Page 39 of Knot Your Business

I don’t divulge what she said at the coffee house. For all I know, I’m reading too far between the lines and am fucking this up more than it already is.

“And I’m not saying that you have to fix it or anything. Just that maybe…” I blow out a breath. “Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe see about just trying to be around her. Maybe she’ll bring something up if you don’t push her too hard.”

That was something I’d definitely noticed. She got spooked real quick. Her hackles raised at the slightest mention of her potentially being the problem in any situation, even when it was clear that she wasn’t at all what was wrong.

Jasper sighs, kissing me. “All right. I’ll try again. But if it’s bad…”

I nod and pull him over me, letting his body drape over mine. “I’ll figure out where the fuck Dominic is hiding, and we can see about changing things.”

JASPER

A redheaded woman opens the door of the unassuming dorm room. Her green eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed, making her freckles blend into her skin just a bit. The radiant smile brightening her face drains away as she looks me over. I tighten my grip on the flowers Bianca had dropped by the house earlier today, fresh from her favorite florist at my request. Best to have an item to justify dropping by unannounced. She’d also brought along a confirmation that Dominic was still alive and had been helping his dad out with some things regarding the business.

My stomach twists again at the thought of him going back to his father and the mafia. Did that mean he meant to dissolve our standing as a pack with the Council?

“Oh,” the woman murmurs, pulling me from the morose thought. She glances at her phone and says, “I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

“No worries, Red.” The warm male voice is practically a croon, the power of an Alpha’s soothing washing over me without finding anywhere to really stick. The memory of the selfie on Violet’s Instagram flashes through me, both her and this woman dressed for the matching gala. She must have been on the phone with one of her matched Alphas.

Shit, I should have sent a text or something instead of just showing up, even if it meant her cussing me out.

The woman locks the screen of her phone and purses her lips.

“I’m—”

“She’s not here,” she says without preamble, cutting me off as she crosses her arms.

Rylan had made sure she wasn’t working today. Worry twists my stomach. I blow out a breath, reminding myself that I’ve handled scarier people with better composure than this. Of course, I hadn’t been chest deep in unresolved heartache and one bad fight away from my relationship falling apart. Was it even considered a fight if the other party never bothered to show back up? A lump forms in my throat.

Even still. I could do better than this. I swallow down the lump.

“My pack mate told me she would be.” I keep my voice level, not letting any of my confusion and anguish weave through it.

One brow rises as silence stretches between us, her face incredibly impassive compared to all the photos I’ve seen of her on Violet’s social media. There’s nothing of the carefree college student standing before me. She looks like she's ready to go to battle.

I try again. “I brought her these. May I at least be here to give them to her?”

She looks me over again, her eyes catching on the large bouquet in my hand. “You broke her heart, you know that?” The words are stark, and they hit me just as solidly as a punch. “Twice.”

“N-no,” I say, trying to figure out when I had hurt Violet. “I was under the long-standing impression that she broke mine, actually.”

She frowns and cocks a hip. “So you didn’t tell your pack mate that matching with her would be the absolute worst thing to happen?”

I flinch. She had heard that? She’d disappeared into the crowd before I ever got close to Rylan that night. How had she been able to hear what I said to him?

"I'd rather talk to her about it than use a messenger," I say.

A long moment passes, and I clutch the flowers tighter, willing myself to stay still under her scrutiny. Just as I'm about to give up and try again later, she nods once and moves away from the door. She doesn't say anything as I step over the threshold. I take in the space, trying to absorb as much of it as possible, try to see the Violet I knew in Seattle anywhere in its furnishings. There's a couple of small pillows on the simple gray couch and a basket full of throw blankets, most either pink or blue. The walls are filled with framed landscape photos. Sunsets and snow storms and even one of the last time it rained in LA, the droplets on the lens distorting the Santa Monica pier that's as famous as anything else in the city except maybe Hollywood itself. They're beautiful and nothing of what I would expect of somewhere Violet lives.

My gaze catches on a group of photos hanging behind the lounge chair in the corner beside the window.

Violet's roommate crosses the small living room and opens the door on the wall to the right.

I stride across the room so I can take the pictures in better. They're nearly identical, though small things change in each one, and I realize they're a timeline of sorts, each picture from a different year. I focus on the one I think is newest, the redhead's hair nearly as long as it is now. Each detail of it slices across my chest until I struggle to breathe around the pain. Violet stands with her arm around her roommate's waist, their heads pressed together as they laugh. Around them, people mill about, boxes and bags and furniture being carried. The focus of the picture is perfect, the edges blurring so that the women are the sole focus, as if it's a memory plucked from someone's mind and then printed on the page.

I drink in Violet. At first glance, there's nothing left of the girl I loved to the point of my own heart shattering. Her eyes are flinty despite her laughter, and her ears are pierced multiple times. She wears a necklace, multiple gold chains of varying widths and lengths without a pendant. The careful skirts and dresses she'd always worn to appease her mother are gone. Instead, she wears cut off jeans and fishnets, black boots, and a band tee of some kind, though I don't recognize the artwork of the album. It looks like something Rylan would enjoy, though. It’s so similar to the picture the Council had given us, except in this one… she’s happy.

She's stunning, like everything we had ever talked about had been able to come out and express itself away from Sienna’s hawkish, grueling gaze. I can’t help but trace this photo the way I traced the other one, keeping my finger a hairsbreadth above the glass.

---