The Probability of Violet and Luke

Chapter 12

Violet.

The first thing that comes to my mind when I wake up is that I can remember losing it. Completely and utterly losing it right in front of Luke. I was so drunk I didn’t give a shit, even when he looked like I was scaring the crap out of him. But when morning rolls around, it’s a whole other story.

When I open my eyes and notice the heavy weight on my side. I realize that it’s Luke’s arm and that we’re spooning in the bed, our bodies so close to each other there’s no room for anything else. I’ve got my ass pressed against his manly part, which is gracing me with its morning wood. He’s got his face pressed into the back of my neck, his warm breath caressing my skin and our legs are tangled together, the slip I have on riding up so I’m barely covered up at all and his hand is resting softly on my side. The smell of him overwhelms me and all I can think is please, just freeze this moment right here and never let me move forward or backward again.

I’m surprised how content I feel, especially after the drama of last night. But maybe that’s just denial. I don’t want to admit that I got so trashed that I completely fell apart and he discovered my dirty little secret. God knows what all I told him… I remember some stuff about pain… and Preston… dammit, did I tell him about the bruises and the blowjob?

I think about lifting his arm up and sneaking out before I can find out. Finding the nearest bus stop and going home to avoid confrontation. But technically I don’t have a home, so it’d just be me going back to Laramie and trying to find a bench to sleep on until I can come up with an alternative living situation.

“How are you feeling?” Luke’s voice dusts the back of my neck as he presses a soft kiss to my neck, right where my tattoos are, startling me.

My body twitches as he brushes my hair away from my shoulder and begins tracing gentle circles on it with his finger. “Fine, I guess,” I tell him. “I have a little bit of a headache but nothing a few pain killers won’t cure.” I force my tone to be light, hopefully he’ll play along and pretend, let me stay in my land of make believe.

“What about the other stuff?” His hand slowly slides from my shoulder, down my side, then rests on the side of my leg, bare skin to bare skin, his palm right over the bruises.

I squeeze my eyes shut and take several deep breaths before I can speak. “I’m not sure what to say… I’m sorry.”

His hand tenses on my leg. “For what?”

I open my eyes and stare at the wall. “For turning all psychopath on you last night.”

“You didn’t go all psychopath on me last night. You had a fucking panic attack, which I totally get. Trust me. I’ve had my fair share of them.” A pause, then his hand glides back up my body and neck, residing on my jawline. He turns my head toward him, forcing me to rotate my body with it so I’m facing him. He looks so worn out, the circles under his eyes even more defined and his skin even paler than usual. He’s shirtless, the blanket covering just his bottom half so I can see his bare chest. He’s still in shape and everything, but he looks like he’s lost some weight. It’s starting to concern me, like maybe he’s not taking care of himself enough with his diabetes, but how do I bring it up to him? “I want you to tell me what happened with Preston.”

I shake my head, my lips trembling as I smash them tightly together, weak just with the mention of his name. “I can’t.”

“I know it’s hard,” he says, his fingers spreading across my cheek. “But I need you to tell me… if he hurt you then I—”

I cover his mouth with my hand. “I don’t want you hurting him,” I state firmly. “And not because I care about him at all—I don’t want you getting hurt.” I wait a minute then lower my hand.

He’s grinding his teeth in frustration. “If I promised you I wouldn’t hurt him, would you tell me?” It seems like it takes a lot of self-control for him to say it.

He wants me to willingly talk about my problems? There’s a new one. “I hate talking about stuff aloud,” I admit. “Don’t you think it’s so much easier just to keep stuff to yourself? Especially when you’re the reason it happened it the first place? I mean, it’d be pretty pathetic for me to whine about anything that happened when I walked straight into it.”

He considers what I said, then stuns me when I see a flicker of anger transpire in his eyes. “I used to think it was better to keep things bottled up,” he says. “But I’m not so sure anymore. Not since I met you… And you running away, to Preston’s, that wasn’t your fault. Yeah, I wish you would have stayed…but completely get why you left.”

“I should have came back after you called the police and turned your mom in… things would have been less horrible if I had,” I mutter, then swallow hard, my mind racing with every bad choice I’ve made. “It wasn’t like I fought him or anything. It was our deal while I stayed there.” Air in, air out. Breathe. “He gives me a roof over my head and in return I have to touch him… at least that’s what it was in the beginning. But then a week ago, I messed up a stupid deal and he got super pissed and kind of forced me down on my knees to,” I make a motioning gesture with my hand, “Well, you know. And that’s where the bruises came from. I hit my leg on the bed when he was shoving me to my knees,” I say. Luke’s face turns from pale to red, his breathing quickening, his fingers going stiff on my cheek as if battling the urge not to ram his fist into something. I feel the need to add something. “You can’t get mad at him. In fact, you should be mad at me. I should have never gone back to him. I would have been better going and living out on the streets, but I was too scared to do that again and honestly, for some reason, I didn’t want to be completely alone in the world yet and Preston is the only family I have, as fucked up as that is. I was weak and I know better than to let myself get that way.” I shrug and continue. “The stuff that happens to me—the messes I get myself into—are my fault. In fact, it’s kind of my thing. I’m careless and I don’t think things through and this is where it’s gotten me. Homeless, famililess. And now I’m paying for my mistakes.”

“You say that like you deserve it?” He’s baffled, his anger fading to shock.

“Sometimes I don’t think I do,” I admit for the first time aloud. “I think about all the times I was moved from home to home. I always pretended that it didn’t matter—that it was them not me. But I think it was more of a defense mechanism than anything… I could have tried harder to be a better child, but I was too stubborn and had too much rebellion in me.”

He stares at me, his expression unreadable, one hand on my hip, the other on my face. I can feel his pulse throbbing through his fingertips. It seems as if he’s searching for the right words, but I don’t want him to say anything. I don’t want to hear how he thinks that’s not true, how I’m better than that, how it was everyone’s fault but mine.

“I don’t want a pity party,” I tell him. “I was just saying my thoughts aloud.”

“I wasn’t going to give you a pity party,” he replies, reminding me of the reason I was drawn to him in the first place. “I was going to say that when we get back to Laramie, I want you to stay with us.” When I start to open my mouth to say, well, I’m not sure, he talks over me, “I’ll sleep on the sofa and you can have the bedroom. Seth and Greyson will be completely fine with you being back. In fact, Seth even said something about missing you the other day, but don’t tell him I told you that.” He pauses as if waiting for me to agree, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. “And if you want, we can work out some kind of schedule where we don’t have to be in the house at the same time, except for when we’re sleeping.”

It’s amazing how easy it is to run away from your problems. Running back to Preston felt easier than going back to Luke. Yes, it has to do partly with who his mother is, but I think there was always more to it than that. I think it was easier to run away, because it meant running away from what I was feeling. That night he told me who his mother was hurt so badly that I knew I was falling for him. Hard. I’d never had such powerful emotions toward someone before and that scared me.

“What about this thing with your… mother?” I ask, wincing as I remember the one and only night I met his mother, how crazy she looked as she sang that song with my parent’s blood on her clothes. “What if something happens, like they arrest her? Won’t that make things weird? More weird than they already are?”

He looks baffled, his jaw dropping, his eyes widening. “I fucking hope they arrest her. In fact I’ve been waiting for them to my entire life.”

Silence stretches between us as he drifts into thought as he rolls onto his back, his gaze floating to the ceiling while I examine his expression, trying to figure out what he could be thinking.

“How bad was it?” I dare ask. I’ve heard some stories from him, horrible stories, but I’m guessing there’s more to it, more that he hasn’t told me yet. “With your mom, I mean… was it just the drug thing? Or was there something more?”

His breath catches in his throat, his eyes glued to the ceiling as he struggles with something internally. I’m about to tell him never mind, that he doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to, but then he starts talking. “She used to like to play these games,” he says, his voice faltering. “Ones that you’d never win, but you’d have to try or else you’d pay too. There was one time she messed up the entire house and then told me to clean it, but the catch was that everything had to be put in the right place, otherwise I’d have to spend time with her… days… which should sound fun but her idea of spending time together, was not the normal mother son relationship. More like a pet… only she liked the pet too much…” He squeezes his eyes and I wonder if he’s trying to hold back tears. “You know what really fucking sucks. Is that I just let her make me do all those things, was I that afraid of her?"

“You were just a kid,” I tell him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“So. I knew what she was doing was wrong, but I didn’t do anything to try and stop it, because I was afraid of her—still am sometimes. A full grown man and just the sound of her voice makes me feel so angry and helpless.”

Just like Preston does to me. God, we have so much in common. If only there wasn’t that one thing, then maybe we could have something good.

He stays still for a while, while I wonder exactly what he’s trying to say, read between the lines. His mother clearly hurt him, but it seems like there’s so much more to it, way, way more. Dark things. Ones I should know. The things people do behind close doors—I’ve seen a lot of fucked up shit. But I think Luke might have seen more, which is so sad it literally hurts my heart.

When he opens his eyes again, he rolls back toward me and starts grazing his finger across my cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. You’ve been through your own shit and the last thing you need is for me to babble about my problems.”

“It’s okay. I asked you to,” I say, battling to keep my voice. Too many emotions, dammit, I can’t keep doing this. I pause, inhaling and exhaling loudly, about to say something that I’d never thought I’d say aloud. “Luke…”

His hand stops moving on my cheek, his thumb tracing a line beneath my eye. “Yeah?” When I don’t say anything right away, he adds, “You can say whatever you want to me, good or bad. I deserve whatever it is.”

“I think I was wrong for leaving that day.” The words fall from my lips and crash to the earth like fragile glass. Throughout the last two months, I’d thought it many times. Every time I woke up from my nightmares alone. Every time I saw a place Luke and I shared some kind of moment together. Every time Preston touched me… that’s when I regretted my decision the most. But admitting that and letting everything go so I could get back to the place I was in before I left Luke, always seemed out of reach. But what if it’s right here, in front of me?

Just let it go.

The thought sounds like my father’s voice, but the thing is, I didn’t know him well enough to know if he’d be the kind of person who’d want me to hold a grudge or let it go. I was too young when he died, barely getting to know him and my mother. I want to believe, though, that they were good people, despite what anyone else says.

“You had every right to leave.” He pauses, contemplating something, then he suddenly sits up, taking his warmth with him. He rakes his hand through his hair. “You know what? I think I’m going to try and help them. After we go back, I think I’m going to pay her a little visit.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I hurry and sit up, stretching, my legs that are still tucked under the blanket. “I don’t want you being around her.”

“I don’t want to be around her either,” he says in a tight voice. “And maybe if we can get her behind bars, I’ll never have to again.”

The idea of her being behind bars makes me feel better, but still, I’m not much of an optimist, so the concept that it will actually happen seems out of reach. “What about the other guy? Do you think she’ll ever say who it is?”

He rotates in the bed, bringing his knees out from under the blanket. He’s only wearing boxers and I can see pretty much all of him, including the massive bruise on his rib cage where Geraldson’s bodyguard, or whatever that big guy was, hit him. Luke puts his arm on his leg and leans close to me. “I’m not sure, but we’ll figure this out. I’ll do everything I can, but please tell me you’re going to come home with me.”

Home? Such a foreign word.

I don’t agree—not ready to yet. But I want to and that has to be something. There’s still so much between us that hasn’t been said yet. And I could keep running and never have to talk about it, but the truth is I don’t really want to anymore. I’m tired of running from everything and everyone. I’ve been doing it for almost fourteen years and maybe it’s time to take a break.

After we talk for a little longer, about lighter stuff, I realize that my phone battery died last night so I find a charger and plug it in. There’s a message from Detective Stephner, telling me to call him back asap, but when I dial him back, it goes straight to his voicemail. So I leave him another message and let the phone tag begin.

I take a nap while I’m waiting, because apparently between the energy I lost during the panic attack and the hangover, I’m exhausted. When I wake up, night has fallen and Luke is dressed to go out in jeans, a black shirt, and boots, his hair done and his face freshly shaven.

He’s ‘s lying down on the bed next to me, on top of the comforter and that notebook I saw him put into his bag back at the apartment is opened up on his lap, his eyes on the pages. Whatever is on there has got him worked up, his eyes glossy, his fingers trembling as he flips the page.

“Everything okay?” I ask, sitting up in the bed and stretching my arms above my head.

He jumps and presses his hand to his heart, startled. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

I glance from the notebook to his wide eyes. “I can tell.” I pause, looking down at the notebook again. “What are you reading?”

He shakes his head, closing the book. “It is… was…” He touches the leather band on his wrist that he always wears, tracing his fingers over the word Redemption. “My sister, Amy’s journal… my… mother sent it to me a few weeks ago.” He sets the book aside, shaking his head. “I have no idea why she did it. I think it was another one of her games to try and get me to come home, like remembering Amy would tear me up enough that I would need to be with my mom or something.” He rolls his eyes. “She’s stupid, though. She had to of not read it because there’s a lot of discriminating thing in there about her that makes me want to never see her again.” He pauses, conflicted, fiddling with a small whole in his jeans. “Although she could have read it and was just too crazy to see how bad it made her look.”

I’m about to say… well, something, because it feels like I need to, but then he abruptly changes the subject. “I’m glad you woke up before I left for the game. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

I frown, bringing my knees up so there under me, then smooth my untamed locks out of my face. “Why did you say it like that—like I’m not going?”

“Because you’re not.” He offers me this sexy lopsided grin, as if dazzling me with his charm is going to make this easier on him. “I want—no need—to make sure you’re safe for the night.”

“Don’t try to smile you’re way out of this, Mr. Stoically Aloof,” I say, elevating my brows at him. “I want to go. Be useful. Not just sit around here and feel like I’m going to go crazy from the quietness.” Something shifts in his expression, unravels, his tongue slipping out of his mouth to wet his lips. “What is it?” I ask, not sure if he looks upset or painfully relieved—perhaps both.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, gaze glued on mine. “It’s just that you used my nickname.”

“So…” I’m so confused.

“So, I didn’t think I’d ever hear it come out of your mouth again since you only use it when you’re being flirty.” He’s right. I only used it when I was teasing him or trying to make him irritated because he looks sexy when he’s frustrated, on the verge of losing it with me. “I’ve missed it,” he adds, looking as though he’s going to kiss me. And I want him to desperately, not just because with each kiss it feels like he’s erasing more and more of Preston’s kisses, but because when his lips are on mine, they’re the only thing I can feel, my very own replacement to my adrenaline addiction.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” I finally ask after a minute passes with him eyeing my mouth. I wince at the desperation in my voice, almost panting.

He cracks a smile, his eyebrows elevating. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

I remain indifferent. “Are you playing a game with me, Mr. Stoically Aloof?”

“If I was, I’d be winning.” His lips quirk, amused, and for an amazing moment, it feels like we’re in the past again, challenging the crap out of each other. I don’t want to lose and admit how much I want to kiss him and neither does he.

Stubborn asshole. “You want to know what?” I ask cockily, then lean in, my lips hovering over his. “I’ll win this one.” With that, I press my lips to his and give him a passionate kiss, my tongue enticing his lips open and meeting his as my arms encircle him and my fingers wander through his hair.

“How do you figure that was you winning?” he asks between kisses, his hand tangling through my hair.

I internally smile, almost laughing aloud at my brilliance. “Because I took the kiss from you.”

He lets out this raspy chuckle then suddenly the kiss turns much more heated as he leans in toward me and he forces me back on my back, covering my body with his. “If that’s the case then,” his fingers slide up beneath the slip I still have on from last night, making their way up my leg, ready to enter me. Not wanting to give him the upper hand, though, I move my hand down and shove his fingers away, despite how much my body protests.

He lets out this growl, but before he can come at me again, I put my hand down his jeans and start rubbing him, making him pant, his body going rigid as I grip onto him and move my hand up and down.

“Dammit, Violet,” he moans in my ear, nipping at my skin, teeth piercing the skin and making those butterflies flutter in my stomach again. Huh? I guess it wasn’t the jager and vodka.

With his body over mine, his arms struggling to hold up his weight, I stroke him, not even sure what the hell I’m doing, but just going with it. No disgust. No shame. Just want. So much want.

I think he’s about to reach the edge and I’m smiling to myself because technically I sort of won, at least in my head. But then someone knocks on the door and my hand instinctively pauses and Luke lets out a groan in protest.

“Luke we gotta go!” His uncle hollers, pounding on the door again. “Or else we’re going to be late and they won’t let us in tonight.”

“Just a second!” Luke shouts back, sounding pissed. His eyes shut and he presses his face to the crook of my neck as he grips onto the blanket, trying to calm himself down.

“Not just a second!” His uncle bangs on the door repeatedly. “We’re already pushing our luck!”

Shaking his head, Luke grinds his hips against my hand one more time. “I’m going to fucking hurt him for this,” he mutters. Then with another grunt of protest, he pushes away from me. My hand leaves his jeans and he adjusts himself as he sits up, looking like he’s in pain.

“You okay?” I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s difficult.

He narrows his eyes at me. “You think this is funny?” he asks, then slants toward me with a dark, hungry look on his face. I think he’s going to kiss me, but then he says in a husky voice, “Just wait until I get back. I’m winning the next one.” With that, he gets up, grabs his wallet from the nightstand, and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, looking pretty pleased with himself.

I roll onto my stomach and rest my chin in my hands as I stare at him. “You’re really going to leave me here?”

“Well, I don’t really have a choice anymore,” he says, gripping the doorknob as Cole continues to knock on the door from the other side, chewing Luke out. “I have to go now, but I probably wouldn’t have let you go anyway.”

I give him a dirty look. “Let me go? Seriously? What is this? 1950?”

“No, I just care about you too much.”

I get out of bed and cross the room to him, noting he looks a little pale again. I saw him give himself another injection this morning, so hopefully it’ll help with his paleness and exhaustion. I don’t know enough about diabetes though to know for sure. I’m starting to worry more and more though. I’ve seen him so drunk once that he needed my help checking his blood sugar and giving him pills.

“Fine, I’ll let you make me stay here,” I say, which gets him to smile. “Now go win big.” I press my lips to his, giving him a quick kiss, then pat his ass. “That is how they do it on the football field, right?”

He shakes his head, trying not to laugh at me. “Please stay out of trouble,” he says as he turns the doorknob.

Rolling my eyes, I give him a salute. “Yes, boss.”

A thoughtful look rises on his face. “You should start calling me that more. I like it,” he says and as I shake my head, and playfully pinch his side. He laughs and opens the door all the way.

Cole is standing there with his arms folded, looking annoyed, mad, and drunk, amongst other things. “I know I seem cool and everything,” he says to Luke sternly. “But not with this. If I get you connections, you better follow through or else I’ll drop you.”

I can tell it irks Luke, and he probably has to bite his tongue really hard to stay calm. “Well, I’m ready now, so lets get going.”

Cole glares at him then glances over his shoulder at me. “Ryler’s staying if you want to go hangout downstairs with him.”

I nod while Luke scowls at Cole. “I’ll get dressed and head down.” Then I wave at Luke and shut the door before he can freak out more.

I get dressed in a tank top and jeans, wishing I’d brought shorts, but didn’t think it’d be this hot. Then I go downstairs to see if I can stomach any sort of food. I haven’t had too many hangovers in my life, but I’m learning quickly that it makes my stomach super queasy.

When I get downstairs, Ryler is sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich, music playing in the background as he plays a game of solitaire. He seems really into it, twisting around one of his eyebrow piercings, lost in deep thought. When he notices me, he fights back a grin. Feeling better?

I sigh and make my way over to the table. “Yeah, sorry about last night. I get a little intense when I’m drunk.”

You were fine. He flips a card over and then studies his next move. Amusing more than anything.

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” I say, then point to his plate. “Mind if I make one for myself?”

He nods, setting the cards aside and getting up. I’ll make you one.

I shake my head and motion for him to sit back down. “Thanks, but I’m good.” I open the fridge. “I’m totally self-sufficient.”

Yeah, I can kind of see that. He picks up the deck, but then looks like he wants to tell me something as I get out the mayo, lunchmeat, and cheese. Finally, he puts the deck of cards back down. So how did you learn sign language? I tense and he must see it to because he adds, You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.

“No, it’s okay… I guess.” I grab some bread from the loaf on the counter and a paper plate. “I learned it from one of my foster brothers.” I don’t look at him, not wanting to see his face when I reveal that I’m parentless, and keep my attention on making my sandwich. Mayo on bread, meat, cheese, topped off with more bread and done. When I finally turn around with the sandwich in my hand, I discover he’s staring at me.

And then his hands move in front of him. I grew up in foster homes too.

I’m in mid-bite and it’s a good excuse not to respond right away, but really I’m trying to pull myself together. This is a heavy subject, which I don’t like to talk about—my time spent being passed between families. “How come?” I finally ask after I swallow the bite and sit down at the table.

Parents couldn’t take care of me. It’s signed so casually but I can see the pain emitting from his eyes.

“But you’re with your dad now?” I pick some of the crust off the bread.

I know, but he didn’t want me until I was eighteen and could pretty much take care of myself.

I feel bad for him. I lost my parents and was forced to live with other people. Ryler’s parents gave him away by choice. “What about your mom?”

He shrugs. Lets just say she was never ready to be a mom… then again, quite honestly, I still don’t think my dad even is ready to be a parent right now. He acts like a kid sometimes and is hard to trust… sometimes I feel like the parent. He pauses, shaking his head at his own thoughts. What about you? Where are your parents?

I hesitate. God, how the hell did I end up in this conversation? “They died when I was five…” My voice cracks and I clear my throat.

I’m so sorry.

I shake it off and look for a subject change, getting so sick of hearing the word sorry. I know people mean well, but it doesn’t change anything. “I like this song,” I say, nodding at the iPod.

He gives me a questioning looking, noting my need to change the subject, but lets it go. Yeah, Taking Back Sunday is a good band. Great live too.

“I saw them once a couple of years ago,” I say and take another bite of the sandwich. “It was super badass.”

We continue on about our favorite bands, but my lips are moving almost robotically, my parents taking up most of my thoughts. I just keep thinking about what it would be like if I ended up with them again, like Ryler with his dad? Of course that can never happen, but sometimes it’s good pretending, like I did for the first year or so after they died. It’s actually the first time I’ve really thought about them without freaking out. Add the light conversation with Ryler and things are going pretty good. That is until my phone starts vibrating madly inside my pocket. There must have been a delay when the battery died because a stream of text messages comes pouring in, times varying from last night to only hours ago.

Unknown: Been thinking about u a lot and how badly I want to hurt you.

Unknown: U think ignoring me is going to make me stop. Think again.

Unknown: This shit is getting old u little cunt.

Unknown: U disgust me, being with the son of the woman who took your parents life.

Unknown: U fucking whore. Text me back.

Unknown: Fuck u.

Unknown: If u don’t text me back right now, something bad is going to happen.

Unknown: I know you’re in Vegas. Hope u have fun. I’ll be waiting for u when u get back.

They end, just like that. It’s not an ending for me, though, but a beginning of a panic attack if I don’t find a way to calm down. Because he knows where I am but the question is how? How did he find out, when hardly no one knows I’m here. The only people who know I’m here are the ones with me… and Greyson.

“Shit.” I jump from the chair, cutting Ryler off. He looks up at me worriedly, mouthing what’s wrong. But I don’t answer, dialing Greyson’s phone number. It rings four times and then goes straight to his voicemail, so I leave him a rushed message about calling me immediately. He could be just at work, but what if he’s not. What if something happened to him… what if unknown is with him. God, I don’t want to flip out, but I’m about to. Pins. Needles. Pins. Needles. They’re poking madly underneath my skin.

“Can you excuse me for a second?” I ask Ryler and when he nods, I dash up to the guest room, unsure of what I’m going to do. At first I’m only thinking about myself and about the many ways I could hurt myself, but then all my thoughts go to Greyson. I’m worried about him. Me. Violet Hayes. Worried about someone else besides herself. Actually, I’m worried about a lot of people at the moment.

So I dial Greyson’s number again, squeezing my eyes shut, and holding my breath, crossing my fingers he’ll answer. “Please, please Greyson, pick up.”

He doesn’t though, so I end up dialing him ten times, over and over again, becoming like a stalker myself. Finally he picks up, though, but is very, very grumpy about it. But I’m relieved to hear his voice.

“What the hell, Violet,” he hisses in the phone. “I’m at work, filling in for you. Remember?”

“Shit. Sorry, but it’s really important.” I sit down on the bed and lie down on my back. “Did you tell anyone that I was coming to Vegas with Luke?”

There’s some clanking and banging of dishes in the background. “Yeah, Seth. But that’s it.”

“Did he tell anyone?”

“Probably. He tells everyone everything.” He pauses and I can hear the manager of the diner hollering something in the background. “Wait? Was I not supposed to say anything to anyone?”

“No, it’s fine, but…” I waver, wondering if I should tell him what’s really going on. I hate telling my problems to people but it doesn’t seem like I have a choice anymore. “It’s not really a big deal or anything, I’ve just been getting these weird texts and they know I’m in Vegas with Luke, which is strange since no one really knows except you and I guess Seth.”

“Texts from that reporter again?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, it could be a reporter, but I don’t know.” I let out a loud exhale. “Could you do me a favor and call Seth and see who he told, just so I can maybe get an idea of who’s being a douche?”

“Of course,” he says, not pressing any further. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll take a break and go call him. Then call you right back.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling the slightest bit lighter, the pins and needles not so potent and sharp. So this is what asking for help is like? I should really do it more often, but then again, getting to the point of asking feels like pulling teeth.

“You’re welcome,” he says, meaning it. “Talk to you in just a minute.”

We hang up and I try to relax the best that I can, watching the minutes tick by, but I only breathe freely again when Greyson calls back. “So it wasn’t Seth,” he says as soon as I pick up. “While I was talking to Seth on the phone, Benny overheard me talking about it and said that some guy called the diner the other day, asking where you were.”

My mouth droops to a frown. “You told Benny where I was?”

“Well, only because I was filling in for you. But Benny doesn’t know you’re with Luke, so I’m not sure how they found that out. But Seth promises he hasn’t said a word and he may be a gossiper but he’s sure as hell’s not a liar. He’s actually the opposite sometimes—too truthful.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh tiredly, wondering if the unknown is the one who called the diner. And why it matters to the guy enough to track me down? Who could he be? The other person there that night? Could it be fucking possible? The idea makes my hairs stand on end. “Thanks for finding that out.”

“No problem.” He hesitates then asks, “Everything going okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I force myself to knock down that wall again, the one I always try to first put up when people want to talk to me. “I got super trashed last night though.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I know. It was an impulsive decision that led to me crying myself to sleep while Luke coddled me…. I feel like a crazy asshole. Seriously. I used to be so tough and badass and now I’m a hot mess.”

“Everyone can be a hot mess sometimes. Trust me.”

“Yeah, I know, but I hate making people have to take care of me.”

“I’m sure Luke didn’t mind, Violet,” Greyson assures me. “In fact, he probably kind of enjoyed it, seeing as how he’s in love with you.”

“We’ve had this conversation way too many times,” I remind him. “Luke’s not in love with me. We just have… well, I don’t know what we have but it sure as hell isn’t love.”

“You sure about that?” he questions cynically. “Because I think you just don’t want to admit that he is, because you’re afraid—afraid of letting someone feel that way about you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Mr. Therapist,” I utter quietly. “Besides, I don’t even know what love is.”

Silence stretches between us, the awkward kind. We’ve talked a lot but I’m usually pretty closed off so I think my openness about my emotions shocked him. “Violet, I—”

I cut him off. “Hey, can I call you back? Luke just walked in.” A lie, but I’m not ready to have this conversation with Greyson yet and probably never will be.

“Yeah, sure.” He seems hurt like he knows I’m bullshitting him, which shows how much he knows me. “Call me back, though, okay? I worry about you.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” I say and then quickly hang up, my heart racing inside my chest as I fight to catch my breath. “I don’t even know what love is? Really Violet? I need to start keeping my damn mouth shut,” I mumble to myself, sitting down on the edge of the bed and letting my head fall into my hands. For a brief instant, I try to remember what it felt like to be loved by my parents, what it felt like to be hugged, cared for, feel warm on the inside instead of hollow and cold. Surprisingly, my thoughts drift to Luke and when he calmed me down last night, right in the middle of a panic attack. No one has ever gotten me to do that before, or better yet has even tried to calm me down.

As I’m lying there, trying to sort through my emotions without wanting to fling myself out the damn window, my phone vibrates from inside my pocket. At first I think it’s my stalker texter but then I realize the phone is actually ringing this time. When I see Detective Stephner’s name flash across the screen, relief washes over me as I answer it.

“It’s about damn time,” I say to him as I put the phone up to my ear. “I was beginning to think you were intentionally avoiding my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” Something in his voice throws me off a little. It’s not that he’s being rude so much as he sounds anxious.

I sit up straighter. “Busy with what exactly?” I ask curiously.

“I can’t tell you yet, not until we know for sure,” he tells me with a hint of remorse. “But as soon as I can, I will.”

My heart hammers deafeningly and I’m seriously starting to worry it’s going to leap straight out of my chest. “Is it about my parents? Did they find evidence against Mira? Or did they find the other person who did it?” My words are rushing out of my lips a hundred miles a minute as the possibilities stream through my head. Is this it? The moment I’ve been waiting for? Is justice finally going to happen after all these years?

“Violet, calm down,” he says like it’s something so easy to do. “I can’t officially discuss anything yet, but like I said, as soon as I can, I’ll call you.”

“That’s not fair,” I gripe. “You shouldn’t have called me until you could talk to me.”

He sighs tiredly. “I called because you called me, remember? You left a message about getting some texts again.”

“Oh yeah.” The adrenaline surging through me makes my voice uneven. “At first I thought it was another reporter, but they know stuff about me that a reporter wouldn’t unless they were stalking me.”

“Give me the details,” he says and I start yammering off what’s been going on and even read him all the texts.

“Can you forward those to me?” he asks when I’m finished yammering. “I’d like to have a copy.”

“Of course,” I reply, already on it. “You’ll get them in just a second.”

“I want to put a trace on your phone too,” he says as I put the phone on speaker so I can still hear him, but work the message section. “See if we can track the number the texts are coming from.”

“It comes up as unknown, though.”

“Doesn’t matter. It could still be traceable.”

“How long will something like that take?”

“It all depends, but I’ll get working on it as soon as we hang up. And if you get any more texts call me immediately.” He gives a reluctant pause. “Violet, I have to ask about Luke. Are you really with him right now like the texts are saying?”

“Yeah… it kind of just happened.” I suddenly feel guilty about it, especially with the way he says it, like he’s disappointed. “There was some stuff going on and… Look, I know who his mother is and everything but he’s not a bad person.”

“I never said he was,” he states. “I was just wondering where he was in case we need to get ahold of him for some reason.”

“Oh.” I give another long pause, knowing there’s no point in asking, but I can’t help it. “Can’t I have like a tiny detail about what’s going on?”

“I’ll try to call you in the morning,” he says, disregarding my question. “And make sure you’re with someone at all times. I don’t want you wandering around by yourself until we figure out where these texts are coming from.”

“Okay, I will,” I tell him, frustrated that he still won’t spill the beans about whatever’s going on, even though deep down I know he can’t without getting into some serious trouble.

“Good.” He hesitates then adds, “And Violet, just try to relax. I have a feeling some good things are going to be happening soon.”

I think it’s his way of giving me a hint, that whatever’s going on is a good thing. At least that’s the way I’m choosing to take it. And by the time I hang up with him, I feel a little lighter, like maybe soon I’ll be able to breathe again without the weight of life pushing down on me, for the very first time in almost fourteen years.