—and my cell phone rings.
The sound of that ringtone—the one I assigned to Chloe after our last awkward phone conversation—jolts me almost entirely out of the fantasy. He must have brought in my duffel bag when he walked away for a few seconds, because the ring is close, maybe by the door. Jonah’s growl of frustration is completely real. How could I have forgotten to turn the ringer off?
“Are your friends wondering where you are?” Jonah runs his hand over one of my breasts, pulls at my nipple. “They’re never, ever going to know. I’m going to shut off your phone so we don’t get disturbed again.”
The ringing stops. Thank God. Chloe will leave her voice mail, and Jonah and I can slip back into the fantasy. He walks me through the living room into the bathroom, which is basic tile, stark and white. Trembling, I step into the shower where I’ll have to perform for him—
—which is when the damned phone rings again. And it’s still Chloe.
Chloe would always rather leave a voice mail. Always. She wouldn’t keep calling back if this were any ordinary call.
This is important.
Something’s wrong.
“Silver.” I turn to Jonah and repeat the safe word. “Silver.”
Instantly he releases my arms. His expression shifts in an instant, no longer the angry, brutal master. Now he’s Jonah again, and I’m me. “What’s going on?”
“My sister. She never calls twice like that.”
I head toward the sound of the ring. My legs are still shaky; my breathing is still too quick. I slump to my knees on the floor before I unzip my duffel. Although the ringing stops in the instant before I grab the phone, I immediately hit the key to return her call. She picks up instantly. I say, “Chloe? It’s me. What is it?”
“Thank God I got you.” Chloe doesn’t sound sarcastic. She’s totally sincere. This is bad.
“What happened?” I whisper. “Tell me.”
“Dad had a cardiac arrest. Tomorrow they have to do open-heart surgery. They don’t know if he’s going to live.”
Twenty-eight
I was shattered before Chloe called. Now I’m—I don’t know what I am.
“It’s after seven o’clock,” I say as I put on my underwear, yank on a bra. “I couldn’t get to the airport before eight or eight thirty. They never have leftover seats anymore, especially not for the flights at the end of the day.”
Jonah has refastened his jeans. He holds his hands out the way a groom might try to soothe a skittish horse. “You can fly out first thing in the morning. We can buy your ticket over the phone.”
I shake my head. “That’s too long.”
“They have to operate right away,” Chloe said. “He’s scheduled for a valve replacement first thing in the morning.”
There’s no way I could spend the morning up in a plane, phone shut off, waiting to land so I can find out whether my father is alive or dead.
“Wait,” Jonah says. “Are you going to drive it?”
“I’ve driven from Austin to New Orleans before.” It’s eight hours, usually—but late at night I can make better time. I might be able to cut that down to six. I could get to my house before dawn. Then maybe I could see my father first thing in the morning, before the surgery.
Jonah doesn’t look convinced. “That’s one hell of a drive.”
“You meet the most interesting people that way.” My laugh sounds strangled in my throat. “So don’t knock it.”
“Vivienne.” He steps closer to me. “You’re shaken up and worn out. Driving through the night—you could fall asleep at the wheel.”
“While I’m freaking out about my father maybe dying any second? I seriously doubt I’m in danger of dozing off.” I yank on my sweater, step into my jeans.
Jonah’s hand closes over my shoulder, a gentle touch that seems to flow into me like a slow, deep breath. “At least eat something,” he says softly. “It won’t cost you ten minutes, and you’ll be in better shape for the drive.”
I can’t imagine a snack would make any difference in how I feel. But I realize Jonah’s trying to be helpful. To at least act like the lover he might someday be for me.
When will that be? After all your secrets are told. So, never. My illusions have been overshadowed by harsh, cold fact.
“If you can give me something to take with me, that would be great.” I kneel to pull on my socks. “But I have to get out of here.”
By the time I’m ready to go, Jonah has a plastic grocery bag filled for me—a chicken sandwich, a banana, even a plastic bottle of orange juice. Provisions for his hostage, I guess.
“You’re positive you’re ready to drive?” he asks.
I nod. I’m ready because I have to be.
“Your family—” Jonah hesitates for a long moment. “Are they going to take care of you?”
He’s seen between the lines. As little as I’ve told him about Chloe and my mother, he already knows they don’t have my back. Not even a crisis like this is going to seal the rifts between us.