Because I’m too in my head, that’s why.
I just assumed that since his mom had the door unlocked in the past that he’d leave it the same way.
I think for a moment and find myself skipping down the front stoop to walk around the house. I try the back door—no luck—then resort to checking the windows with determination. The ones within reach, that is. The living room window is first but also locked. Then another window around the side. It doesn’t budge. I move around the corner of the house to try the next. For a second it seems like it’s going to budge but then catches on something. Probably rust. My best guess is that these windows haven’t been open since the house was built.
There’s only one left, but I already know my fate. I’m not getting into this house. Not tonight. I won’t be seeing Colson or have the chance to offer him my shoulder to cry on if he so chooses.
Toeing a big, heavy rock closer to the house so I can test the last latch, I try my best to get it to move, curling my fingers under the short ledge. Right when I think it might give, dead leaves crunch behind me. My heart beats up my throat, and I pull my hands away from the house to reach for the Mace that I stupidly left in the car.
A deep voice skips up my back and fills my ears. “What the hell are you doing?”
I end up putting too much weight on one side of my body when I turn to look over my shoulder and find Colson. My ankle rolls over the side of the rock, and I fall. Right into a flowerbed of dirt and stone. My elbow smacks into something hard, another rock perhaps, and pain blossoms around my ankle.
“Goddamnit, Violet,” Colson growls, as if it’s my fault he snuck up on me.
I’m a bucket of emotions that spills the second I tip over. I groan and try to right myself, but it almost feels like my arm is stuck under the weight of my body, and while I’m concernedabout my throbbing ankle, I’m more focused on Colson crouching next to me, his frustration with me evident.
My eyes fill with big sloppy tears. I can’t get the words out that I’m okay. That my emotions have nothing to do with my fall and everything to do with seeing him. I try to mumble out a pathetic apology. Over what? Me trying to break into his mom’s house? The fact that he caught me?
He tucks his hands under my armpits and hoists me to my feet. “I can't believe you. You’re lucky I saw you before I went inside. Can you stand?”
I apply pressure on the ankle that rolled. It responds with an inflamed sensation that circles my joint. I hobble my weight over to my uninjured foot. “It hurts a bit.”
“Fuck.” He blows out a breath then says, “Okay, just lean on me. We’ll go slow and in through the back.”
I find a comfortable way to hold my foot up and do as he says. He turns into a human crutch as I limp beside him.
“Why are you here, anyway? I thought I made myself clear when I didn’t respond to your calls.”
Screw making things clear.
It was unfair for him to walk out on me with little explanation. To strip away my own voice when it came to us.
I wince when I shift my foot higher so it doesn’t snag on the concrete at the back patio. “I wanted to see you.”
What he doesn’t know is that Ineededto.
“I haven’t answered your calls for a reason, Violet.” His voice is cold and lacking all the affection I’m used to. I decide I’ll do whatever I can to hear it again.
“If you would have answered your phone, I wouldn’t have felt the need to?—”
“Felt the need to what? Break into my house? You’re lucky the people in this neighborhood don’t give a shit about breaking and entering.”
He pulls keys out of his pocket and unlocks the back door. “Put your weight on the doorknob if you need to, then use the counter. I’ll pull a chair over for you to sit on long enough to check out your foot.”
The house is as dark as it seems from the outside until Colson flicks on the kitchen light and closes the door behind him. It’s a lot cleaner than last time, the countertops cleared off. There aren’t loads of dishes in the sink, either. I sit down when he drags a chair over and motions for me to sit.
“You gave me no other choice,” I tell him, swallowing my nerves. “You just…left.”
He yanks open the freezer door, shuffles a few things around, then pulls out a bag of mixed vegetables that are old enough for the label to be worn off. He kneels down in front of me and gently lifts my leg. I grimace when he twists my shoe off. His strong fingers curl around my foot, elation zooming through me at the contact. It’s barely anything, and his least favorite body part, but it doesn’t slow the butterflies that sweep low in my belly or take away from me wishing it were more.
He gently rotates my foot without looking up at me, checking the damage. “It’s not bruised, but a little swollen. Should be fine. Take the vegetables. You can ice it in your car.”
Is he serious?
I’m so taken aback, my scoff gets stuck somewhere in my body. “Ice it in my car?”
He stands tall and swipes his thumb over his nose. “That’s what I said.”
