The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #3)(16)

“Now are you going to let me help you back to your dorm or not?” His fingers gently press into my side.

I dither, then place my hand on his shoulder so I can lift more weight off my foot. “No, but I’ll let you help me to class.” I catch a hint of his scent; cologne mixed with soap and a splash of tequila.

He gapes at me. “You need to stay off your foot.”


“No, I need to go to class,” I argue, then hold my breath because the scent of his cologne is delicious. “It’s important.”

“Why? It’s just one class.”

“Because I don’t miss class. Ever.”

He searches my eyes for God knows what, a sign of sanity maybe, but then he gives up and nods. “All right Violet…” He waits for me to give him my last name, but I only shake my head. I don’t like saying my real last name because then I remember that I’m the only living person left carrying it. I could use my made-up one, but I don’t like giving that one out either since it seems like I’m giving someone an open invitation to know me. “Okay, then Violet with no last name. Let’s get you to class.”

Then for the first time in thirteen years, someone actually helps me. And the odd thing is he willingly does it.

Luke

I help Violet to class, bearing as much of her weight as she’ll let me, but she seems pretty dead set on letting me help her as little as possible and keeps putting weight on her ankle. It looks like shit, purple and blue, swollen up so big she couldn’t even get a shoe on and I seriously just want to pick her up so she won’t put any weight on it at all, plus I’ll be able to move at my pace not hers. But I can tell there’s no way she’ll let me and honestly, I’m not that chivalrous. If I was acting like my normal self I’d have left her out under the tree.

It was a complete fluke that I crossed paths with her. I’d taken one too many shots of tequila this morning and my head was too foggy for me to drive to the university. So I had to walk and just happened to pass by when Violet was leaning against the tree. She looked like she was struggling and all I could think about was her falling out the window… my sister Amy jumping off the roof… suddenly I was walking over to her.

We end up being late and she’s upset about it. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would care so much about being on a schedule or getting good grades, but neither do I. My need to control my life, my grades, is an obsessive habit I developed early on to fight the constant loss of control that always surrounded me when I was at home. I wonder what her reasons are.

I don’t sit by her in class, not just because I don’t want to come off as some obsessed guy, but there aren’t any vacant desks beside her. I sit at an empty desk a few rows behind her and I try to concentrate on what Professor Dotterman is saying instead of what Violet’s doing, but it’s hard.

I thought about her a lot last night, even in my drunken stupor, which completely defeated the purpose of getting drunk. But she never did explain to me why she jumped out the window. I want to believe she wasn’t trying to end her life, but knowing what I know—knowing what happened with Amy—I can’t help but think about the deeper meanings behind her jump.

The longer I watch her, the more I analyze her. She’s extremely stubborn—that much I understand—even going as far as refusing to stretch her foot out comfortably in front of her. She’s sitting straight up in her chair, with her feet planted firmly below her. I think I might have met my match for the Stubbornest Person in the World award. It’s an award I’ve pretty much been winning since I was sixteen when I decided to stop trusting people and doing only what I wanted. I’d spent way too much time giving other people everything they needed and finally I turned sixteen and got my driver’s license. Suddenly, I had the freedom to go anywhere whenever I wanted and it didn’t matter who was with me. I had myself and that was all that mattered. No one controlled me or had power over me and I’ve been making sure things stayed that way ever since.

Violet kind of seems like that. I’ve never met anyone who was so determined to do things on their own. But it’s not like I’m about to ask her why. She gave me a dirty look just from me asking her last name and she’d probably try to kick my ass if I asked her anything personal. Although, the idea of her trying to kick my ass is sort of enthralling. It’s not my usual thing. I like things easy and uncomplicated, because my life was too complicated when I was younger. For some reason, though, challenging Violet is becoming appealing. Then again no one’s ever really tried to challenge me, too afraid to go up against the intense image I purposely send out.

I can tell Violet tries to look tough, but beneath the diamond stud in her nose, the red streaks in her hair, and the tattoos on the back of her neck, she’s f*cking gorgeous—even though she’s wearing the same dress she had on last night, she has no makeup on, and her hair isn’t done. She also doesn’t have the muscle to do any damage, her long and slender legs and arms better suited to wrap herself around me, then hit or kick my ass.

I roll my tongue in my mouth at the idea of her legs and arms wrapped around me as I pin her underneath me and thrust deep inside her. It’s got me curious about trying it and I’m seriously debating taking a break from the slutty, lacking-in-substance women that I’ve been hooking up with since I was sixteen.