24. Violet
TWENTY-FOUR
VIOLET
Stranger Guy replies by turning on his foot and leading me to the side of the apartment complex where there are benches periodically spaced along the sidewalk.
“If you’re looking for him,” I say to his back, taking in his mysterious appearance—the dark clothing, his equally dark hair, and the abundance of black ink on the skin I can see—while also tamping down my nerves. “You won’t find him here.”
He motions to the first bench we come across. I have no plan on putting myself in a vulnerable position so I ignore the way his hand sweeps toward it and stand far enough away that I can make a quick run for it if needed. I cross my arms over my torso, too.
It’s difficult making out his features and what kind of mood he’s in when it’s so late, but there’s enough lighting around the building and parking lot to see his eyes and the shimmer of what looks like a lip ring. The long sleeve thermal he wears fits his upper body like a glove. The chilliness in the air falls away, and my body heats. Not because I find him overwhelmingly attractive but because, deep down, I get the inkling that I’m making a mistake.
If Colson felt the need to protect me from him before, I probably shouldn’t be standing outside with him alone. But I can’t walk away knowing he might have information regarding Colson.
“I didn’t come looking for him,” he says simply. “I came for you.”
Surely, he must have it wrong.
I glance toward the entrance of Spring Meadows before turning my focus back on him. “For me? What did you do? Camp outside my apartment building all night until you saw me?”
He pinches the cigarette out of his mouth and blows the smoke away from me. “I saw you leave earlier. Knew you’d come back eventually, so I waited it out.”
I curl my lips into my mouth, bothered over him openly admitting that he’s been following me. But at least he’s being honest. “Why? I don’t even know who you are.”
“It doesn’t really matter who I am?—”
“It most definitely does. You think I don’t remember you from that day?” I ask him.
“That day is the least of our concerns.”
“ Our concerns?”
He shuffles on his feet and flicks the butt of his smoke on the ground before snubbing it out with the toe of his boot. “Your boy is getting himself into some serious shit.”
My stomach takes off like a bird in flight. “What are you talking about? Wait.” I squeeze my eyes shut and tighten my arms around myself. “You can at least tell me what your name is before you say more.”
“Finn.”
“Okay, Finn. Well, I’m?—”
“Violet, yeah, I know. Can we cut past the pleasantries? You need to talk some sense into your boyfriend before he fucks up his life worse than it already is.”
I rub my lips together and inhale a deep breath, wanting to reach out to Colson but also knowing it’s not my place to do so. He took that away from me, from him. “Colson and I aren’t together anymore. What he does isn’t my business.”
“Fuck that.”
“Excuse me?”
His voice turns harsher. “I said, fuck that. Whether he wants help or not, he needs it, and it can’t be from me. So it’s either you or his rich, money-whipped cousin. Pussy always wins, which is why I came to you first.”
“You don’t need to be rude.” I balk but then curiosity gets the best of me. “What’s he doing that’s so bad?”
Last I knew, Colson was holing himself up in his house and drinking straight from the bottle. What could he possibly be doing that could fuck up his life more? Part of me wants to walk away and not give Finn the time of day, but then I think about the what-ifs.
What if Colson really is in trouble?
What if he needs someone?
What if he needs me?
What if he needs me and I…I ignore that?
“Talking is pointless. It’d be better to show you.”
“You think I trust you enough to get in a car with you?” To this day, instinct tells me that he’s the reason behind Colson showing up at my door with a bloody lip and bruised torso. Nothing good can possibly come from following his lead. What if he’s just saying this to get me alone and then, I don’t know, something bad happens?
I don’t know the full story because Colson never shared it with me, but there’s something there. I can feel it in the way my stomach squeezes.
“You don’t need to trust me. You need to ask yourself how much you care about him.”
I swallow and croak out, “I care about him more than you’ll ever know.”
“So then let me show you.” He starts walking and leads the way as if it’s just that simple. That easy to follow him into the unknown.
“Wait,” I call out, watching his retreating form. He’s a silhouette in the night. A dim and mystifying outline of a man who can’t be much older than Colson. “I’m not…I don’t think this is a good idea. I need more from you.”
He takes three large strides back until he’s a headspace away. “Listen, Violet, I don’t really feel like standing here and shooting the shit with you. Facts are, Colson is losing his fucking head after finding out that his father is my dad. And maybe that doesn’t mean shit to you. Maybe it means a whole fucking slew of things. Either way, he’s making decisions based on emotion instead of logic, and it’s going to get him killed just like it did his mom. Is that what you want? You want to see him go out even faster than she did? Because the people he’s associating with will put a bullet in his goddamn head and put him six feet under if he so much as thinks about double crossing them.”
My head spins.
His father is my dad.
Bullet in his goddamn head.
Six feet under.
My arms fall to my sides, my knees threatening to buckle and crash to the pavement.
Finn is his half brother?
He never mentioned that before. Before, when Finn showed up, Colson acted…strange. Like it wasn’t safe for me to be around him. Colson couldn’t have known this then. It makes me wonder if Finn knew. Or maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe he did know and that’s why he didn’t want me around him.
Confusion swirls in my head, and I don’t know how to get a grip on it.
“Did you know this when you were here that day? About being brothers?” I decide to ask, putting a stop to my whirling thoughts so I don’t have to overthink it.
His response is a one-worded, “No.”
“So then why wouldn’t he want your help? If both of you were in the dark about it…”
He rubs his hands over his face as if his patience is dwindling that it’s taking so much for me to agree to go with him. But I need proof. I need something that tells me I’ll be okay. That he’ll lead me to Colson, and I won’t end up disappearing after I just promised Olive I’d be okay.
“Because a lot of fucked up shit has gone down. Shit you don’t need to know.” He digs his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open. He fishes out his license. “Take a picture and send it to your friends. They’ll know exactly who to come after if you don’t come home.”
Because I don’t know what the hell is going on, I do just that. I slip my phone from my small clutch and snap the picture. I decide not to send it to Olive and make her worry unnecessarily but send it to Everleigh and ask her to cover for me. She sends me a thumbs up, and then I find myself following Finn to his car.
The interior matches him perfectly, everything set in shades of grays and blacks, and as I slip into the passenger’s seat, I can’t help but think how stupid I am for getting into a car with a stranger. Until I remind myself that this is for Colson.
And for Colson, I’d be a lot more reckless.
Finn straps his belt over his chest and reverses out of the space before heading toward Main Street. The tension in the car is constricting, squeezing me as if it has nothing else better to do. It’s hard to ignore, even when he turns the knob on the stereo system and soft rock streams out through the speakers.
“So,” I start, glancing out my side of the car, as I watch the streetlights pass us by. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t bother looking my way, but I feel his gaze all the same. He has that presence about him. Dark and alluring. Mysterious and moody. Could also be that I’m hyper aware of my surroundings. I have no clue if he’s going to reach under his seat and whip out a pistol or grab the closest thing that can be used as a gag and yank the car to the side of the road to tie my hands behind my back. The thought sends my nerves into overdrive, tiny little goosebumps dotting my skin.
“Harrison Heights.”
It doesn’t take long for us to reach the mouth of the Sycamore Memorial Bridge. “I don’t understand why you can’t tell me what’s going on. It’d be nice to know what I’m walking into. The mess you say Colson is in.”
From the glow of the dash lights, I catch the tensing of his jaw. It took courage for him to show up at my place, to wait for me, and get me into his car. Perhaps he isn’t coated in that hard gobstopper layer after all.
He repositions his hand on the wheel as we make it to the bridge’s peak before bringing both up to grip it. There aren’t a lot of cars out at this time of night, which means it doesn’t take as long to cross the Sycamore River. I notice the way his hands relax, and he goes back to his one-handed grip on the steering wheel once we hit solid ground.
“He found his way into The Battleground.”
He says it like it’s a place. “The Battleground?”
“Underground fighting essentially. No one knows about it unless you’re in it.”
My stomach coils the way it always does when it comes to fighting. I’ve never understood why grown men fight or how it’s even considered a sport. I can’t fathom the idea of wanting to bloody an opponent. To make them bleed and hurt for no other purpose than to call yourself a winner.
When Colson initially told me about his love for boxing, I was revolted by the idea of seeing him in a ring with another man. But as much as using fists to deal with life doesn’t make sense to me, I’ve pushed my opinion down for Colson’s sake. I know how boxing is an outlet for him to release whatever stress he may have. I just never thought he’d take it any farther than a boxing bag. I never thought he’d willingly choose to hurt people to make himself feel better.
Disappointment fills me. I try not to let it come through in my voice. “So he likes to box. I’m not sure what you want me to do about that.”
“I’m not talking about just boxing. If he was just slipping on some gloves and pounding away at a bag, I wouldn’t give a flying fuck, nor would I have you in my car. I said he’s underground fighting. The opponents are a lot meaner than a leather boxing bag. And the guys that run it are fucking heartless.”
I turn in my seat and look at him. “How would you know? How do you even know what he’s doing? Are you following him around, too?” There are so many gaps in what’s going on, and it all comes from the distance between Colson and me. However, if we were still close, and he didn’t let his current circumstances get between us, I’m not entirely sure he’d come to me about this crazy want to slip into this underground scene, anyway.
There have always been things he’s kept from me. Hell, one of them sits next to me. And while I was okay with that for a while because we both had our own stuff we were going through, I’m realizing how terribly wrong that is. How off is it that as close as we were he never told me about Finn? It makes me wonder what else he’s hiding.
My curiosity about him pushes up through the dirt and reaches for the truth. “How did you and Colson know each other before? He didn’t want me around you that day, so what was he doing with you if he didn’t know then that you’re his half brother?”
“Not my story to tell.” His hand changes position on the steering wheel. “Listen, I’m just trying to fucking help.” He says it in a way that tells me he doesn’t do this often. They’re the most uncomfortable words that fall from his lips. I remain quiet, stuck inside my head over not getting the answers I seek. Suddenly, I’m mad at myself for not pushing Colson harder on the matter when it happened.
“There’s a lot of bad shit that’s gone down between me and Colson. To him, I’m his enemy, and I deserve that title, but a few days ago, that all changed.”
I swallow against the ball of tension nagging my throat. I can’t believe Janie was married for years, and it never came out. I can’t believe Colson’s mother died and now he has a sibling. How does that even happen? Did she know all along that Finn and Colson shared the same father?
God.
I choose to skip ahead. “So, you followed him, but how do you know he’s messing with the wrong people if you’re not part of that world, too?”
“I saw him talking to a guy we used to go to school with that’s real big in the fighting scene. He’s been doing it under the radar for years.”
I shake my head. “Maybe they were just talking because they’re friends.”
He glances over at the same time his hand slides down the steering wheel and pulls it into a turn. “I called a contact of mine who was able to get me in on one of the fights to verify it.”
I glance over at him, my gut pointing a finger at me and saying, I told you he’s not the kind of guy you should’ve gotten into a car with, because if he has a contact that got him into a fight that means he has to hang out with some pretty shady people.
“Did he see you there?” I ask.
“No. I know how to stay out of sight, but to be honest, he looked way too fucking in his head to notice any of the faces in the crowd. The Battleground is known to snatch people up and when that happens, they don’t spit them back out. They’ll keep Colson tight knit until he’s physically unable to walk into the ring again. And if he tries to escape before then?—”
“You make it sound like he joined a gang.”
“Consider this the next worst thing.”
“If Colson is set on fighting, me walking in there isn’t going to suddenly make him come to his senses.” If I’ve learned anything about him in the last few weeks, it’s that he’s irrevocably stubborn.
He sniffs and shifts in his seat. “You’re right, but if he sees you with me, he’s guaranteed to freak the fuck out and pull away.”
I blink three times. “You plan on pitting me against him?” My tone is a shriek when the words come out. “No. Hell no. He’s going through enough. He doesn’t need this on top of that. You are out of your mind.”
He looks over at me as the car rolls to a stop at an intersection. “You said you cared about him.”
“I do,” I insist. “But that’s pushing it too far. He’s the most fragile I’ve ever seen him.” I’m not sure if that’s saying much since I’ve only known him for a few months. “Presenting him with another, I don’t know, shit sundae isn’t going to make it better.”
“He’s hopping fences, Violet. The only way to get him to see reason at this point is to do the goddamn same.”
I hate how much sense that makes, but I don’t know what Colson will do if he sees me with another man, much less with Finn after he admitted Colson considers him the enemy. This is going to end one of two ways. Him still moving forward with fighting or raising his fists to spar with Finn instead.
“This isn’t going to end well,” I warn, my nerves tying themselves in knots as we drive farther into Harrison Heights.
“Never does when your biggest opponent is yourself.”
I’ve only been to two places in Harrison Heights. The gas station Colson took me to Thanksgiving night when I showed up at his apartment an absolute mess and his mom’s house.
We slowly drive down side street after side street. We pass a block of businesses, all of them looking as if they’ve been out of business for the better part of the last ten years, their windows dusty and smogged over. It’s clear an economic decline has the town in its grasp.
Streetlights illuminate the bare minimum, and I take note of how most of the sidewalks need repaving. They’re not the only thing that could use a fresh coat of love. Random bushes, though dormant, could use trimming. Shutters on homes could use replacing. Awnings over closed businesses could use patching.
It’s devastating to see, knowing that on the other side of the Sycamore River, life is bustling, the economy thriving. To know that there’s not much opportunity that exists in a place like Harrison Heights hits the deepest parts of me. That Colson grew up in such lackluster circumstances is annihilating. There aren’t even any doctor’s offices around. No window clings with therapy or healthcare promising to make you feel whole again.
The farther we get into town, the more desolate it becomes. Everything is bleak and unlively. When Finn rolls to a stop at a curb, I peer out the window into the night to spot a laundromat, the windows of it in need of a good washing.
“I’m parking here, but we’ll have to walk another two blocks.”
I nod, and the instant I open the door, a wall of cold hits me. I forget that I’m wearing a skimpy top with skin-tight leather skinny jeans that do nothing to protect me from the chill in the air. “Do you?—”
Finn knows what I’m going to ask before I finish because he reaches around to the back seat and deposits a black zip up sweatshirt on my lap. “Make sure I get it back.”
I mutter out a thanks— sheesh —and put it on. The sweatshirt hits me mid-thigh.
I get out of the car and shut the door. In a hurry to fall in line with Finn, I leave the sweatshirt unzipped. We walk in silence before we come across an old, abandoned candy warehouse. Cement chocolates are formed into the front of the building around the entrance and Coco’s Chocolate Warehouse is imprinted on a sign above it. The building takes up the corner of the block. There are a few broken windows on the second floor, but the brick work is absolutely stunning and reminds me of the university buildings in Chatham Hills.
We round the corner of the building and end up in an alley. “What now?”
Finn points to a door twenty feet ahead. “I’m going to knock on that door. You’re going to keep your mouth shut and pretend you’re just another ditzy airhead until we get inside.”
I stifle a response because is he always this rude?
All night, he’s seemed to know more than me, so once again, I have no other choice but to trust that he has my best interests at heart. Colson’s best interests.
We approach the door, and he glances over his shoulder. “Now would be a good time to tell me if you have a problem with blood.”
“Huh?”
“Blood,” he repeats, enunciating every letter in the word. “Do you get faint or queasy when you see it? You gonna go down like a sack of potatoes at the sight of it?”
The image of scarlet liquid enters my mind, and my attention flicks to the heavy metal door in front of us. This weird sensation takes over my stomach, a twisting and burning feeling that trapezes into my limbs.
What the hell am I doing?
Have I really lost all common sense? Is my love for Colson persuasive enough that it made me get into a car with a stranger in the near-middle of the night just because he said Colson is in trouble?
The heaviness in Finn’s question loops in my mind even though it’s probably not that big of a deal. Blood. We all have it. It’s in us all and yet…I don’t know if I’d faint at the sight of it. I didn’t when I helped Colson all those weeks ago or all the times Olive and I scraped our skin open as kids.
But that was different. So mu?—
“Get rid of that look on your face. You can’t fucking bail when we’re this close. We’re one door away from you seeing exactly what I’m talking about. So, I’m going to ask one last time, Violet. Does blood make you want to throw the fuck up or can you handle seeing it gush from a dude’s nose without getting real close and personal with the floor?”
I shake my head, finally catching up to the moment even though apprehension finagles its way into my bone marrow. The door is daunting, staring me down like a detective wanting answers.
I hate how I’m backstepping. That I’m wondering if I should even walk in there. Colson and I have drawn a clear line. He wants to deal with his life on his own terms, and I’m supposed to be giving him that.
Then I think about what Finn said. I consider that if it wasn’t as bad as it was, he wouldn’t be trying to help. And he definitely wouldn’t have camped outside my apartment to wait for me.
I give him all I can muster, which is a nod.
“Stay close in there, and we’ll be fine. As for Colson…don’t be surprised if you don’t recognize him.”
That’s what I’m most worried about. Then again, I haven’t recognized him in weeks, so how bad can this be?
“Remember him the way he was and try to stay out of sight.” Finn pauses for a beat then finishes with, “He can’t see help coming. Otherwise, he’ll just prepare an escape route.” And then he pounds his fist on the door.