The Last Echo (18 page)

HE SAT IN THE RESTAURANT, WATCHING THE
girl. The corner booth that gave him the advantage of a full view while keeping him mostly hidden from view. It was a good place to be. A good place to watch.

Last night had been good for him. Seeing his mother after all these years. Facing his fears. Confronting childhood demons. Confronting her.

He felt stronger. Surer of himself and who he’d become.

Even when she’d berated him, even after they’d gone back to his place and she’d criticized his housekeeping, his décor, his taste in wine, he’d simply tuned her out, ignored her forked tongue. Ignored her blistering words and her venomous rants.

She could never appreciate the kind of man he was. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could understand a gentle soul like his.

It didn’t matter, though. He wouldn’t be seeing her again. After last night, he’d decided he was done with her.

Sitting back, he tried to erase the memories of his mother from his mind. He didn’t want to think about her right now, not while he was here. Watching
her.

He studied the girl as she moved from table to table. She smiled and laughed, joking with those she spoke to. She was confident in ways that none of his other girlfriends ever had been.

Maybe that had been his problem. Maybe that was the reason none of his other relationships had worked out. He’d been choosing the wrong kind of girls.

Maybe now he had the opportunity to change all that.

So what was wrong with him, then? Why couldn’t he concentrate? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about the other girl, the young one?

The one who’d needed him.

He was just tired, he told himself. Two nights without sleep . . . two long nights without someone he could come to, someone to soothe him and make him feel . . . better. It was starting to wear on him.

That was why he didn’t see her approaching, why she’d caught him unawares.

“Refill?” she asked, her big brown eyes watching him with vibrant intensity. The very same eyes that had brought him back here in the first place. And then he saw a spark of awareness. “You were here last night, weren’t you? With an older woman.” She reached across the table to fill his cup, leaning just a little too low and revealing a glimpse into the opening at the top of her blouse. “Your mother?”

It took only a moment to recover, to find his voice again. “Good memory.” His face slipped into the perfect mask of appreciation. “I couldn’t stay away, I guess.”

She paused, timing every move brilliantly. Her tongue flicked over her lips just before she dazzled him with a smile that, on anyone else, would’ve stolen their very breath. But not him. He knew the moment she’d become the aggressor, the moment she’d started calculating her moves that she wasn’t the one. She was different today than the night before . . . bolder, more aggressive. Wrong.

They were never supposed to seek him out.

He was the man in this relationship.

“Well, let me know if I can bring you anything else.” She smiled suggestively. And when he smiled back at her, an intentionally bland smile, she shrugged. “Enjoy your meal.”

He watched her short black skirt swish from side to side as she moved to the next table. It was better to know now, he silently assured himself, already erasing images of the waitress from his mind. Better that he hadn’t let himself get attached.

It didn’t matter anyway. There were plenty of other girls out there. Girls that would die to have a man like him. A true gentleman.

He waited until he was sure no one was looking and he reached into his front pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He scrolled through the photos he’d taken, ones he’d looked at a thousand times already. Ones he’d practically memorized.

He paused when he saw the ones he’d taken yesterday in front of the run-down warehouse he’d followed her to. His stomach clenched as he recalled hearing her cries for help, and he hated himself for not answering them. For hiding, and waiting.

Something had stirred in him. Something primal and possessive.

He glanced down at one of the images, recalling the way her eyes—the wrong color for him—had looked the day he’d spotted her, outside The Mecca.

At that moment, he realized it. He knew then that she needed him.

Suddenly it didn’t matter that she wasn’t his usual type. He ran his finger over her riotous curls, wondering what it would be like to have her vivid green eyes gazing into his.

There was definitely something about her.

Violet,
he thought, repeating the name he’d overheard the boy on the street calling her that first day. Before he’d followed her. Before he’d known even more about her.
Violet Ambrose.

Soon, he would sleep again.

Soon, he’d have a new girlfriend.

VIOLET SIGHED WHEN SHE SAW THE MINIVAN IN
her driveway, the one her aunt was always trying to convince her was cooler than a normal minivan. Violet insisted that a built-in DVD system and Bluetooth wireless didn’t change the fact that it was still a minivan.

It didn’t hurt her mood, though, to see that her car was back. The tan Honda was parked beside her aunt’s car, and despite her black mood, she plastered on her best fake smile, preparing herself to be smothered in well-meaning concern.

“Oh my!” Her aunt Kat pounced on her before she was even through the door, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she got a look at Violet’s face. “Geez, Vi, I . . . are you . . .” Her face scrunched up. “Oh my goodness, I’m so glad you’re safe,” she breathed at last, pulling Violet into a fierce hug.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Violet recited the words, trying to make her aunt feel better.

“She’s lying.” Her uncle Stephen winked at her as he sauntered into the front room, joining them. The taste of dandelions flickered across Violet’s tongue, the imprint he’d forever carry on him.

“Hi, Uncle Stephen.” He hugged her too, tighter even than her aunt had. “Hey, baby. How’re ya doin’? Had a rough time of it, huh?”

There was no point denying the truth. “I’ve been better. Kinda sucks getting your ass kicked.”

Her uncle laughed against her ear, giving her one last squeeze. “Yeah, it kinda does, doesn’t it? Maybe you need some karate lessons or something. Next time
you
can be the kick
er
.”

“Next time I’ll try to run faster,” Violet said, hoping they’d bypassed the awkwardness of the situation.

But then her uncle’s expression changed, growing serious. “I think you should reconsider what you’re doing, Vi. With Sara Priest and her group. It’s dangerous. Just look at you.”

“You’ve been talking to my mother,” Violet accused, knowing it wouldn’t have mattered; her uncle would have felt the same way, with or without her mother’s interference. “Really, Uncle Stephen, it wasn’t Sara’s fault. She didn’t—”

“I doubt anyone thinks it
was
her fault. But sometimes when you’re involved in dangerous situations, even if you’re not
directly
involved, things can happen. This is just one of those times. No one’s blaming Sara, exactly, but you have to admit, if you hadn’t been working with her this probably wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

Violet wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to admit anything, even if he was technically right. In her heart she knew Sara never meant for her to get hurt, that she’d have done anything to protect Violet. But Violet also knew she bore her share of the burden. If she hadn’t gone behind Sara’s back in the first place, breaking into Antonia Cornett’s house with Rafe and Krystal, she would never have met James Nua. He would never have tried to kill her.

And he’d still be alive today.

She shuddered at the thought of him, of what he’d done to his girlfriend and their two small children. She couldn’t help thinking he deserved what he got.

“Look,” her uncle said, his tone solicitous. Violet saw her mother leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, listening, and she forced herself to focus on her uncle instead, not wanting to see that judgmental look in her mom’s eyes. “Just think about it, Vi. Think about what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with.” He smiled at her, naked concern etched throughout every line of his face. “Believe me, if we didn’t love you, we wouldn’t nag.”

He draped his arm around his wife then, a broad grin parting his lips as he gazed down at her adoringly. “Unfortunately, you come from long line of stubborn women.” Violet didn’t bother pointing out that she and Kat weren’t actually related by blood; she had a feeling it wouldn’t have made a difference.

“Speaking of stubborn . . .” Maggie Ambrose said from her spot at the doorway. “The kids are begging to go to the park.” Two blonde heads poked out from behind her legs.

“You promised, Dad,” Joshua complained as Cassidy clumsily pushed him out of the way.

Cassidy stopped abruptly in front of Violet. “Owie!” the three-year-old frowned, pointing to the bruise on Violet’s face.

Violet half-laughed, half-scowled at the little girl. “Thanks, Cass. Just what I wanted to hear.” She held her hands out to her little cousin. “Come here, you.” When Cassidy jumped into her arms, Violet lifted her up. “So, you wanna go to the park, huh?”

“Wanna go to da park, Daddy!” Her tiny voice pealed throughout the room and Violet found herself envying her cousin’s exuberance.

Glancing at her uncle Stephen, Violet offered, “I’ll take them.” She looked at Kat. “Really, I don’t mind.”

Kat nudged Joshy. “What do you think, guys? You wanna go to the park with Vi?” And then she turned to Stephen, her face expectant. “I might even be able to fit a quick Starbucks run after I drop you at the station.”

Uncle Stephen kissed his wife on the forehead. “Seriously, Kat, you gotta get out more. You need to dream a little bigger than Starbucks.”

Violet waved as Jay crossed the field. Not that he hadn’t already seen her, or rather Cassidy. The moment the little girl had spotted him, she’d started squealing his name and running in lopsided circles.

Clearly Violet had some competition.

After all the safety checks and double-safety checks—her aunt making sure the car seats were properly secured in the backseat of her Honda—Violet had texted Jay and told him to meet her at the park as soon as school got out.

She whistled when she checked the time on her phone. “You made record time, my friend. What’d you do, ditch class early to get here?”

He winked at her as he dropped to his knees to let Cassidy come barreling into his arms. “Jay! You’re here!” She shrieked when he caught her, and then he tossed her in the air, catching her before she came all the way back down. She was still laughing when she shouted breathlessly, “Wanna push me?”

She clutched his fingers and dragged him to the swing set. He waited patiently as the little girl wiggled back and forth, adjusting and readjusting her position. When she finally stopped squirming, Jay asked, “Ready, Cass?”

She just nodded up at him, her expression intent as her fingers clutched the chain.

“I have to admit, Ambrose, this was a pretty good idea.”

Violet took the swing next to Cassidy’s and pushed herself with her feet, leaning backward as the swing glided upward. She felt Jay’s hand at the small of her back, and he pushed her, propelling her forward.

“Higher!” Cassidy squealed from the swing beside Violet’s. Even at three, the little firecracker wanted to do what everyone else did as she tried to keep up with her older cousin.

Violet dropped her feet, letting them drag through the gravel to slow herself down. “No, Cass. That’s as high as you can go. Maybe when you’re older.”

“I’m older,” the little girl pouted. But her argument was forgotten when Jay pushed her again, jolting her just the tiniest bit higher. Her small fingers tightened around the metal links, and she shrieked with unconcealed delight.

Violet wrapped her elbows around the chains of her swing. “It
was
a good idea, wasn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on. “I just didn’t want to sit around the house anymore. I didn’t want to hear my mom talk about me and the team and Sara. I hate the way she looks at me, like she can’t decide whether she should hug me or scold me.”

Kat brought the kids to this park all the time, and Violet glanced over to watch Joshua play with a little girl he seemed to know. The two of them made their way up the ladder to the top of the slide; then they sat one in front of the other—forming a very short train—and slid down together, falling in a heap in the gravel at the bottom. The little girl’s mother watched from the bench she sat on, glancing up occasionally with mild interest to make sure neither of the kids got hurt.

To Violet, watching the kids play was like glimpsing into the past. She could see herself in the girl, and Jay in her little cousin. They had once been like that. They had been those carefree kids.

And then she giggled as she thought about where they were now, on the swing set, in the park, and she realized they still were like that.

“What?” Jay asked slyly, taking Cassidy’s place on the swing as she hopped off to go join her brother and his little girl friend.

“Don’t climb the ladder, Cass,” Violet called after her. “It’s too high!” And then, shrugging, she mused, “I was just thinking about us.” She leaned her cheek against her hand as it clutched the chain.

Jay nudged his swing sideways, so it nearly brushed Violet’s. “What about us?”

“I was just thinking how cute we must have been, when we were their age.” She glanced toward the kids, who were racing up the ladder again.

His arm snaked out, capturing her before the momentum of his swing could drag him away again. When the swing did pull, they both moved in that direction. “We’re still cute,” he said, but his voice was low and filled with unspoken longing.

She lifted her chin, their faces just inches apart now, and Jay’s grip around her waist kept them together. “Yeah?” she breathed. “You think so?”

His other hand moved to rest on the side of her face, covering her bruise . . . not concealing it but cradling it. His thumb shifted, stroking the tender path of skin. “I do, Vi. I think we’re perfect.”

She felt vibrations throughout her entire body. Even her lips tingled. She couldn’t imagine being loved more. Didn’t think there was anyone she’d rather be loved by.

His mouth grazed hers, intensifying the tingling sensation until she felt like every nerve in her body was alive . . . alert. “Jay,” she whispered.

“Vi, I’m glad your parents are making you quit the team. I just . . .”

“Jay!” the little girl’s voice squealed, interrupting them. “Catch me!”

Looking up, Violet saw Cassidy perched atop the tall slide, her arms waving to them. “I’m bigger!” she announced proudly.

As if their actions were synchronized, they both jumped off the swings at the same moment, Jay racing toward the laddered steps as Violet rushed to reach the bottom of the slide.

“Come on down, Cassie. I’ll catch you,” Violet coaxed.

The girl’s eyes narrowed obstinately, her voice so determined, yet so tiny, reminding Violet how little she really was. “No. Jay can catch me.”

“Jay’s right behind you. Stay there, he’ll help you get down.”

Cassidy turned to see Jay, who was almost to the top of the ladder, and then she turned back to Violet, her expression changing dramatically. “He’s gonna get me . . .” The singsong quality of her voice was frantically enthusiastic. This was definitely a game to her.

Just as Jay was in arm’s reach, Cassidy giggled and leaned forward, launching herself down the slide. She went fast . . . faster than Violet had expected the tiny three-year-old to go, almost as if the slide had been greased.

By the time she reached Violet’s outstretched arms, she was moving like some sort of missile bent on a path of destruction. And when she collided against Violet’s chest, Violet gasped sharply from the impact. Yet even as she wrapped her arms tightly around her cousin, she heard herself scolding her. “You can’t do that, Cass . . . you scared me . . . you could’ve gotten hurt. . . .”

And as she said the words, she heard them in her own head, repeated back to her . . . in her mother’s voice.

Violet grimaced, dragging herself awake as she realized she’d fallen asleep on the couch. The television flickered through the dark room. Her dad must’ve turned the volume all the way down before he’d gone up to bed because there was no sound coming from it.

She had to admit, she was glad he’d stayed up with her. Even though she didn’t always agree with her parents, she could count on her dad to be the voice of reason.

“Do you hate us?” her dad had asked when he’d joined her on the couch while she’d absently flipped through the channels.

Still trying to ignore him, Violet shook her head. “Nope. Not hate,” she’d answered. “Just . . .” She shrugged.
What?
she wondered.
Frustrated? Irritated? Sad?
“I don’t know, pissed, I guess.”

Her dad made a tsking sound, a warning to watch her language, but he’d asked, “At us?”

Violet turned to look at him, considering his question. “Well, yeah. But not just at you. At everything, I guess. I really don’t wanna talk about it, if that’s okay.”

He’d patted her knee but stayed where he was, quietly staring at the screen. After a moment, he said, “You can be mad, Vi. At me, and your mom . . . at whatever you want. Just don’t stay that way. Hate and anger are tough emotions to hang on to. They’ll eat you up.”

Violet had sighed. It was so hard to stay mad at her dad, and after a few moments, she’d leaned her head against his shoulder. “I wish you’d trust me to decide if I should stay on Sara’s team or not.”

He’d tipped his head so it was leaning on top of hers. “I know you don’t understand this now, but sometimes you need to trust us to make the best decisions for you.”

They’d stayed there like that, the silence stretching, until finally he patted her knee, calling a truce and changing the subject. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to Uncle Stephen’s with us tomorrow night? Aunt Kat’s making tacos. I know you like tacos.”

Violet shook her head. “No thanks. I’m not feeling up for it. I’m gonna see if Jay wants to come over and hang out.”

His brows had drawn together. “Are you sure you’re okay, Vi? Anything I should be worried about?”

Violet exhaled noisily and stretched her legs. “Nope. I really don’t feel like being social.” She squeezed her hands, making fists with both of them and opening them again. “But mostly I’m just exhausted.”