Page 46 of A Photo Finish
I shake my head. She looks far too pleased with herself. I shouldn’t give her anymore ammunition to run with, so I clear my throat and change the subject. “Are you okay? I didn’t know where you went.”
The victorious smile on her face melts off, and now it’s her turn to look away from me. “Yeah. Just needed some space. I don’t know if you noticed,” she chuckles sardonically, “but I don’t really belong up in the skybox.”
What?“Why not?” I ask, genuinely confused.
Her eyes roll as she continues to focus on the horse. “You saw me in there. I’m a different breed, Cole. I’m not a Hilary, and I don’t want to be.”
“Thank fuck for that,” I mutter as I look down between my arms that rest on the top of the fence. We stand in silence. So much still left unsaid. “I was engaged to Hilary. When I was younger.”
Violet’s body goes rigid as she turns her entire frame toward me slowly. She says nothing, which I take as her giving me the opportunity to keep talking.
“We dated in high school. Our families ran in the same circles. It was . . . easy. It made sense to me. And then my dad died, and nothing made sense anymore.”
I chance a look at Violet, who is standing stock-still, like I’m a wild animal she might spook if she moves or says anything. And it must work because my lips keep moving.
“I proposed, and she said yes. Everyone was happy. And then I enlisted, and everyone was distinctlynothappy. But I didn’t care. I needed to live in another world for a while. So I left. We’d write to each other and see each other when I was home, but . . . Well, let’s just say distance didn’t make the heart grow fonder. And one tour turned into one more, which turned into one more. And I kept putting off the actual wedding. I always wonder if maybe I knew subconsciously that she was a bad idea. That she loved the image of me more than anything else...” I trail off thoughtfully, looking down again. Another age-old wound that still causes phantom pains. I press the heel of my hand in against the indent just below my thigh, something I’ve found that helps when the burning sensation strikes.
“At any rate, when I finally came back for good, I wasn’t the shiny perfect husband she hoped to have anymore. So that was that.”
“Because you came back with PTSD?” Violet’s voice is brittle, a current of anger lacing it.
I scoff as I stare back at her. “Who doesn’t? But nah, I’m sure I was grappling with that before I even enlisted. Apparently, watching a parent die as a teenager can do that to you. Or that’s what my therapist keeps telling me. I guess I’m double fucked-up.”
She rolls her lips together, searching for the words, and settling for moving closer to me and resting her arms exactly as mine are.
Her forearm is so petite next to mine. She elbows me gently, not a shred of pity in her tone. “I think we’re all a little fucked-up in our own way.”
I just hum my agreement. She’s not wrong.
“I mean, you’re clearlya lotmore fucked up than I am, but . . .”
My eyebrow quirks up at her, the small smile playing across her face right now making me join her with a grin of my own.
“Okay, Pretty in Purple.”
She groans dramatically and drops her head. “Am I ever going to live that down?”
“Probably not,” I chuckle.
“You know I’ve spent the last year terrified you’d tell someone or out me somehow? Fire me even.”
All traces of humor drain from my body. “Why would you think that?” I ask, standing up straight. “I’m the one who should be embarrassed.”
She still doesn’t look up at me. “You just seemed so angry when you approached me that day at the derby.” Her tongue darts out over her bottom lip. “You’re like . . . my boss’s boss. I just didn’t know what it all meant. I still don’t.”
Irritation courses through me—not with her—with myself. “Violet, look at me.”
She peeks up at me from beneath the dark fringe of her lashes.
“No. Stand up and look at me.”
She does it almost instantly, and the depraved part of me gets off on it. I’m transported to that night when she did everything I told her to. Even when it made her cheeks go bright pink. My cock twitches, and I berate myself internally.You’re really fucked up, bud.
She tips her head up and rolls her shoulders back with fake bravado. I can tell she feels vulnerable; it’s written all over her face.
“I’m sorry I did that. But you need to understand that I will never,never, tell anyone. That will forever be between us . . . and apparently, Billie and Vaughn.” She winces visibly at that part. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself.”
“Why?” she asks, pure confusion on her face.
