Page 101 of Avenged

“Go. Please. Just go,” I said, and this time, I lifted my chin and met his eyes. Eyes that were hurting. And I didn’t know who they were hurting for. Was it for him or me or us? Was it for something we’d started that could never be?

He looked at Violet and said, “I’m really glad you’re going to be okay, kid.” Then he left. And the void that took over the space behind him felt enormous. It felt like I was looking at a chasm and wondering where the bridge was. How was I going to make it to the other side?

? ? ?

When I entered the room with the soup and tea I’d made Violet, she dropped her phone like it was on fire. I sighed internally. It had to be Dawson. She hadn’t brought him up once during the overnight stay at the hospital or the two days we’d been back at Jada’s. But I’d known as soon as I’d retrieved her phone and bag from the wreckage that was my car, she’d text him. And she obviously had, because the moody look on her face was always and only Dawson related.

I set the tray down on the bed.

“Would you stop waiting on me,” Violet grouched. “I can get up. It’s better for me to get up.”

I squeezed her hand as I leaned back next to her on the queen bed in the guest room next to mine that Violet had taken over. “Humor me. I thought I’d lost you. The least you can do is let me spoil you a little.”

When I’d gone down to the garage where they’d towed my car, the sight of the mangled mess that remained had flipped my insides over. There was really nothing left of the entire front end, and there was blood everywhere. It covered both front seats, the deflated airbags, and the dash. It scared the hell out of me all over again. I’d almost lost her, and I swear I felt my mom walking around me, because chills went up and down my spine. I wasn’t sure if she was comforting me or screaming at me again. It didn’t matter. I was screaming at myself.

I’d been so caught up in me. The pain. The diagnosis. My feelings for Truck. I hadn’t really paid close enough attention to Violet. I’d obviously let her leave in the dead of the night with my car keys in hand. She had to have come into my room to get them. Where had I been? Lost in dreams of Truck. Lost in sorrow because we couldn’t be. I should have been grateful for what I had in Violet.

I was grateful for what I had. I still had five good things. I had Vi, barely. I had a roof over my head. I had Mandy and Leena when they got back. I had my job. I had my life.

I picked up my sketchpad that I’d left on the bed when I’d gone to fix lunch and noticed it was on the picture I’d drawn of Truck after we’d made love. My pencil had stopped at the gentle V that formed below his belly button, but it was still him naked from that point up. His eyes were closed, and he had the slightest quirk of a smile on his face. It was the way he’d looked while I’d watched him sleep. The day my world had changed and then changed back.

I hadn’t left my book open to that page. Violet must have opened it there. I shut it, looking up at her as I did so. She was watching me carefully.

“Have you called him?” she asked.

“Who?”

“You know who. Your husband,” she said.

I made a face at the word. It was easier to forget that Truck and I had gotten married when I wasn’t living with him. We shouldn’t have gone to the cottage in the first place. I’d known it wouldn’t end well, and it hadn’t. Violet was recovering from broken bones and a bruised heart, and I was recovering from the loss of my soul. I’d left it behind with a man who’d started to bring me back to life.

“Why would I call him?” I asked casually.

“He’s been calling you.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been looking at my phone? I didn’t realize you were so nosey.”

“No, he told me.”

“Wait… You’ve talked to him?” I gasped, looking up at her in surprise.

“Of course,” she said as if I was light in the head. But there was no “of course” about it.

“Why on earth have you been talking to Truck?” I asked, and she smirked at the nickname I’d finally chosen to use. I closed my eyes and leaned back on the pillows. She grabbed my sketchpad from beneath my hand and shoved the picture of him back into my face.

“Because of this.”

“A naked man. There’s a multitude of it on the internet. I wouldn’t recommend you go looking for it, though. Some of what you find may scar you for life. I’d hate to see that happen to you at sixteen.”

“Don’t start rubbing my measly sixteen years back at me to turn the conversation. He’s worried about you. He misses you.”

My heart pounded at her words, but I tossed them aside, picked up the sketchpad, and got off the bed. “I don’t want to talk about him. I wish I’d never married him.”

And I left.

The fact was, I couldn’t talk about him and stay sane. I couldn’t think about his soft smiles and gentle hands without my entire body coming alive again. There was no denying I missed him. I missed the friendship we’d developed. I missed having someone push me into the light from the shadows. But I also hated it all. I hated feeling anything.

Regardless of my missing him or him missing me, I wasn’t sure I could forgive either of us enough to move forward. I blamed myself for agreeing to any of the things I’d agreed to with him. I blamed myself for throwing my drama in his face until he felt obligated to help. It was my fault any of the things with Dawson had happened. And yet, I still blamed him for allowing Dawson to invade our world, and I blamed him for turning away from me after I’d slept with him. He’d torn my heart out when he’d chosen his brother over me, which was stupid, because I’d always do the same if it came down to him or Violet. I understood with every fiber of my being why he’d done it, and yet, I couldn’t help the ache it left behind that he’d done so. At the end of the day, it proved we just didn’t work. Our lives were too similar, and yet, at the same time they were too far apart.

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