The Certainty of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #5)(48)

‘You should get some sleep,’ I say. ‘Big game tomorrow.’

He nods, but he’s looking at me like he can read me like an open book. ‘Are you still coming to that?’

I shift on the pillow. ‘Of course.’

He gives me a weary, but content smile, then yawns and moments later he’s passed out in dreamland. About an hour later, I’m still wide-awake and my mind is racing so fast and so wildly it feels like I’m on crank or something. Everything’s all jumbled in my head and I can barely make sense of it, but what I do make sense of cracks me to the core.

Love.

Love.

Love.

It’s an echo in my head, programmed on repeat, a hauntingly beautiful melody I can’t get rid of. I saw it in Luke’s eyes tonight, but that’s not what’s scaring me. I already knew he felt this way, although I don’t think I took in the full meaning until now. Understood what it – I – meant to him. But what was really terrifying is that for the briefest, heart-splitting, air ripped from my lungs, can’t think, breathe, or process anything, moment, I swear my eyes reflected what was in his. It happened so quickly that my mind is still trying to catch up with it. Either that or I’m in denial.

I watch Luke sleep for the longest time, listening to his soft breathing. The longer I observe him, the more I’m convinced that I’ve either finally lost my goddamn mind or I’m stupidly and foolishly in love with this guy lying next to me.

‘No, it’s not possible,’ I mutter to myself, rubbing my chest as emotions stir inside me, powerful, potent, too much. ‘I’m not supposed to fall in love. I don’t even know what the f*ck it is.’ I throw the blankets off me and climb out of bed. I have no initial plans of where I’m going – out is as far as I’ve gotten – when I spot one of the photos from the box sticking out from under the bed. I’d made a mess the last time I put it under there and never cleaned it up. Bending down, I pick it up, then find myself smiling. It’s of my mother and father, her in his arms, wearing her wedding dress. She looks so happy and I feel kind of happy seeing her like that. I’d always had this thought that looking at these photos was going to tear what little of my heart that was left and I was going to bleed dry. But that’s not what’s happen at the moment. No, I feel strangely calm.

Instead of going out of the room, like I’d planned on doing, I get back in bed with the photo in my hand. I don’t snuggle up to Luke like I usually do, not wanting to bring the emotions that I’ve managed to lullaby to sleep out again without harming myself. I trace each line, each shade, every aspect of their happy faces in the picture, engraining the image of them into my mind.

‘This is what I wish I could remember you like,’ I whisper to myself as I grasp onto the photo over my beating heart. I visualize the picture in my head, hoping that when I shut my eyes this is how I will see them, instead of the last time that I saw them. That for once my dreams might be filled with happiness instead of sheer terror.

It’s the first time I’ve tried it.

Tried to change things.

Let things go.

I wonder if it’s possible.





Chapter 22


Luke


I wake up to the sound of a quiet house and the sunlight blinding me as it shines through the window. It takes me a bit to come out of my disoriented state and let go of the dream I was having where everyone was watching me play the game tonight and I f*cked up epically. I didn’t really think I’d ever worry about that shit, but then again, I’ve never actually had people in the stands for me.

After I’m fully awake, I roll onto my side and spot Violet sitting on the floor wearing one of my t-shirts, her hair in messy bun. She’s hovering over what looks like a Calculus book, tapping a pen against the pages. The fact that she’s doing her homework this early alone is shocking, but what’s really getting to me is the fact that I didn’t hear her wake up. I always here Violet wake up, her gasping ritual too loud to sleep through. Was I that tired? Did I manage to sleep through it finally?

I sit up in bed and glance around, like the mystery of what’s going on lies somewhere in the garbage and clutter around our narrow room and the dirty laundry on the floor. ‘How long have you been awake?’ I ask, but she doesn’t respond, bobbing her head up and down to a tune only she seems to hear.

Climbing out of bed, I notice she has earbuds in. She looks totally into her assignment, too, her hand moving ridiculously fast. I almost don’t want to interrupt her, but I also want to get to the bottom of what’s going on. So I grab a pair of boxers, slip them on, then settle on the floor beside her. My sudden appearance startles her and she jumps, pressing her hand to her heart.

‘Fuck, you scared me,’ she says really loudly, dropping her hand into her lap.

I reach for the earbud cord and give it a little tug, causing them to fall out of her ears.

‘Oh,’ she says then scratches her head. ‘I almost forgot I had those in.’

I toss the earbuds aside. ‘How long have you been awake?’

Her eyes rise to the ceiling as she thinks about it. ‘I don’t know … maybe like an hour.’

I glance over my shoulder and look at the time. A quarter after nine. ‘You woke up voluntarily before ten o’clock? Seriously?’