Chapter Twenty Violet
Chapter Twenty
Violet
The morning after felt fragile, but wonderful. Even though I’d revealed my dark past to Grayson, I was happier than I’d ever been, like a wound I’d had my entire life was finally healing.
The memory of Grayson’s warmth beside me was a constant reminder that good things could happen in this world.
He’d left before I’d woken again, and maybe I’d dreamed it, but I swore I felt his lips on my temple as he kissed me goodbye.
The space where he’d been was still warm, and I clung to that until the sheets went cold and I finally forced myself up.
Work was waiting, as was Harper.
I felt like—as the cliché said—I was on cloud nine as I showered, dressed, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. And the entire time I was smiling. But as I passed the mirror, I looked at my reflection—and I was reminded that I wasn’t fooling anyone.
Pale face, lips raw from kissing, but eyes haunted with a fatigue that told me I was still very much hunted.
By the time I got to the coffee shop, Harper was already behind the counter, pouring shots of espresso into white ceramic mugs with the efficiency of someone who lived on caffeine.
She lifted her head in my direction, her mouth already parting to spit out the required greeting.
But when she saw me, she just smiled, a look of relief on her face.
The café was busy as hell, and she was swamped.
“You look like you didn’t sleep worth a shit last night.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her as I tucked my coat and bag under the counter and donned my apron. “Hey, thanks,” I said in a voice too chipper. “Good morning to you, too.”
She handed the cup to a customer without missing a beat, then gave me the full weight of her attention. “Seriously, Violet. You okay? The storm kept you up?”
Something kept me up all night, but it wasn’t the storm. My face heated as those thoughts played through my head.
I forced a smile, but it felt stretched too thin. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep much last night.” I wasn’t ready to tell her about Grayson. I wanted to keep him all to myself, like a perfect, happy secret no one else could touch.
She studied me a second longer, but the bell over the door chimed again, pulling her back into the rhythm of work.
The shift wore on as I went through the motions of steaming milk, pouring shots, and smiling when people expected me to.
But I didn’t feel like myself, like I was forcing things to be okay.
Because even though I was happy—happier than I’d ever been—part of me insisted it was all an illusion, and not to forget that the earth could swallow me whole at any moment.
It was the little things that were messing me up today. Like I’d be making a drink but forget which syrup to use. Or my hands trembled every time I touched the espresso handle.
Of course Harper noticed. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked in a low voice as she grabbed a tray of drinks for customers waiting at a table.
I forced a laugh. “Yeah. Just personal shit playing through my head, I guess. Not keeping it buried deep enough if it’s noticeable.”
Before she could press me, I carried a tray to a table of women surrounded by shopping bags. Not one to be deterred, Harper cornered me while the coffee shop thinned out. She leaned close, her perfume a mix of vanilla and something floral.
“You know you can talk to me, right?”
I nodded. “Of course. There’s just nothing to talk about.” I forced a smile.
Harper eyed me. “Okay. As long as you know that.” She gave me a genuine smile and turned to face the front of the café, but after a moment, I noticed a change in her body language. Her frame stiffened, and she leaned toward the glass.
“What is it?” I looked out the window but could see only the usual people walking up and down the sidewalk.
“There was a guy outside earlier. Standing across the street, just staring at the café.”
“What guy?” I tried to scan all the passersby, but didn’t notice anyone.
“He was just there, and I swore he was looking right at us even though I know he can’t see into the coffee shop that clearly.”
My entire body froze on the milk jug I held.
Her mouth pulled tight, and her eyes narrowed as she continued to stare across the street.
“There,” she said in an animated voice that was loud enough it drew the attention of several customers. “There he is.” She pointed to him. “See him? Tall. Shaved head. Dark jacket.”
I came to stand beside her, milk jug still in hand, my knuckles painfully tight over the handle. And then I saw him. He just stood there, staring at the café like he could see us. My chest tightened, and my pulse skyrocketed.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and even. I forced myself to turn away and set the jug down before I dropped it. “Probably waiting for someone.”
“Maybe,” she said idly. “But I’m not brushing this off just yet, because that guy is creepy as hell.”
Yeah, he was, and this wasn’t paranoia. His focus was too intensely trained at the café window for it to be anything other than what it was.
The Bleeding Ground was watching me—and making sure I knew it.
As the hours crawled by, I tried to put the man across the street out of my head and focus on what made me happy. Grayson. Customers came and went, but I couldn’t remember faces. Only the sound of the bell ringing like an alarm every time it was jostled.
It was halfway through the afternoon, my hands trembling off and on throughout the day as my nerves became even more frayed.
I grabbed a cup, but it slid out of my hand, the ceramic shattering on the wooden floor.
I hissed and yanked my hand back as coffee splashed on my skin, but the burn wasn’t what shook me—it was how badly I shivered as I cleaned it up.
“Hey, girlie. You’re a mess,” Harper teased, bringing me a cool cloth.
I wanted to tell her what was wrong . . . what was really happening in town. God, I wanted to unload it all to her, too, feeling close enough to Harper to trust her like I trusted Grayson. But the words stayed buried.
“Thanks,” I said softly and cleaned up my mess. I felt her eyes tracking me the rest of the shift.
When closing time came, relief crashed over me. After the last customer left, I started cleaning off the counters, and sweeping and mopping the floors as Harper counted the till and squared everything away.
“You’ve been somewhere else all day,” she said while pulling bills out of the register. Harper’s tone was light and easygoing, but I heard the actual intent laced underneath.
I laughed softly, but it wasn’t real. “I know.” I had to give her something, or I knew she’d keep pressing—like a genuine friend. “I met someone. That’s where my mind has been all day.”
She closed the drawer with a snap. “I knew it!” Harper’s grin widened the moment the words left my mouth. The satisfaction in her expression was almost smug, like she’d been waiting for me to break.
“I knew it,” she said again, wagging a finger at me like she’d just solved some great mystery. “No one walks around looking like a zombie and smiling at the same time unless they’re possessed or getting laid.”
Heat crept up my neck and I rolled my eyes, trying to laugh it off, but my face betrayed me.
She barked out a laugh, sharp and knowing.
Then her tone softened, and she leaned her hip against the counter.
Her arms crossed, her gaze steadier now.
“Okay, jokes aside. Good, Violet. I’m glad you’ve got someone.
I can see you carry around a heaviness, even when you try to hide it.
If this guy’s helping take that weight off, even a little, then I’m all for him being in your life. ”
The genuine empathy in her voice caught me off guard. For a second I couldn’t speak—it was easier to deal with Harper’s sarcasm than this.
She smirked, eyes narrowing like she was thinking something over that was of the utmost importance. “But if he breaks your heart, Violet, I’ll kick him in the balls.”
I laughed then, a real one this time, because that sounded like something Harper would happily do. And for a moment, all of this almost felt normal.
We chatted for a bit before locking up. It hadn’t rained all day, which had brought out a lot of customers. The air was still and thick and held an in-between quiet that was almost peaceful.
“Want me to walk you?” Harper asked.
I shook my head, adjusting the strap of my bag. “Thanks, but you’re in the opposite direction and have farther to go. I’ll be fine.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but she let it go. “Text me when you’re home?”
“I will.”
After we said goodbye, I slipped my phone out and sent a text to Grayson, letting him know I was heading home. My stomach clenched when the dots appeared almost immediately.
Me: Heading home now.
Grayson: I’m still stuck at the station. Wish I was with you.
Me: Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.
Grayson: Text me the second you’re inside. I pulled some strings and got an officer from the station—he should be pulling up to the café any minute to walk you home. Wait for him, okay? Humor me.
I had to smile at the last part. You’ve been humored, I texted back, and laughed at myself. Part of me hated feeling like a burden, but another part needed that layer of protection. I pocketed my phone, gathered my things, and stepped outside to wait under the awning.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. I kept checking the street, expecting the familiar black-and-white to roll up any second. Nothing. Another text from Grayson popped up.
Grayson: Everything okay?
I answered with a quick thumbs-up, not wanting to worry him. The café was closed, and I couldn’t stay on the patio all night.
I’ll be fine, I told myself. It’s only six blocks.
I pulled my hood up against the chill in the air and started walking, faster than usual, eyes darting to every shadow.
By the time I hit the corner of my block, my pulse was hammering so hard I almost didn’t hear the faint squeal of tires a street behind me.
The patrol car must have finally arrived, but it was too late. I was almost home.
Then I froze. It wasn’t the police.
The SUV. Parked where it had been before. Headlights dimmed. Engine purring. Same Ohio plates hidden under that tinted cover. My chest tightened until breathing felt impossible.
Don’t run. Don’t show fear.
I forced myself to keep walking, every muscle taut.
Out of the corner of my eye, movement flickered—broad shoulders, shaved head, a man stepping out from behind the SUV.
The world narrowed to the pounding of my heart.
My steps faltered, and I felt like I was going to pass out. Was this the moment they took me?
I fumbled with trying to get my cell to call Grayson.
But then the low rumble of an engine cut through the quiet.
I startled, but it wasn’t the SUV this time.
A police cruiser turned onto the block, its headlights sweeping across the pavement.
The red-and-blue bar across the roof stayed dark, but the sheer presence of the vehicle carried weight. Authority. Warning.
It rolled slowly past, tires crunching over gravel at the curb, and for a split second I thought maybe it was coincidence—just a patrol making rounds.
Faster than I could fathom, the bald-headed man got in the SUV and drove off, disappearing down the street and around the corner. The cruiser eased to a stop at the corner, and as I passed it, through the windshield the officer lifted his hand and gave a slight wave.
I finally allowed myself to breathe. By the time I reached my door, sweat slicked my palms. My keys slipped once before I jammed them into the lock. Inside, I shut the door, slid the bolt, fastened the chain, and pressed my back to the wood.
The silence swallowed me whole. And then my phone buzzed again.
Grayson: Home safe and sound?
I typed back with shaking fingers: Yeah. I’m home.
A pause. Then his reply:
Grayson: Good. Lock everything. I’ll be there as soon as I can. The officer will stay outside until I get there.
I closed my eyes and pressed the phone to my chest, trying to let the steadiness of his words drown out the chaos inside my head. Letting the thought of Grayson be an anchor in this darkness.