The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #3)(53)

He places his free hand on the shifter and his other on top of the wheel with the cigarette positioned between his fingers. “So… where do you want me to take you?”

I shrug as I stare at the trees lining the yard. “I have no idea.”

He’s silent for a second, then backs the truck down the driveway. He doesn’t say where we’re going, what we’ll do when we get there. Everything is so unknown. Just the way that I like it, yet at the same time it scares me because I’m not walking into it on my own. Luke’s here with me and I have no idea why. No one’s ever helped me out before, not like this. And it terrifies me because I actually want him to be in this moment with me, helping me.





Chapter 8



Luke



It took a lot of energy not to beat the shit out of the guy who was getting rough with Violet. The surprising thing was, as cocky as Violet has always been, she actually seemed afraid of him. She was pretty much going to let him drag her into that house and do who knows what to her, so I intervened, even though I didn’t want to get involved in her obviously messy life. I don’t intervene for just anyone. Maybe Kayden or Callie or even Seth, but for some insane, erratic girl I met only a few weeks ago, no way. Yet I did and now I can tell I’m going to get even more involved because she has no place to go.

The strange thing is she almost looked excited about it. About the old dude yelling at her, getting rough with her, and then when we started to fight. I’m not sure if I imagined it, but if I didn’t, it makes me wonder: Does she like starting trouble? Or is there some other reason?

“You can just drop me off downtown,” she says, gazing out the window as I drive down the highway toward the center of Laramie.

I flip on the blinker to switch lanes and pass a car moving at a snail’s pace “Drop you off downtown where?”

She shrugs, resting her forehead against the glass. She looks exhausted, probably from the panic attack that she insists she didn’t just have. But I’ve seen them before, had a lot myself, especially while I was growing up.

I merge back into the right lane and flip the visor down to block out the sunlight. “Violet…” Stay out of it. “Do you have someplace to go or are you…”

“Homeless?” she asks as she twirls a strand of her hair around her finger. “I was supposed to live back there, but obviously that’s not happening.” She lets out a tired sigh, pushes away from the window, and rotates in the seat to face me. “I’m good, though. You can drop me off downtown and I’ll find a place to crash.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere.”

I slow down as we reach the city limits where seemingly identical houses start to line the streets. “It sounds like you don’t have anywhere to go.” My gaze locks on her.

“I can take care of myself,” she insists.

“I never said you couldn’t.” I downshift the truck and the engine rumbles in protest as I get ready to turn toward the side road that goes past the park and leads to downtown. “I’m just asking if you have somewhere to stay.”

At first, rage crosses over her face and I seriously think she’s going to hit me, but then she recomposes herself, detachment possessing her eyes. “No, I don’t,” she says, then she fixes her attention on the window again. “But like I said, I can take care of myself.”

I’m about to turn down the road that will lead us to the center of town where I can drop her off and let her go, which is what I need to do. She’s unstable and erratic; the last thing I need in my life since I can barely take care of myself. And she has this control over me and makes me do things for her without even asking. I hate it, the way I’m drawn to her, yet I can’t seem to stop the feeling.

All I can keep picturing is myself at eight years old, gasping for air, wanting to be able to breathe, but it seeming so hard. I looked a lot like Violet did when she collapsed to the ground and I felt that way when I took off for that strip club yesterday. We’re both stuck in the same situation, not having anywhere to go, and it really doesn’t make any sense why I’d try to help her when I can’t even get myself out of the situation. Yet right at the last second, I straighten the wheel back out and keep heading straight, toward my dorm. I don’t know why I do it, other than there’s this part of me that wants to help her—wants to understand her.

She doesn’t ask me where I’m going and it doesn’t seem to faze her when I pull up to my dorm building and park the truck near the entrance doors. There are only three cars left in the parking lot and a couple sitting in the shade under the trees.

I turn off the engine and wait for her to say something, but she continues to stare out the window. She’s making this difficult. I’m not used to being the person who works to open closed doors. I’m the one who wants to hold them shut.

“So you can crash in my dorm until I have to leave tomorrow,” I tell her, my eyes widening at my words as I slip the keys out of the ignition. I pause, get myself together, before I look at her. “You’re welcome.”

That gets her to turn her head toward me. Her green eyes burn and I lean back in the seat. “I’m not going to f*ck you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she says bluntly.

I tuck the keys into my pocket. “It’s not even close to what I’m thinking.” Well, it wasn’t until she brought it up.