The Coincidence 05 The Certainty of Violet & Luke (10 page)

It’s quiet for a while and it takes me some time to let my gaze lift, after pouring out my heart and soul like that. Her eyes are unreadable, her expression neutral, her body still. I have no idea what she’s thinking, but fuck, I wish I could just once know what she’s really thinking.

‘I’ll try,’ she finally utters, her voice barely audible. She’s not looking at me, but out the window at the streetlights and closed buildings.

‘Promise me you will,’ I say, sketching my finger along her wrist. She may look completely calm, but her pulse is hammering underneath my touch – she’s terrified on the inside.

She swallows hard but still doesn’t look at me. ‘Yeah, okay. I promise.’

I’m not sure if I believe her – hate that it’s like that. But all I can do is hope that she’s telling the truth and be there for her if she’s not.

The next few days go by fast, probably because I have a lot on my mind. Violet, school, my mother, Violet, the case, Violet, the game, Violet.

Violet.

Violet.

Violet.

She consumes me more than anything else. I worry about her, want her near me at all times, but that’s kind of been a problem since she seems to be putting some space between us ever since the night at the police station. I’m not sure if it has to do with my mom or that my mouth didn’t want to shut up; that all that emotional shit I put on her was too much.

Still, if I had my way, I’d take her everywhere with me. Besides, it’d be good for her. She’s been spending too much time cooped up in our room, especially since the news of my mother being arrested hit the news. Somehow a reporter or two found out that Mira was my mother and that Violet and I were dating and things went batshit crazy. Phone calls, knocks on the door, all wanting to ask their questions. I’ve wanted to punch one or two in the face, but have resisted the urge, even though it’s hard as hell, the need to protect Violet always burning in me.

‘Dude, your mind is fucking gone, isn’t it’ Seth says. We’re out on the balcony smoking and he’s sipping on a beer while I’m drinking a soda.

I rub my hand over my hair, scattering ashes all over myself. ‘Yeah, I know.’ I brush the ashes off the sleeve of my grey shirt. ‘I’ve just been thinking a lot about stuff.’

He rests his arms on the railing, the cigarette smoke lacing the air. ‘Violet stuff?’ he questions and when I nod, he adds, ‘What is it with you two? You both refuse to tell anyone what’s going on with the police and stuff, but Greyson and I can tell there’s some huge shit going on. And Violet comes home with a cast on the other day, but won’t tell either of us how she broke her hand.’

She ended up breaking it when she was pounding against the glass at the police station, after my mother taunted her so badly she snapped. The next day after we’d left the police station, I’d taken her to the hospital despite her protests because she was in so much pain she could barely move the damn thing.

‘That’s not my stuff to tell.’ I take the last drag of the cigarette, then drop it on the ground and put it out with the tip of my boot. ‘Look, I’d love to share, but I’d feel wrong doing so.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Bullshit. You’ve never been one to share.’

‘True.’ I turn around and face the sliding door, putting my arms on the railing. ‘But this time, I have a good reason not to.’

He doesn’t say anything, finishing off the rest of his cigarette while I head inside. ‘So Greyson and I will be at the game this week,’ he says I step into the living room.

‘Figured as much, since Callie’s going to be there,’ I reply. Callie is Kayden’s girlfriend and one of Seth’s best friends. It’s not too uncommon for them to come and cheer Kayden on.

‘Well, we’re going to cheer you on, too.’ He shuts the door and takes off his jacket.

I feel a little uneasy as I make my way to the fridge, thinking about getting a beer, just to take the edge off from the conversation. For years I never had anyone come to games, to graduation, to any event. I got used to it and now suddenly I have Seth and Greyson, not to mention my father and his husband coming to a game in a couple of weeks. It makes me feel restless inside and like I’m losing control over my life and it makes me wonder if this is what Violet feels when she does the dangerous things she does. Maybe my drinking is the same as her adrenaline addiction.

I grab another soda from the fridge and pop the top, my thoughts on Violet who’s been in the shower, way too long come to think of it. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re coming I guess.’

Seth gives me a sarcastic look as he plops down on the sofa. ‘Oh really? Then why do you sound so depressed?’

‘Not depressed.’ I take a swig of the soda as I back toward the bathroom. ‘Just a little surprised. That’s all.’ With that, I walk out of the room and into the hallway

When I get to the bathroom, I open the door, glad Violet didn’t lock it. The showers still on, the curtain closed, the air foggy.

‘Violet,’ I say as I shut the door behind me. I’m worried with how quiet it is. She’s been pretty mellow since Mira was arrested, but that healing cut on her wrist and cast on her arm is a reminder of how unstable she is. And even though she promised me she’d try to stop, I understand addiction way too well. Stopping is difficult, maybe one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I think drinking, gambling, fighting might always live in my veins, but it doesn’t mean I have to continue to feed them.

‘Yeah, in here,’ she replies over the sound of the flowing water.

‘Okay.’ I relax back against the door and fold my arms. ‘I was just getting worried … You’ve been in here for a while.’

‘I’m fine … you need to stop worrying about me so much.’

Yeah, that’s never going to happen.
I don’t say it aloud though, figuring I’ve overloaded enough lovey-dovey shit on her since dropping the L word. We haven’t mentioned it, but we’re both hyperaware that it did occur – I can see it her eyes when she looks at me and feel it in the acceleration of my heart every time I look at her.

She draws the curtain out and sticks her head out. Her hair is wet and has suds in it and beads of water cascade down her face and neck. ‘I can’t figure out how to wash my hair and get all the soap out without using my casted arm.’ She sticks her arm out that’s wrapped in a cast, the cast wrapped in plastic. ‘This thing is a pain in the ass and not going to hold all the water out if I submerse it completely.’ She muses over something with a thoughtful look. ‘Although, it did come in handy the other day, when I pretended to bump my arm into this bitch, Daisy Miller, when I was on my way to the main office. I’m not sure what that chick’s problem is but she bumped into me and then tried to act like it was my fault, so I replied with a nice knock in her side with this thing. She really wants to get her ass kicked, I’m telling you.’

I can’t help but chuckle. I went to high school with Daisy Miller and she was a bitch like Violet said, but everyone let her walk all over them, except for me, but I never took shit from anyone. And neither does Violet, so I’m not surprised she reacted by ‘accidentally’ hitting her with her casted arm.

‘Yeah, Daisy’s a bitch,’ I say. When she gives me a funny look, like how the hell do you know her, I add, ‘Kayden used to date her when we were in high school.’

‘Really?’ She makes an
ewe
face. ‘That’s disgusting.’

I shrug. ‘He was going through some shit or something … I think that’s why he did it.’

‘Aren’t we all,’ she mutters, then sighs. ‘So any ideas on how to make washing my hair easier?’

‘I could get in there and help you.’ I’m partly joking but then she nods and the joke sort of evaporates and settles over me. Showering seems so intimate, so very couple-like, and it’s fucking terrifying how much I want to do it with her.

‘Hurry please, though.’ She steps back into the shower and lets the curtain go. ‘I have shampoo in my hair right now that I can’t get out.’

It grows silent as she waits for me to get in. I strip my clothes, wondering if a) she’s as nervous as I am and b) how the hell I turned into the kind of guy that gets nervous about showering with a girl. Yeah, I’ve never done it before, but still, it’s just a lot of nakedness and water. Not a big enough deal to get all worked up.

Still, I feel out of my element as I draw back the curtain and step inside. My eyes are fixed on Violet as I seal the curtain shut. She’s standing in front of the downpour, her cast arm in front of her, water rivering down her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her entire body wet and sexy as hell. Little beads of water dot the tattoo she has going down her side, of intricate flowers that wind and create viney patterns and I have the strongest hunger to lick them off. I catch her eyeing me too, her gaze lingering on my chest before colliding with my gaze.

‘How do you want to do this?’ Her chest heaves as she takes a deep breath.

It takes me a second or two to process exactly what she means, my mind immediately filling with a hundred different dirty ideas, every one of the including our naked bodies pressed together. But she’s talking about her hair.

I step toward her, the warmth of the shower hitting my legs as the water splashes on me. ‘Here, tip you head back,’ I tell her. She obeys, angling her neck and dipping her hair into the water. She starts to lose her balance and she sticks her good hand out to stop herself from falling. I hurry and wind my arm around her back, support her weight. ‘You can let go … I’ve got you.’

She swallows hard then lets go of the wall. Her eyes are fastened on mine as I run my fingers through her hair, washing the soap out. Her gaze fills with confusion, like she’s looking for something in my face or eyes but can’t figure out if it exists. I’m about to ask her if she’s okay, when she mutters, ‘You’re always keeping me from falling.’ Her eyes snap wide as soon as she says it, clearly the words an accidental falter of the lips. But it’s already too late. They’ve already struck my heart, pierced my soul and I lean down and press my lips to the base of her throat. I slide my lips up her neck, licking and nibbling at her flesh, moving slowly, relishing the taste of her. She lets out this uncontrollable whimper that I’ve only heard once from her, but that drives my body into a mad frenzy. I kiss her lips fiercely and she kisses me back with equal intensity. Our wet bodies are pressed together, the air damp, heavy, filled with heat. She’s still tipped back as I hold her up, tasting her, but I want more.

Slanting back, I guide her with me until we’re both standing up straight. She looks like she’s going to protest, but I back her up against the wall and lower my lips, licking up the water on her tattoo, just like I wanted to. She moans, relaxing under the touch of my tongue as it travels up her body, taste her flesh until I reach her mouth and crash my lips to hers. Her good hand grips at the back of my neck, pulling me close as my tongue searches every part of her mouth.

‘Luke,’ she groans, her leg lifting up and hitching around my waist. Something snaps inside me and every part of my body wants to be connected to her.

We haven’t had sex since the thing at the police station happened. I’m not sure why, other than it seems like we’ve both been tangled in this emotional web of confusion and trying to figure out stuff.

‘Tell me it’s okay,’ I whisper against her lips.

She doesn’t respond with words, instead rocking her hips against mine and moaning. ‘It’s more than okay.’

My fingers slide up her leg, grip her thigh, grasping her tightly as I hitch her other leg around my waist. Her legs open up to me and her arms loop securely around the back of my neck. My lips collide with hers, pulling her nearer, our bodies aligned, but it feels like I need her closer.

She continues to kiss me, biting my bottom lip as I brace one of my hands against the wall and slide deep into her, our wet bodies colliding, our hips meeting rhythmically. Steam surrounds us, consumes us, makes it difficult to breath. The feel of her lips … her warmth … the inside of her … watching her head fall back and her eyes gloss over as she comes undone in my arms temporarily takes all the bad away and pushes me toward the edge. Moments later, I join her, struggling to hold us upright. We’re breathless, our chest crashing together with each breath we take.

‘That was …’ She trails off, breathing profusely.

‘Perfect,’ I finish for her.

‘Such a softy,’ she whispers. Usually she jokes when she says this, but now she just looks tired and kind of content.

I want to call her a softy, take the upper hand, because that’s what we do, back but I keep the remark to myself, figuring I don’t want to do anything to ruin this good moment.

A really, really rare, but good fucking moment. If only I could find a way to make more of them.

Things haven’t been that bad for the last couple of weeks and that’s saying something. I haven’t heard or gotten any surprise packages from Preston either and the texts have stopped. Mira Price is behind bars for now, something that I’ve wanted to happen since I was five. I’m still dealing with my visit to her on an emotional level, the cast on my arm constantly reminding me of what happened. But it’s strange. I’d been so angry and unstable at the police station, to the point that I’d broken my arm, but as the days go by, it almost feels like some of my internal scars are healing, right along with my broken wrist. I feel like a part of me was sort of set free in my outburst. Seeing Mira in that room, knowing she was there – knowing she’s still there – is a small bit of justice for my parents, if only they could just catch the other person. I know that it won’t bring them back and that’s still another thing I’m dealing with, but after the drowning incident I’m trying to avoid testing my life at the moment, choosing to live life I guess.

The detective called me into the station for a little chat the other day to give me an update, which was basically so he could inform me that Mira was being an uncooperative pain in the ass. He’s kept looking down at my casted arm and then suggested that maybe I should go see a therapist to help me go through this. I’d told him I was fine, since the idea of going and spilling my thoughts to someone is something I never wanted to go through. I remember the looks people used to give me when they found out I’d spent twenty-four hours in the house with my parents’ bodies.