Chapter 30 Jude
JUDE
“If you hurt Vi, I’m going to fight you.”
I raise a brow at Dahlia. Her hand shakes a bit as she hikes it on her hip, but she still doesn’t break eye contact.
She has balls—I’ll give her that. She wouldn’t have caught Kane’s attention if she didn’t.
But she’ll accidentally get herself killed if she doesn’t watch it. The only reason I never officially put her on my shit list is because Violet considers this girl her only family.
“Am I supposed to be scared now?” I ask.
“Yeah, because—”
“She has me.” Kane wraps an arm around her shoulders, pressing her to his side.
She grins, lifting her chin. “Yeah, him. He can definitely fight on my behalf.”
“What is this? The Middle Ages?” I hold his gaze. “Besides, you have way too much trust in someone who wouldn’t beat me in a lifetime.”
“Want to bet?” Kane squares his shoulders, preening like a fucking peacock in front of his girlfriend.
It’s foolishly working, because Dahlia won’t stop smiling, seeming completely taken with his ‘protective ways.’
Honestly, Dahlia isn’t that bad—she’s loyal and protective, and she was the one who fought for Violet when I wasn’t around.
My gaze strays to Violet, who’s putting the dishes on the table in her apartment with Preston’s help. Or more like—he’s eating from all the plates like a fucking rat, but Violet isn’t angry or disapproving, for that matter. If anything, she just smiles at him and shakes her head.
I don’t think she even smiles at me that freely. And if she does, it’s few and far between.
Unlike Dahlia, who’s currently sucking Kane’s face, Violet isn’t comfortable with PDA, and if I force her into it, she just retreats into her shell, so I stopped doing it.
She’s been making so much progress in therapy, and I don’t want to be a negative influence.
I also stopped trying to separate her from the pest that is Preston, because it’s extremely rare for her to be this relaxed around anyone but Dahlia.
I still walk up to him and hit him upside the head, though, and he nearly chokes on a bite of cucumber.
“The fuck was that for?” He tries to kick me, but I dodge it at the last second.
“Stop being a nuisance.” I grab him by the nape. “She spent the whole afternoon cooking, so the least you can do is wait until dinner is served.”
“Well, I was helping!” Preston objects.
“By being a pain in the ass?”
“Veee.” Preston shrugs me off and walks to her side. “Jude is being mean.”
She smiles, but it falters when her eyes meet mine, the blue deepening until it resembles an ocean before she looks away.
My fist clenches.
Ever since I fucked her on the hill last week, she’s been…guarded?
No, she’s always been guarded around me. But this is different, taking it a step further.
As if she’s hiding something.
Which is ridiculous. I like to think that I know Violet inside out, but she often proves that she runs deeper than I think.
“I helped, didn’t I?” Preston asks while removing invisible dust from the table. “All this food couldn’t have been made without my good vibes.”
“I’m the one who actually helped,” Kane interjects as he and Dahlia bring more dishes to the table.
“Fuck off. No one asked you.” He grins down at Violet. “Right, Vee? Without me, this dinner wouldn’t happen.”
“True,” she says. “You suggested that I should host.”
“I brought it up, too.” Dahlia wraps her arms around Violet. “I’m jealous someone other than me will get to taste your food.”
“Hmph. You’re not that special, Diana.” Pres flicks her on the forehead, and Kane twists his arm.
Preston yells and protests while Dahlia waggles her brows at him.
As the three of them bicker, Violet walks up to me with a smile.
She doesn’t have the glasses on, her face looking brighter, more glowy, and her eyes spark gently.
And today, she’s dressed in a soft-blue cardigan and a light blue knit skirt that stops just beneath her knees. I’ve noticed she’s more comfortable wearing skirts and dresses lately.
While jeans and oversized hoodies are still her go-to, she sometimes dresses like this, and I love the light in her eyes when she does.
The confidence.
The way she’s growing into herself after over a decade of believing she’s worthless.
Even her journals are now more positive, filled with notes from her sessions with her therapist that she ‘loves to death’ and ‘feels lucky to have.’
She also includes childhood memories that she reflects on differently, having stopped the blame shifting and now trying to heal through finding closure.
She’s been…a force of nature lately. The fucking sun I’m orbiting around whether I like it or not.
Violet stops in front of me, her hand extending toward me before she lets it fall back down. “Are you still mad about this dinner idea?”
“I’m not mad. But as you can see, it’s a shitshow.” I wrap an arm around her waist because, apparently, I have to touch her.
I can’t be near her without this overwhelming need to keep her close. Shield her.
Make sure no one messes with her.
Not even me.
And even that is…not plausible. Since when did I stop wanting to mess with her?
I have no clue about the reasons, and I’ve stopped trying to figure it out.
Lucia hates me because I’ve been overworking her ever since Violet was attacked in the parking lot. We have little to no evidence to go on, and the surveillance cameras didn’t provide us with any clues except that the assailant was on a motorcycle.
I’ve spent hours watching that footage—mainly because I couldn’t get Violet’s frightened expression out of my head, and I hated that I couldn’t be there for her.
For hours on end, I keep watching the way she was shaking while escaping between the cars or the frightened expression on her face when he pointed the gun at her.
She didn’t want to die.
For someone with a shit ton of suicidal ideations, she truly didn’t want to die from the moment she had a gun pointed at her head.
I don’t know who the fuck wants her dead, but they’ll pay for making her feel that way.
Even if it’s Julian or Regis.
Especially if it’s Regis—I’ve been itching to bring down that man all these years.
“I’ve always wanted to cook for this many people. It brings me joy.” Violet pauses. “I made you lasagna, too.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is it only for me, though?”
“Come on, don’t make that face. You look so handsome when you smile instead. Besides, this is so much fun.” Violet’s hand lands on my chest, and I can’t resist the hum that ripples through me.
Jesus fuck.
Her softness has always been my undoing.
She touches me so gently that I’m ready to murder my entire bloodline for her.
This ailment needs to be studied.
“Preston’s antics are anything but fun,” I grunt out in my usual closed-off tone.
“I heard that.” He pauses his bickering with Dahlia. “And stop being jealous. Doesn’t look good on you, big man.”
Violet vibrates with laughter in my arms.
I lift a brow. “He’s not that funny.”
“I just find it endearing.”
“You find what endearing?”
“The relationship between you guys.” She lifts her hand to my face, then drops it back down, still seeming to think twice about her actions around me. “Even though we come from different worlds, I feel like you guys bonded over harsh circumstances just like Dahlia and I did.”
“Dahlia doesn’t push her luck like that little motherfucker Preston.”
“Heard that, too! Want a fight, big man?”
I’m about to pummel him against the wall, but Violet clenches her fingers in my T-shirt, her manicured nails digging into my muscles. “Please don’t fight.”
My eyes narrow. “That’s what I do, though. Fight. Punch. Kill. You know that. If you have any fantasies about fixing me, it’s better to abandon them.”
Her smile falters a bit. “It’s not that…”
She trails off as Dahlia approaches to interrupt the moment, dragging Violet to the table.
All of them are a damn nuisance tonight.
I’d prefer it be just the two of us watching some TV or talking about school. But no, Violet wanted to invite ‘the important people in our lives’ on this fine Sunday.
Dinner is loud and obnoxious, mostly due to Preston and Dahlia—who refuses to let him have the last say in anything.
My mood is split between being annoyed at all of these people stealing Violet’s attention from me and being apprehensive at Preston’s state.
He seems hyper and cheerful, but he also has a bruise the size of fucking Texas on his side. I saw it earlier when he was changing in the guest room. He said he got it in practice, but no puck would form that kind of bruise.
He’s lying.
Preston never lies to me.
The fact that he did is the reddest flag of all flags.
I need to get to the bottom of this before he does something stupid. He’s been whining more and more about his dad lately, which is bothersome in and of itself because he does dangerous shit to get his dad’s attention.
“This is truly amazing, Violet,” Kane says after sipping the soup.
“Aw, thanks.” She blushes. She fucking blushes at Kane’s remark?
What. The. Fuck?
Kane smiles. “I mean it. I need the recipe.”
“See?” Dahlia says smugly, pausing her nonsensical fight with Preston. “I told you Vi was the best cook ever.”
Kane raises a brow. “I thought I was the best cook ever.”
She keeps her thumb and forefinger slightly apart. “You’re just a teeny-tiny bit behind her.”
“Now, I’m offended.”
Dahlia strokes his cheek, and Violet smiles at the cheesy-as-fuck scene as I stab my fork into the lasagna.
Her gaze slides toward me…expectantly? No, it’s something else.
“What do you think?” she asks in a small voice.
“It’s amazing!” Preston cuts me off before I can even say anything. “I’ll be having dinner here regularly.”
“I’ll cut your throat,” I warn.
“Boo. Who will you bond with over mommy issues once I’m gone?”
I narrow my eyes, and he just grins.
I think I catch a glimpse of Violet studying me intently.
No fucking clue what Preston has been telling her about me, but I often catch her watching me with this sympathetic edge.
And it pisses me off.
I don’t need her to feel sorry for me.