.
Silence dominated.
Viola’s breathing picked up tenfold as she found herself alone with Jon. Immersed in a soundlessness that was far from relaxing and tranquil. No, this silence was deadly. Like it had become something tangible and wrapped itself around her neck. With spikes so sharp it drew blood at her throat, making it impossible to finish a single breath. She wanted to look across the room and meet his eyes but feared she might not survive it.
Somehow she found the courage to face mortality head on, but only because she’d realized that the only thing harder than looking at Jon was not looking at Jon. So she looked up at him while swallowing the lump in her throat.
His hot blue eyes were there to catch hers, face taut and arms crossed tightly enough to make his biceps look like soccer balls. Every vein under his skin pulsed, his own chest heaving just as hard as hers as another long silence fell.
Viola wondered if he’d speak at all.
“Why the fuck shouldn’t I tell him everything?”
She held her breath as his deep voice rang out, digging her nails into the couch upholstery.
Apparently, she didn’t answer quickly enough for his liking. “Why the fuck shouldn’t I tell him his girlfriend’s a cheating whore?”
She exhaled, heavily enough to make her chest collapse. So deeply she almost thought her body was trying to cave in on itself. To crumple like a paper bag.
She managed to answer. “Because you don’t want to hurt him.”
His face slackened. So did his crossed arms. His broad shoulders. His every muscle relaxed as if it was his body’s turn to try caving in on itself, proving that her words were truer than she ever could’ve imagined.
He shook his head, so softly she barely noticed it, speaking through clenched teeth. “Why?”
Her eyes slammed closed. She yearned to tell him the truth, but it was such a loaded question her mind could barely construct a sensible answer. Why? Because the moment I laid eyes on you, you took my breath away. Because four hours of talking to you was better than twenty-one whole years of being alive. Because I couldn’t fight the intensity that swallowed me up the moment you spoke to me. Because my body belonged to you the second you touched me. Because I’ve never felt with anyone what I felt with you before.
“I got caught up in the moment,” she whispered, and it wasn’t a lie.
His lip curled.
God, he hates you. It was all over his face. It made her want to melt into the couch and perish slowly within the cushions. Death by down-feather asphyxiation.
“Any woman who would do what you did… is the lowest form of trash. He deserved better than that. He deserves better than that. Better than you. And so do I.”
This was the moment when Milo’s real girlfriend would’ve done everything she could to repent. When she’d tell Jon that the kiss on the plane had meant nothing. That it had been a one-time thing. An accident. A mistake. Something she felt deep remorse for and would never allow to happen again. Some part of Viola knew she should say all those things, but it would’ve all been a lie. The biggest she’d ever told.
She wasn’t sorry she’d kissed him on the plane. It hadn’t felt like an accident or a mistake. She didn’t feel remorse. If anything, every bone in her body yearned to do it again. To do it for the rest of her life if she could.
To claim anything otherwise would’ve been a lie so egregious she wasn’t even sure her body could endure it. She imagined her tongue rejecting the words the moment she attempted to speak them. Replacing them instead with a boiling bile that spewed from her perjurious lips, dissolving her like hot lava before it even finished leaving her body, refusing to allow her to live another second in anything but her heart’s deepest truth.
So she bit her tongue.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he whispered.
I’m innocent.
“I’m sor—” She heaved, forced to swallow back a hurl, proving that her body was indeed ready and willing to reject any lie she attempted to utter in that moment.
“You can’t even say it.” His voice sounded astonished. “Because you’re not. Are you? You’re not sorry, at all. Probably think you’re still on the verge of leveling up. Well, let me make myself perfectly clear. You make me fuckin’ sick. Every time I look at you, all I’ll ever see again is a goddamn liar and a cheat. A whore. No better than a streetwalker. Maybe even worse because at least at a streetwalker’s core, she’s honest. Everything… everything about you is a farce. And you’d better hope I don’t change my mind and decide to tell him everything.”
“So… so you’re not going to tell him?”
He looked on the verge of smiling at her, but he must’ve been fighting it at his deepest depths because it never came to fruition.
Finding herself encased in silence once more, Viola frowned as she traversed her own wild thoughts, unable to stop herself from speaking them out loud.
“Why didn’t you visit him?”
He blinked lazily with a halfhearted shrug. As if he had no idea why she still believed there was anything left for them to talk about.
“Why didn’t you visit Milo?” she pressed. “We both took the same flight out, so I know you were in New York. Were you catching a connecting flight or did you really visit your brother’s hometown without ever telling him? Without dropping by or so much as a hello? I live with him, so I would’ve known if you’d called. Matter of fact, why haven’t you visited him during any of your trips to New York? The band has been in the city too many times to count since I met Milo three years ago.”
He nodded, biting his lip a little harder with each word she spoke. “Hell of a way to turn it around and make me the bad guy.”
“I’m not trying to make anyone the bad guy. It just occurred to me at this moment, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend why I don’t bother calling when I’m in the city?”
“I would, but he gets just as weird when I ask questions about you, as you’re getting right now when I’m asking questions about him.” She took a deep breath. “And that had to be the strangest dinner table I’ve ever had the discomfort of sitting at in my life.”
“Just another dinner at the Moore’s.”
“Are you gonna go back?”
“I see. So this is the part where you pretend to actually give a shit about me and my family?”
“I’m not pretending. I care about Milo. And I care about you too. Kinda hated the way they treated you tonight, honestly.”
“You don’t give a fuck about me, or him.”
It was the wrong approach, but Viola couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t help that she liked him. She couldn’t help that she already felt protective. That her body still trembled in her yellow shift dress simply because she was sitting there, looking him in the eye. That when she stroked her arms gently at that moment, every inch of her skin tingled for it to be his hands instead of hers. That when her tongue darted out to lick her lips, all she could think about was the moment on the plane when it’d been his tongue wetting them instead. She should’ve been playing the part of the shamed girlfriend explaining her sins away, but instead she was crossing one leg over the other in an attempt to quell her aching clit, nearly screaming when the action only caused the bud to grow even more sensitive, sending a shockwave of pleasure through her that made the channel between her legs slick with heat, pumping so violently she wondered how she was even surviving it.
“I do care about you—” she squeaked. “What we had on the plane… that wasn’t me being reckless. I mean, it was…” It really wasn’t, though. “But I really… really felt something between us. Something indescribable. Something real. And I know you felt it too.”
“I didn’t feel shit.”
“You told Adam about me.”
He took in her words, then smirked.
This time the silence that descended didn’t feel like it was choking her. She wondered if he was considering what she was saying. That what they’d had on the plane had been real. Unexpected. Bizarre. Totally once in a lifetime.
His smirk evolved into a gentle smile.
Her heart warmed at the sight. Was he going to admit that it’d been real to him too? His reddened cheeks told her he was probably reliving their kiss the same way she was. Was he recalling the feel of her tongue against his lips? Of her hands on his body? Her chest heaving in desire right alongside his? Did he want more of it? Did he want it as badly as she did?
His smile grew even wider. “You’re a terrible fuckin’ person.”
Her heart hit her feet.
And his smile was gone. He pushed away from the vanity without another word and stalked across the room toward the door.
Frozen in shock, Viola didn’t even turn her head to watch him go.
The sight would’ve been too painful to bear.
——
The sight of Jon Baca walking away was a new fact of her life she’d simply have to make her peace with. Like an engorged pimple on the tip of her nose. Or menstrual cramps during her period. She hated them both with a passion, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to change them. Like menstrual cramps, all she could do was pop a Midol and wait for the storm to pass. If only there were a pill that relieved the pesky symptoms that came along with Jon Baca. A pill to relieve the torturous ache between her legs. To quell the carnal craving that was akin to extended starvation. To soothe the need so blinding it made the rest of the world cease to exist.
There was no relief in existence. So all Viola could do was pretend he wasn’t alive. To pretend he wasn’t standing right behind her that very moment. Close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath at the crown of her head. To know that if she took even one step backward, their bodies would be sealed together like glue. Heat pumped through her veins at that very thought, her legs desperate to do just that—take a big step back—so her body could know the feeling of his pressing against her once more. But with Milo standing next to her, leaning against the barrier in the first row of what was now a packed arena, that wasn’t an option. Because she was his “girlfriend”, and girlfriends didn’t fantasize about being pressed up against her boyfriend’s brother. At least, not in most cases.
Only a gay best friend posing as her boyfriend would think that a couple should stand side-by-side on the barriers at a concert and not front-to-back. Of course, Milo hadn’t considered the fact that insisting Jon stand behind his girlfriend—a much more appropriate position for a boyfriend—was odd. She worried little that bouts of negligence like that would surely blow their cover before they’d finished out the visit.
It was a sold out show that evening, and the deafening screams in the packed house were in full effect now that Yoshi was minutes from taking the stage. The opening acts had made their exit more than half an hour ago, and whoever was in control of the lights had been having a grand old time teasing the audience by dimming them as if Yoshi was coming—waiting for the crowd’s uproarious screams—and then turning the lights back on full blast once more, killing the excitement in one fell swoop. The audience knew it wasn’t the real deal until the entire arena went pitch black, and Viola feared the lighting tech had one more chance to psyche out the crowd before he’d have an angry mob on his hands.
Thankfully, when he dimmed the lights once more, it was for real, and the entire arena went black. The roar of the crowd made her ears bleed, but she powered through the discomfort, mostly because she was screaming too, doing her part to add to the madness as the country’s biggest pop star took the stage and finally gave the tens of thousands of people awaiting him everything they’d come for.
As excited as Viola was when the strings of her favorite Yoshi song boomed throughout the arena, the smile on her face quickly vanished when the equally excited crowd behind her charged toward the stage. It wasn’t the fact that her ribs were now smashed so hard against the rails she worried they were seconds from shattering that wiped the smile from her face.
No.
It was the fantasy that’d been filling her mind since the moment she’d taken her spot at those rails making itself a reality. It was Jon’s body, suddenly flush with hers under the weight of the thousands surging forward behind them. It was the swell of both their bodies as his hardness marked itself present against her back. The breathtaking sensation of being bathed in a desire that could never be fulfilled. Of her nipples, hardened so much they bordered on painful. The friction of her push-up bra making them harder still. The bite between her legs as her clit squeezed to the point of pain, dying to get the bulge at her back into the slippery apex between her thighs. She told herself not to press back against him but couldn’t heed her own thoughts, gasping when he pressed forward in return. Was he trying to get closer, or losing strength against the immense pressure from the crowd? Had his body lost control just as much as hers or had she found herself all alone, drowning in the need to be touched by him in any manner she could?
When he suddenly ground against her, Viola had her answer, the swirl of his hips leaving no question to the fact that he was right there with her. That the pitch of his warm breath had risen on the back of her head in response to her, and not the crushing weight of the crowd behind them. The warmth of his breath traveled down to her earlobe, also because he’d wanted it to. Nearly a foot taller than her, it was an action that could’ve only been accomplished if he was purposely leaning in. Deliberately arching his neck to get closer. Would he take her earlobe between his full lips? Wet it with his tongue? She nearly groaned at the thought.
He propelled forward again, and once again she had a sneaking feeling the crowd had nothing to do with it. She yearned for him to touch her but knew he couldn’t. Not with Milo so close.
When had she closed her eyes? When had she disappeared completely into the salacious world in her head? A world that only grew more carnal and feverous the longer his body gyrated against hers?
Eyes flying open, her gaze shifted to Milo with a gasp, but he was focused on the stage, singing and clapping along with Yoshi as he breezed through his first performance.
They hadn’t even gotten through the first song. Viola had no idea how she was going to make it out of that concert alive. By the time they reached the climax of Yoshi’s show, she’d surely be on the third climax of her own—begging for an encore, and not from Yoshi.
Chest heaving, pretending to be just as taken by Yoshi as Milo, Viola pushed back. Her lips fell open as she ground her hips against his in return, swirling them in the opposite direction. The motion made her breasts, her pussy, and even her ass clench and pulse, ready to take him however she could get him. Even her mouth filled with saliva as if begging to get a taste of the rod against her back as well. If she could see her arms in the darkness—under the strobe lights flying a mile a minute—she was sure her veins would be protruding against her skin. Surging with the same piping hot blood that seemed to be shooting straight to her center, making it slippery, swollen with tension and need. A need to be claimed, entered, impaled. It must’ve felt so wrong to Jon, she realized. Like the last thing he wanted to do, but couldn’t seem to fight. Just the thought of the mental battle he must’ve been enduring behind her—a battle he was patently losing—sent her heart racing so fast it climbed out of her chest and got lodged in her throat, leaving her gasping for air.
Her toes curled in her black high heels as the gyration of her hips against his caused her clit to swell and her pussy to contract, warning of a loss of control that promised to take her over the edge.
She didn’t fight it.
And when his hand found her hip—on the opposite side of Milo—hidden from view in the throng of the crowd, and his fingers dug into her thigh, a spasm shot through her body that took her breath away. One spine-tingling shock after the other, each blast leaving her knees a little weaker until she was forced to reach behind her and clutch his thighs as well. His legs were spread wide, another indicator that she wasn’t alone in her desperate need to be near him. He could only have taken his body so low if he was just as hungry to get his dick exactly where he needed it. Where they both needed it.
Her fingers tightened around his muscled legs, his thighs clenched so taut it produced enough leverage for her to sit down on him like a rocking chair. So she did, giving him all her weight, letting his hardness push through the folds of her center, her lips falling open with a whimper. She worried she was moments from crumbling to the floor as the strongest orgasm she’d ever experienced rocketed through her body. Just when she was sure it was over, her tightly clamped thighs drew out another twitch, another jerk, another wave to ride that was a little stronger than the last.
It was a wave she wanted to ride for the rest of her life. A wave she intended to ride as many times as she could. Even if she was bound to wipe out.
Even if it was bound to swallow her whole.