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 outlooking… 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.
