Chapter 13 Jude #2
Anyone who knows hockey would pick me as the actual hockey god, not Kane.
“Yo, Callahan!” Preston slams his shoulder against mine, then wraps an arm around me. “Who are you in the mood to fuck later tonight?”
A certain thorn in my side who keeps pissing me the fuck off.
No.
My usual fuck shouldn’t be dedicated to Violet, especially after what she texted. If I go see her, I might actually snap her neck for the insolence.
Though there haven’t been any fucks lately. I like to think that I could take my pick, but the truth is, I haven’t been enticed by any of the pretty girls around me.
Not since Kane took me to the shithole that is Stantonville and I saw Violet from the top of the roof.
It should be disturbing that I haven’t looked at any girls since then. I like to think it’s because I don’t really fuck as much as the other guys on the team and I can go celibate for a long time.
It definitely has nothing to do with those mystic blue eyes that keep appearing in my dreams lately.
I push Pres away. “Regis wants to see me.”
“Boo! Your dad can wait.”
“Julian said it was an emergency.”
He releases me with a roll of his eyes, then slides to Kane’s side. “We have one man down, so let’s have the best fun and rub it in his face later!”
I dress in record time. Then, on my way out, I slam my shoulder into Kane’s.
Hard.
He steps back, clutching his shoulder, his eyes wide.
“What the fuck was that for?” he bellows.
But I’m already walking out.
A few hours later, I’m not with Regis.
Yes, he keeps ‘insisting’ that I should go see him and if I don’t, there will be ‘consequences,’ but I’ve already suffered the worst of said consequences.
There’s nothing he could do that has the potential to hurt me anymore.
And yes, Julian blew up my phone like a clingy ex, showcasing his massive control-freak tendencies, but I ignored him.
The last time I had dinner with Regis was when Mom was alive. She tried her best to keep up the feeble appearances of a happy family. She held on to it with bloody fingers, and I played my role, not even clashing with my father so she wouldn’t frown or, worse, cry.
So now that she’s gone, I hope Regis will rot.
All alone in his big mansion.
So, no, I’m not with Regis or Julian. I’m standing in Violet’s tiny living room, where I can touch the ceiling if I reach up my arm.
And she’s sleeping.
Today was her day off at the bar. I know because I followed her around earlier, from a safe distance. She went to the movies with Dahlia and a kid—her coworker’s daughter.
Now, even I was wondering why the fuck I was sitting at the back of the movie theater while people were laughing at a cringe-fest animated movie.
Oh, right. Because the surge of adrenaline hadn’t left my veins, and I had to see her.
Strangle her for the Kane comment.
But I got distracted because she was laughing in a carefree way I’d never witnessed before.
During the entire movie, Violet would answer the kid’s whispered questions, feeding her popcorn, wiping her mouth, and doing a shit ton of other things that didn’t include watching the screen. Like checking her phone.
Twice.
Then the three of them went for dinner, and I was at the back again, ordering drinks and blending in with some tall motorcycle gang guys to avoid drawing attention to myself.
There are two things I noticed during that dinner. Dahlia is a chatterbox who doesn’t shut the fuck up, and Violet seems to smile from just listening to her talk. She even had this bright look on her face as if she was proud of her.
My highlight, however, was when Violet wiped some sauce from the kid’s chin and licked her fingers, her tongue peeking out the slightest bit.
I had a flashback of when she sucked on my finger. The sauce was blood, though.
I know I said there wouldn’t be a post-practice fuck, but my cock protested profusely after I merely saw her lips wrapped around her fingers.
Let’s just say I was so close to grabbing her by the throat and dragging her out of there so those lips could be around something a lot harder.
And bigger.
But the kid was asking for ice cream, so, of course, Violet got up and bought her some from a nearby ice cream truck. In front of which a creep kept close to her. So close, actually, that I’m pretty sure his limp erection brushed against her ass.
In pure Violet fashion, she tactfully backed away without any commotion, handing the ice cream to the grinning kid and walking back to Dahlia.
Did I pull the creep into an alley and bash his head against the wall? Maybe.
Listen, I’m a violent man. Someone touches what belongs to me, and I respond in the best way I know how. By inflicting pain.
Blame my father.
That’s what he taught me and Julian—aside from never believing in those silly things called feelings.
That’s been doing my brother’s train wreck of a marriage wonders, by the way, so I’m also a firm nonbeliever. I don’t know of a single happy marriage in my entourage.
At any rate, I don’t think Violet saw me, and if she did, she’s getting way better at wearing her favorite poker face, because she never once paid me any attention.
Not that I wanted her to. I was only there to observe because Mario needs a few more days to get back, and I don’t fully trust his replacement.
Violet bought the kid an expensive thirty-dollar doll.
And it is expensive in her financial clusterfuck, because she barely has any money in her account.
Yes, I checked. She’s constantly writing in the stupid journal that they’re always short on money and she wishes Dahlia would stop buying her unnecessary shit.
Patches for back pain—that’s what’s unnecessary in Violet fucking Winters’s book.
I’m glad Dahlia called her out on the doll after they dropped the kid off at her mom’s and made it back to their place. I was outside on the balcony. Sue me.
“Karly doesn’t really have toys, Dahl,” Violet said, giving her sister a glass of milk—seriously, what? “And Laura is really struggling.”
“You’re struggling, too,” Dahlia said what I was thinking.
“Yeah, but I’m not dealing with fighting an abusive ex in a child custody case. Besides, I never had any toys growing up, so I wanted to bring some happiness to Karly. That’s all.”
“Aw, Vi. All right, but don’t strain yourself, okay?”
“Okay.”
Liar.
Violet is the biggest fucking liar I’ve ever met.
I was ready to see what she wrote in her journal that night and if her true words would contradict what she said.
In the beginning, I started to read her journals to see what she actually thought, because Violet is an inward person who bottles everything inside. Then I wanted to see what she wrote about me.
There was nothing.
She only mentioned me there once—the day she recognized me from TV. Since then, she’s never talked about me again.
She probably thinks that if she ignores me hard enough, I’ll stop existing.
But she can’t possibly ignore what happened last night.
I waited patiently until Dahlia fucked off to her room, falling asleep in five minutes flat, snoring a bit, actually.
And then Violet scribbled in her journal for a while, worked on a piece of embroidery she’s been doing on and off for a few weeks, and then also went to sleep.
I waited until her breathing evened out and she fell into deep slumber, then I unlocked the balcony door and came in.
It was so easy, since, well, they live in a little-to-no-security area.
Violet’s asleep on the sofa, the sheet barely covering her plain beige pajamas. She dresses in such an unflattering way, and yet I can’t help but notice the stretch of her T-shirt over her perky breasts or the delicate curve of her throat.
She had a scarf on today, to hide the hickey on her neck.
My mark.
Mine.
A wave of something unfamiliar grabs hold of me, but I rip my gaze from her and take the journal from her backpack.
Today, she wrote about how it felt good to be out and about with Dahlia and Karly.
I run my finger along the last line.
Dahlia said I shouldn’t have bought the toy for little Karly, and maybe she’s right, but I simply wanted to be for her what no one was for me.
I turn to the previous page, but there’s a dot where her evening musings should be.
A fucking dot? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Am I…a dot?
I narrow my eyes on her. This fucking—
My plans to shake the fuck out of her dissipate when I see her trembling.
She brings her hands to her chest and bends her knees. I realize she’s making herself as small as possible as she balls herself into a fetal position, mumbling something unintelligible.
I lower my head toward her, and I still can’t make out what she’s saying.
But it’s clear she’s in pain, her teeth chattering, and sweat beading along her upper lip. I touch her arm and it’s tight. No one should be tight while they’re sleeping.
It’s as if she’s half awake, waiting for something to ambush her.
What are you afraid of? I think to myself as she tightens further, almost clenching her teeth.
Something about the whole scene sits wrong with me.
Maybe it’s because I don’t like the idea of my doll being afraid of anyone but me.
It has to be that.
Because when I feel her relaxing beneath my palm, I stay there until she’s no longer scared.
And it disturbs me. This…strange feeling that keeps drawing me toward her.
It’s not normal.
Or logical.
And I need to amputate her before she turns into a bigger problem.