A sound hits my ears, a tapping, and I perk up from my bed.
No one is here. Sebastian is still with his parents, and Webber and Tristan are spending the weekend with their families. So, what the hell was that?
Finn?
I push up off my bed, nixing the idea of a nap after all. I flex my fingers, drawing my hands into fists and recognizing the string of pain that cascades down my still-healing finger. If I have to use it, I’ll do more damage. Maybe break it for good, but fuck it. Finn isn’t going to show up here and cause trouble.
The tapping sounds again as I enter the space where the kitchen and living room meet. I snap my gaze to the front door. Someone’s there, on the other side of it, knocking. Finn wouldn’t knock.
I pull the door open and take in Violet’s distraught expression. We messaged a few times earlier but then she went silent. I figured she wanted to spend time with her family without having a distraction.
She’s in a pair of sweats that drape at her thin waist and a t-shirt I’ve never seen her in, a bag hangs close to her side. That face of hers, pretty in the soft glow of the hallway lighting, looks up. I don’t have to ask to know if something happened. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her lips set in a permanent frown.
I open the door wider, moving to the side to let her in. I won’t turn her away. I couldn’t if I wanted to.
From her face to her soul, Violet is the epitome of beauty.
Her bag thuds to the floor as the door closes, the soft click of it latching the only other noise around. She huffs out a breath, and I do what anyone else would do in this scenario. I step forward and wrap my arm around her waist. I coil my fingersinto the hair at the back of her head and tuck her close to my chest.
When we first met, I knew she had shit going on in her life. To this day, I stand by, knowing that all it takes is one glance at those golden-brown eyes to comprehend how remarkable a person she is. She hides it well, the turmoil of what lies below, of what goes on behind closed doors.
She curls around me, stealing a hug and embracing me tighter than anyone has ever hugged me before. And that’s how I know she’s reached her breaking point. That the heaviness of what she’s going through has finally become too much to hold, and she needs help bearing the weight.
Her body warms me like the summer sun as I hold her, as my hand rests at her lower back and rubs the small spot above the band of her sweats.
Her face snuggles into my chest.
I clear my throat and whisper out, “What happened?”
A moment passes where I don’t think she’s going to answer. She seems content enough in my embrace, and hell, I’m okay with that, but I also need to make sure she’s good. I pull away, using my knuckle to tilt her face up.
Semi-glossed eyes peer at me, and fuck if it doesn’t pull at my chest in a way I’ve never felt before. Of all the places she could be. Of all the people she can choose, it’s me she’s leaning on.
My eyes bounce around her face, taking in the redness in her eyes that tells me a few tears escaped against my shirt. I smooth my thumb against her cheek. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. I just need to know if you’re solid.”
This connection we have started because neither one of us felt obligated to the other. We’ve both relinquished thoughts and control when we felt safe enough to do it. So, if she doesn’t want to tell me a single detail or explain the reason why she’s in my arms instead of at her parents’ place, I won’t force her.
Fucking finally, she murmurs, “I’m okay.”
Doubt worms its way into my head and chest because while she says it, she doesn’t look okay. She’s had a day. It’s right there. Written in the vivid color of her brilliant eyes. More than that, it’s in the way her body curves into mine, how her fingers cling to the fabric of my shirt at my back, and the way she has yet to peel her body completely away from mine.
She’s lost in the rapids, and I’m the bright yellow life raft pulling her to shore.
“You don’t look okay.”
The tightest, fakest smile I’ve ever seen stretches across her face. “I don’t know if I can talk about it yet.”
I understand that more than she knows.
“Okay, you hungry?”
“Actually, yeah. I didn’t eat much when we sat down for dinner.”
“Grab your bag. I know a place.”
My plan is goingto bite me in the ass. In no way, shape, or form should I consider taking Violet back to Harrison Heights with me, but she showed up at my door, and the last thing she needs is to be alone. She may be quieter than usual, but I can’t bring myself to tell her to go back to her place where I know she’ll be alone.
I finally have most of what I need to pay mom’s debt, which is part of my reason for crossing over the Sycamore River. One more payday, and I’ll have the last of it, but I want to check in with Mom before I square things away with him. It’s the last time I’m doing this, the last time I’m paying off one of her dumbass mistakes. Which brings me to the other reason. To get Mom to see and comprehend fully that she needs help.
