The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #3)(92)

“That’s because I’ve been ignoring them,” I say with honesty as the rumble of the dishwasher fills the apartment. Violet leaves the kitchen and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door, taking her cute ass with her, along with the good and lightness in me.

He pauses, struggling for words. “Look, Luke, I’m so sorry about my reaction when you asked if you could move in with us,” he says. “Sometimes I don’t know how to be a father and I just say stuff, not really thinking beforehand. But I should have said you could move in with us. I’ll even give you my bed.”

“I’m good.” I pick up the beer, needing the taste of it. I take a large guzzle, but it’s not enough. Too mellow and weak. Too sober and unstable. Switching to beer was such a bad idea.

“Luke, I’m really trying here,” he says. “I know I wasn’t part of your life for a while, but I want to be now.”

“You’re really trying.” I laugh harshly in the phone as something snaps inside me, the last fourteen years shoving me down farther and farther and I’m too sober and can feel it all. “Trying would have been calling me up more than ten times over the last fourteen years. Trying would have been not leaving me and Amy with Mom and her craziness.”

“You’re mother’s not crazy.” He sighs. “She just struggles with stuff.”

“No, she’s f*cking crazy and you’re f*cking crazy for thinking she’s not.” I snap. Literally snap. All the stuff I’ve been holding inside me spills out as rage flares through me until all I see is white.

“Luke you will not talk about your mother that way,” he says. “Yes, she has problems but we all do.”

“You’re seriously defending her and you don’t even get it.”

“Then explain it to me. Please.”

“Do you have any idea things that she did—made me do? Do you have any idea at all the stuff that I went through… she made me shoot her up, you know. Inject heroin into her veins,” I hiss, balling my hands into fist, wanting—needing the silencing burn of Jack or tequila, but instead I settle for ramming my fist against the coffee table. A few of my knuckles pop and the wood scrapes a layer of skin off. It hurts, but not as much as thinking about the past. “When I was eight, she made me crush up her cocaine, made me let her hold me while she passed out. She made me do everything with her like I was a pet. She never let me breathe. She ignored Amy.” I breathe furiously, fighting to get oxygen as I throw the empty beer bottle across the room and it shatters against the wall. “She didn’t give a shit when Amy died. She f*cking screwed up my life so God damn badly that I have to control everything just so I won’t remember how much she controlled me…” I trail off as Violet walks in front of me, standing between the television and the coffee table. Everything gets silent as she takes in the glass around her feet.

“Luke, oh my God, I didn’t—” my dad starts to say.

I press end, hanging up on him. He calls right back and I shut off my phone, tossing it onto the table, my eyes never leaving Violet. As usual, I can’t tell what she’s thinking which means I’m going to have to ask.

“How much did you hear?” My hand is shaking but my voice comes out even. I know she already knew some of the stuff, but she pretty much heard a replay of my entire sad, stupid, worthless life. Now she knows just how pathetic I really am.

“Everything.” There’s an unreadable look in her eyes as she takes a deep breath. She contemplates something and I can’t take her silence. I feel like I’m about to explode.

“Violet, just say something,” I say, sounding panicked and pathetic. “Please.”

“We should probably clean up the glass before Seth and Greyson come back,” she tells me. “Although, we could just leave the mess for them to clean up.”

“Violet I…” I drift off as she tiptoes over the glass and climbs over the table beside me. Then she laces her fingers through mine and kisses my scraped knuckles softly. After she kisses each one, she looks up at me with her round green eyes, then stands on her tiptoes and plants a soft kiss on my lips. I relish in the taste of her as my hands slip around my waist. I’m confused why she’s okay with this, about what she heard, about the fact that she walked into a living room covered with glass, but then I remember everything she already knows about me; how she stopped the fight at the strip club, how I told her about my mom making me shoot her up. She knows more about me than most and she’s still here, kissing me and letting me be close to her.

So I kiss her back with force and passion, because I need to be with her, need to get the rage inside my chest out. I kiss her with hunger as I scoop her up in my arms and carry her back to the bedroom, bumping into walls and the door before I finally lie us down on the bed. She groans as I cover her with my body and start sucking on her neck, kissing her jawline. I only pull back to peel her shirt off, her nipples perking as soon as the air hits them. I take her in as she helps me take off my shirt and the she traces her fingers along the tattoos on my ribs and chest as she just stares at me with an almost mesmerized look in her eyes.

“Do they mean anything?” she asks, her finger sketching over the lines of a tattoo on my side.

I shrug, my fingers knotted in her hair. “I went through this phase where every time I was feeling shitty, I’d get a tattoo.”