Chapter 45 Violet
VIOLET
After dancing until my feet literally can’t take another second on the floor, Jagger drives me to a burger place where we pick up some food before taking us to my apartment.
After eating, he kisses me goodnight and slips outside.
It feels weird not having him here, but sharing a room with June makes sleepovers a bit difficult.
June’s already asleep when I finally tiptoe into our bedroom and climb under the covers. I’m not sure how long I’m in bed when the loud thump of knuckles against wood echoes from the front door.
It’s so loud, I jolt upright, and June does the same.
“What was that?” she whisper-shouts.
The same pounding comes again.
“I have no idea.” Slowly, I slip out of bed and tiptoe down the hall.
“Should we call the cops?” June asks behind me.
I shake my head and wave her off, continuing toward the front door, my nerves thrumming with every footstep. Who the hell would be pounding on our door in the middle of the night? Peeking through the peephole, I feel my body slump in recognition.
Well, shit.
“Who is it?” June prods, her voice quivering in fear.
“It’s my, uh, no one.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction.
To lie. To cover for him. To pretend my sperm donor is no one but a stranger despite sharing his blood.
I shouldn’t be surprised he found out where I live.
Not that he’s much of a stalker or anything.
He probably only wants to beg me for some cash.
It wouldn’t be the first time, and since he no longer has free access to my room, it almost makes sense.
June reaches for her cell. “I’m calling the cops—”
“Don’t bother. I’ll get rid of him.”
“Violet, don’t—”
My hand hovers over the door knob, as I turn to her again.
Her bright blue gaze pleads with me. It only feeds my guilt.
I brought this to our doorstep. I brought him to our doorstep.
“Seriously, June, I’ve got this, okay?” Keeping the chain lock in place, I open the door a crack, more determined than ever to cut the cord with this man. “Can you be quiet?” I seethe.
“Quiet?” His labored laugh is tainted with cheap whiskey. It’s enough to make my eyes water. “You think I should be quiet?”
“If you don’t, my roommate’s calling the cops,” I inform him.
The mention of the police is enough to sober him, but only a little. “Open the door, Violet.”
“Yeah, not happening,” I tell him.
“Violet—”
“If you came here to say something, you can do it through the crack. How can I help you?”
“Help me?” He scoffs. “Since when have you done anything but be a pain in my fucking ass?”
I rub at the corner of my eye, too drained to contend with his bullshit tonight. Besides, it’s not like it’ll get me anywhere. “Is that it?” I ask. “Are we done now?”
“No, I’m not fucking done,” he snarls. “This is all your fault. All your fuckin’ fault.”
“Violet?” June whispers behind me.
I raise my hand behind my back, silently telling her to give me a second as I address my father again. “What are you talking about?”
“If you hadn’t started fucking one of the Hardens, they never would’ve stopped taking my bets.”
My molars grind, but I know any breath I use to defend myself or bicker over his lack of logic will be wasted.
Been there, done that. More times than I can count, if I’m being honest. Nope.
Now, all I am is tired. Keeping my foot pressed against the edge of the door just in case my idiot father decides to pull a fast one despite the chain lock, I announce, “You need to leave. Now.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!”
“If you don’t get out of here, the police are going to come and they’re going to arrest you for loitering on private property. And guess what, Virgil?” My upper lip curls in disgust. “I won’t bail you out.”
“The fuck you won’t!”
“No, really,” I grind out. “I won’t. I’m done, Dad. Okay? Go home. Sleep it off. And maybe get your head out of your ass, though I’m not holding my breath on that one. All I know is you have no reason to be here. Zero. So, go. Okay?” When I start to close the door, he slaps his hand against it.
“They’re gonna take the house, Violet” he seethes.
They? What is this man talking about?
My eyes thin as I take him in. Rumpled clothes. Unkempt hair. Add in the bloodshot eyes and the way he clings to the doorjamb like he’s on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic, and I can’t help but ask, “Did you take something harder than alcohol?”
“Morgan,” he spits. “They started taking bets under the table and—”
“What did you do?”
The man almost has the decency to look ashamed. Almost. He scratches his arm, and stares at the door. “You left me no choice.”
The pit in my stomach grows, swallowing my amazing night and turning into a black hole of resentment. I slam my hand against the wall so hard it burns, jarring him from his staring contest with a knot in the wood. “What. Did. You. Do?”
Body trembling, he insists, “It was a good bet—”
“Tell me you're joking.” My arms turn numb, and my tongue grows in my mouth. He mentioned the house. He said they were going to take it. But he can’t be serious. It’s not his to offer. Not legally. Not that underground betting rings care about legal technicalities, but still.
His expression twists in disdain. “Don’t speak to your father that way—”
“What father?” I say with a dejected laugh that makes me want to cry.
Hell, I’m so blindsided by his confession, I can’t even think straight, let alone take into consideration where I am or who might be watching our exchange.
Not anymore. Besides, I’m pretty sure this interaction is long past due.
With a deep breath, I let go of the words I’ve kept bottled inside of me for years.
“All you’ve ever done is take, take, take.
And when taking isn’t an option anymore, you do nothing but destroy, and I am tired of it!
” I shove my hair away from my face. “How could you put up the house? It’s not even yours. It’s under my name. Mine.”
“You think Morgan cares about that?” Shaking his head, he pulls out a small stack of folded papers from his second-hand coat pocket, then waves it at me. “You don’t sign over the house, I wind up in the ground. Do you understand me?”
I stare at the papers. Is he serious right now?
After everything he’s put me through? He honestly thinks I’d take the fall for another mistake of his?
Honestly, I’m offended he even came to that conclusion, let alone showed up on my doorstep, demanding I sign over something that doesn’t belong to him to pay for his mess.
“I don’t care!” I snap. “You ruin everything—”
“Here we go again, my kids blaming me for everything. You’re as worthless as your brother,” he spits.
Like a bucket of water has been tossed in my face, my lungs seize, and I stare at the man who donated his sperm to bring me into this world.
Brother? What brother? Wait. Am I hallucinating?
I misheard him. Obviously, the sips of champagne have gone to my head, and I’ll wake up in my bed tomorrow morning with a nasty hangover and no memory of tonight or this moment at all.
Because it’s the only logical conclusion as to what the hell I swear I just heard this man say.
Pressing my fingers to my temples, I draw slow circles.
But even then, I can’t help myself. The need for clarity.
For confirmation that I misheard him—my own flesh and blood—tell me something so deceitful that even after all the shit he’s done, all the shit he’s put me through, I can’t believe it. “W-what did you just say?”
“Sign the papers—”
“Tell me what you said,” I push. “Tell me or I shut the door and call the cops myself.”
His upper lip curls, his beady eyes nothing but thin slits. “I said you’re as worthless as your brother.”
My legs threaten to give out as I digest his words and lean against the doorjamb.
So, I was right. I’m not hallucinating. I didn’t mishear him. Didn’t jump to conclusions or misconstrue his meaning. I’m as worthless as my brother. As in…I have a brother. Why doesn’t it make me feel any better?
I shouldn’t be surprised. I always knew the odds of my dad being faithful to my mom were less than slim, but I never would’ve guessed, never would’ve actually considered the possibility of having a sibling.
A real life sibling. Not one I daydreamed about playing with when I was home alone and my mom was at work, or later, when my dad showed up and locked me in my room.
Yeah, I remember those moments like they were yesterday.
Someone to keep me company. To commiserate with.
To connect with. Resting my temple against the edge of the door, I whisper, “Did you just say I have a brother?”
With a huff of annoyance, he mutters, “Oh, so now she’s interested—”
“Tell me the truth,” I snap.
“Sign the papers.”
A fire roars inside of me. “Who is my brother?”
“They’re for the house,” he clarifies. “I need you to sign—”
“I’m not signing those papers. Now, tell me who my brother is—”
“If you don’t sign the papers, I’m not telling you a single fucking thing.”
“Tell me who my brother is!” I scream.
“Sign the fucking papers!”
“Violet!” June yells.
With a shaky breath, I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers turning white as they dig into the door knob.
It’s like my entire life is flashing in front of my eyes, and it’s all a lie.
All one big, freaking lie. How could he do this to me?
How could he do this to my mom? How could he keep something so monumental from everyone in his life?
I mean, I know I was basically the result of a one-night stand before he showed up years later, but…
how could he keep this from me? How could he… how could he not tell me?
A gentle hand touches my upper back. “Vi—”
“Everything’s fine.” Numbly, I wipe at my cheek and face my roommate fully. “I’ll fill you in as soon as I’m finished talking with my dad, okay? I just, uh, I need a minute.”