18. Chord
eighteen
Chord
68 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, and glare down the hallway at Violet’s almost-closed bedroom door. She’s been in there for an hour getting ready for her night out with Daisy, and I’ve been searching for an excuse to go with them. The Slippery Tipple is a dive bar with great beer, good music, sticky floors, and a questionable crowd, but it’s the only place close enough to Silver Leaf to dance and get drunk and still find a way home at two in the morning. It’s owned and run by a woman named Mona Golightly—my mom’s best friend when she was still alive and as good as an aunt to me and my siblings—but that doesn’t help me right now. I’m too pissed at the idea of Violet moving her body on a hot, dark dance floor, lit by the glow of the kitsch signs, tipsy and flushed and gorgeous, another man pressed against her.
I crack my knuckles on my left hand, then my right, and scowl at her door.
It’s been two days since our conversation in the pool, and I can’t get it out of my head. I asked a question without much hope of getting an answer, but Violet shared some big things—and part of me wishes she hadn’t.
She gave up on her dreams. No. She gave up on herself , and it makes me so fucking mad.
I’m halfway up the hall with no idea what I’m supposed to do when a blast of music sounds from behind her door. There’s a squeal before the sound cuts out, and I knock before I can stop myself.
“Come in?”
My lips tip up at the way she phrases it like a question.
My eyes land on her immediately, and I blink away the memory of her standing in that exact spot, wearing nothing but her pretty blue panties. It’s a small leap from there to the way her skin felt under my palms by the pool—slick with lotion, warm from the sun, so unbelievably soft.
This woman’s got no idea how she fucking tortures me.
“I’m sorry about the noise.” She picks up her phone and taps to silence the music before setting it on the desk face down. “I was listening with my headphones and didn’t realize the volume would be so loud on speaker mode.”
Her glasses are on the desk and her bare feet sink into the fluffy white carpet, but she’s still in the cut-off denims and old Van Halen tee she’s had on all day. I find the vintage rock shirts one more intriguing thing about her. Does she wear them ironically? Is she a genuine fan of their music? It seems like a good opportunity to find out.
“What are you listening to?”
She waves her hand toward her phone and feigns a casualness she obviously doesn’t feel. “It’s a random mix. I don’t know what they play at The Slippery Tipple, and I want to be prepared.”
“They play all different things. Country, easy rock, stuff you hear on the radio.” Then I narrow my eyes at her last comment. “Prepared for what?”
Violet drops her eyes. “Dancing,” she mumbles.
“Dancing?”
I hate the way she nods but doesn’t look up, so I close the distance between us and make it impossible to ignore me. When she still won’t look at me, I take her chin and lift her eyes to mine.
“Why are you embarrassed?”
Her chestnut eyes shift between mine as she searches for something. “Because I’m not sure what to do.”
My pretty little wallflower doesn’t know how to dance.
I reach around to pick up her phone, then hand it to her. She spares me a quizzical look before she unlocks it, and I take it back long enough to select a song and adjust the volume. When the first slow country notes sound from the speaker, I set the phone down and extend my hand.
“May I?”
I follow the tip of her tongue as it darts out to swipe her bottom lip, but after only a brief hesitation, Violet sets her hand on mine.
I’m acutely aware of my own heartbeat as I place my other hand on the small of her back. With a little pressure, Violet shifts closer the way I hoped she would. My breath grows short and shallow as I take note of the featherlight touches between us at my thighs, her hips, my chest, her breasts.
Violet presses her eyelids closed as her fingers tighten, then release in my hand, before she risks a shy look up at me and drops her eyes again.
“This is what you do,” I whisper.
I move in small rocking steps from side to side. Violet’s palm is warm, and her actions are stiff and self-conscious, but she follows my lead and stays on the beat. By the time we get to the chorus, the tension has melted from her arms, and she sinks effortlessly into our easy sway.
I dip my head to set my mouth at her ear. “You’re good at this.”
She looks up at me with a blush and a smile. “You make it easy.”
I turn us a little, angling our bodies so I can sweep my eyes over the room. Her sketchbook is open on the desk again, and her oversized felt board is covered in copies of the same dress.
After our conversation in the pool, I don’t think twice about raising the subject again. “You draw the same dress a lot.”
“Hm?” She glances over her shoulder at the board as she rocks against me, and I force myself to concentrate on her words instead of the heat of her body. “Oh, yes.”
She pauses, and I get the sense she’s contemplating how much she wants to share. I know if I keep silent long enough, she’ll rush to fill the void. I’m desperate to understand why she’s fixated on this particular design, so I’m a dick and say nothing.
“It’s my mother’s wedding dress,” she says finally. “Well, a version of it. I’ve played with the design a thousand times over the years, trying to change it just enough to make it feel like mine, but I can’t seem to get it right.”
“So, it’s your wedding dress?”
“Yes. No. Maybe?” She groans and forgets herself long enough to drop her forehead on my chest. My pulse jumps, but just when I’m about to turn my head and inhale the fragrance of her hair, she straightens with a sigh. “It’s the dress I imagine wearing if I had a different life. One where my mom stayed with me and my dad, and she gave me her gown because it meant something to our family. Hope and happiness. Contentment. Love.” Violet gives me a sideways smile, and her voice turns quiet. “But who knows if I’ll have that for myself?”
I cast an eye over the drawings as we sway together, noting that at least half of them have a groom’s tux sketched in black and white alongside the gown, but it’s the way she talks about her desires as if they’re ridiculous that fires the muscles in my jaw.
“It’s okay to want things for yourself. It’s okay to put yourself first sometimes.”
She shakes her head. “That’s a nice idea for some, but it’s not realistic for most people. That’s why they’re called dreams. They’re just pretty pictures in our heads. Things to distract us when real life becomes too hard—or too sad.”
I frown over her head, thinking about my hockey career. “Dreams come true all the time.”
“But at what cost?” she murmurs. “What would I need to give up to have the things I want?”
My frown deepens as I absently lead Violet in a small circle. What have I given up for the things I want? I’ve got no close friends. Never had a relationship last more than a year. I’ve got an incredible house that’s been empty since the day I built it, and even though I lived there for more than a decade, I’m not leaving behind anyone special in Calgary. My family might love me, but Charlie barely tolerates me, and everyone who matters in hockey thinks I’m a cold, arrogant asshole.
Is there any price I haven’t paid to be the best?
These aren’t things I let myself think about, let alone catalog like a shopping list, and I remind myself that this conversation is about Violet, not me. I hate the way she dismisses her desires like they’re not valid or worthy. Like she’s not worthy. And I’m going to change it.
I shift my hand higher up her back just so I can brush my fingertips over the indent of her spine. “How do you feel about the dancing now?”
She inhales sharply at my touch. “A little better,” she says breathily. “Thank you.”
“Good.”
Pressing her palm against my chest so she knows to keep it there, I let go of her hand and run my fingers up her arm. There are those goosebumps again, the same that erupted all over her body by the side of the pool. A pretty flush creeps above the neckline of her crew-neck tee, and I give her a tiny smile.
“I think making you blush might be my favorite thing to do, Wallflower.”
A little noise, almost a whimper, sounds in her throat, and I gaze down at her, willing her to raise her head. She does, her focus sliding up my chest to my collarbone to my eyes, her pupils dilating before her focus falls to rest on my mouth.
“Chord?”
“Mm?”
I lean in at the same time she does and swallow as her eyes drift shut. Our mouths move closer so slowly, but I don’t want to rush it. Closer… closer still… until her breath caresses my lips, and I let them part, ready to—
“Hello! Where is everyone?”
At the sound of Daisy shouting downstairs, Violet springs back and then spins away. I run a hand through my hair, confused and unbalanced. And unsatisfied.
My heart races, and I clear my throat to get Violet’s attention, but she doesn’t turn to look at me. With a tight, heavy stomach, I realize the moment has passed, and with my sister stomping around the house, there’s no way to save it now.
“I’ll tell Daisy you’re here,” I mutter before leaving the room.
I replay the almost-kiss as I pass my sister on the stairs, who’s lugging up an armful of clothes still attached to hangers, as well as a small suitcase. I scan them, consider carrying them up for her, and then decide not to. This tiny blonde party girl is the reason my mouth isn’t on Violet’s this very minute, so I’m not feeling particularly helpful.
“Violet’s in the last bedroom on the left,” I tell Daisy before slipping past her.
“Thanks, bro.”
I don’t know where I’m headed until I reach the gym, but all I do is step into the room, look around, and walk straight back out again. I head to the living room at the front of the house instead and sit on the sofa, where I have the best view of the front door. I don’t even know why I’m here other than I want to see Violet before she leaves. Get one last fix of her before I’m in this house all alone.
Something is sparking between us. Something alive and exciting and almost innocent. And after all of Violet’s talk about dreams and desires and the price she’d have to pay to chase them, I’m determined to show her that when it comes to me, there’s no cost attached to taking what she wants.