The Coincidence 04 The Probability of Violet and Luke (13 page)

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.