60. Violet
VIOLET
I kick off my shoes by the door.
For a moment, I just stand by the entryway table, unmoving.
“Violet?” Callie says softly behind me.
“I’m okay,” I automatically say.
I step further into the house.
“You want a snack? Coffee?”
I shake my head.
“No. I think I just want to be alone.”
She grabs my arm gently. “No. Don’t do this. Don’t pull away from me.”
I look into her concerned eyes.
“I’m not,” I lie, forcing a smile.
“You are. You’re projecting that calm, Stepford wife demeanor. Which is how I know you’re absolutely not calm.”
I exhale slowly.
Just tell her.
Open up.
“Drew knows.”
Her entire body tightens. “Everything?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god.” She grabs my hand and pulls me to the couch. “Okay. That’s fine. We can work with that.”
I stare at her. “…We?”
“Obviously,” she says. “I’ve been invested in this from the beginning.”
“I didn’t ask you to be.”
“And yet, here I am.”
I sink onto the couch. “He didn’t handle it well,” I say quietly. “He needed space.”
Callie’s expression freezes. “And you gave it to him?” she asks incredulously.
“Yes.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s not how this works.”
“That’s exactly how this works.”
“No, it isn’t,” she argues. “You go back. Right now.”
I stare at her. “And do what?”
She blinks at me like the answer is obvious. “Kidnap him.”
I blink. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not joking,” she says, completely serious. “You go back, you tie him up, and you explain—very calmly—that you’re not leaving.”
I stare at her.
“…And you wonder why you almost had a restraining order against you.”
Callie pauses. “Two, actually.”
I blink. “Two?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “The first one doesn’t count.”
“Callie.”
“I junk punched Anthony for what he did to you,” she says simply. “He said he was going to file one but never did.”
The silence between us is heavy.
“That one doesn’t count,” she repeats, softer now.
“No,” I say quietly. “It doesn’t.”
A beat passes.
I press my lips together. “I’m not kidnapping Drew.”
“You’re being very inflexible about this.”
“I’m being rational.”
“Rational is overrated. And boring.”
“Rational keeps people out of jail.”
She waves a hand. “Debatable.”
I shake my head, a small breath of laughter slipping out despite everything.
There she is.
The queen of chaos.
The grounding force disguised as a problem.
Callie watches me carefully now.
“You really like him,” she says.
“I love him.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
The room goes still.
Callie blinks... then slowly smiles.
“I think I always have. Since that first day.”
She studies me for a second longer.
Then nods once. “He’s not going anywhere.”
I let out a quiet breath. “Yes, he is. I let him go. And now—"
Callie leans forward. “You gave him space,” she corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “Because if he’s as smart as you think he is, he’ll come back.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Callie’s smile sharpens. “Then we revisit the kidnapping plan.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue. Because a part of me doesn't hate the idea.
I know exactly how I’d do it.
I could drive back to his house right now.
I’d use the spare key I copied.
But the thoughts halt as the realization hits me.
Love isn’t stopping him from leaving.
It’s trusting he’ll come back.
And trusting anyone has never come naturally to me.
Callie settles back against the couch, picking up her phone again like the crisis has been resolved.
I sit there for a moment longer, letting the weight of everything settle.
“He just needs time,” I say softly.
Callie hums. “Or he needs you to stop giving him the illusion that leaving is an option.”
I glance at her.
She doesn’t look up from her phone, but she means it.
I lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Giving him space is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I’m choosing to believe he’ll come back.