Chapter 2
two
. . .
Rowan
Violet’s more beautiful than I remember, and that’s saying something because I remember everything.
The blonde hair that used to fall down her back in messy waves is piled on top of her head now, but a few strands have slipped free, curling around her neck.
Her eyes—still that impossible green—get me every damn time.
I used to catch myself staring when she wasn’t looking, convinced no one could have eyes that color naturally.
She’d laugh when she was nervous, tuck her hair behind her ear, and look anywhere but at me.
Now she’s all grown up, but I can see the flicker in her jaw. She’s rattled. Trying to keep it together, but I can tell.
I know her.
I know the way her bottom lip pulls in when she’s overthinking.
How her fingers twitch when she’s about to lose it.
She’s doing it now, busying herself with supplies like she needs to be doing something, anything, to avoid looking at me for too long, because if she does, it might undo her completely.
Which is more than fair because I’m already halfway gone just standing in this room with her. She has no idea I’ve been carrying her around with me since the day I walked away.
And when I said her name… That damn near did me in.
Her eyes snapped to mine like she’d been holding her breath for six years straight. Fuck, I missed that look. I missed her.
I blink, and she’s seventeen again.
We were sitting on the hood of my rusted-out Chevy in the school parking lot. Violet was beside me, legs tucked up under her, notebook open in her lap. She was always scribbling something.
She was talking—something about a test. I didn’t catch all of it because I was too busy admiring the sound of her voice and the scent of lavender that always seemed to cling to her.
She turned to me that afternoon with a slow smile. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”
I wasn’t. I never could when she was that close to me, looking so completely at ease, as if the world couldn’t get to us while we were up there.
She didn’t know how bright she was. She wasn’t—still isn’t—just the kind of pretty that turned heads. It was the way she moved through the world like it was still worth believing in. Like people were still worth the effort.
Like nothing had ever tried to break her.
I used to watch her and wonder how that was possible.
Especially when everything around me had teeth.
The trailer park walls were so thin I could hear the neighbors screaming through them.
Not to mention the nights that smelled like stale beer and something burnt, something angry.
My old man always slumped in a chair, eyes glassy, temper sitting just under his skin, waiting for a reason.
I learned at a young age how to keep my head down, take a hit, and not swing back unless I had to.
Still ended up with busted knuckles more often than not.
Wrong place. Wrong people. Wrong life.
And then there was Violet. She didn’t belong anywhere near my bullshit.
That was the first thing I knew about her. Before I ever let myself think about the way her laugh caught me off guard or how her eyes lit up when she talked about anything and everything.
She was light, and I knew better than to reach for it.
You don’t take something clean and drag it through the dirt you come from. You sit close enough to feel it, yeah. You memorize it when she’s not looking. The way her nose scrunches when she’s annoyed, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous.
And then you walk away before you do something stupid like kiss her and make her think you’re a future instead of a mistake.
She had dreams. I had a dad who couldn’t stay sober long enough to remember what day it was. A sister who overdosed the same week she got her acceptance letter to college. A mom who packed a bag one night and never looked back.
So I kept my hands to myself.
But I loved her. God, did I love her.
I still do.
It’s not faded or dulled by time. If anything, it’s settled deeper. Like something that never healed right and aches when the weather shifts.
“Rowan?”
Violet clears her throat, pulling me out of my memories and back to the present. “Where did you find her?”
I drag my hand down the dog. All ribs and matted fur, eyes too big for her face but still hopeful. “Side of the road a few miles back. Nearly hit her with my truck.”
Violet leans over the table, her hands gentle as she checks over the canine. She doesn’t look at me. “She’s lucky you found her,” she says quietly. Then, after a beat, and still not meeting my eyes, she asks, “How did you know I was here?”
She turns away before I can answer, reaching for a bowl and filling it with water like it’s the most important thing in the room.
“You really wanna know how I knew?”
She says nothing. There’s only the steady rush of the faucet.
“Because I know everything about you, Violet.” My voice drops, quieter now. “Always have.”
I hear it the second it leaves my mouth. That was too much. Sounds like something it’s not.
My best friend, Beau, is the reason I know anything at all anymore. It wasn’t intentional at first. I didn’t leave here and make a habit out of checking in on her like that. Beau and I just never lost touch.
We’d talk every now and then, catch up on work, life, whatever came up. Somewhere in the middle of it, her name would slip in. Lily Ridge isn’t a big place, and it turns out that Violet never went far. Beau told me she went away for college and ended up working right back here in this town.
The only thing he wouldn’t ever tell me was if she was seeing anyone. Told me it wasn’t his place, and he was right.
I drag a hand over the back of my neck, exhaling slowly. “I haven’t been…stalking you or anything,” I add, the corner of my mouth twitching without humor. “Before you go thinking I’ve been lurking in the bushes or something.”
That almost gets her.
Almost.
She spins around, her head tilting a fraction, like she’s debating whether she wants to be annoyed or just done with me entirely.
I shift my weight, boots scuffing against the floor. “Beau. I’d check in,” I admit. “Not…all the time. Just…”
When I couldn’t help it.
When the quiet got too loud.
When I caught myself wondering if she made it out the way she was supposed to.
My jaw tightens and I force myself to keep going. “I wanted to know you were okay. And I always knew you’d end up somewhere like this, with your hands on something broken, trying to put it back together. That’s just who you are.”
Her eyes catch fire with that same stubborn light that used to spark when we were fifteen and furious that the world wasn’t fair. That storm behind her green eyes tells me everything I need to know.
She’s looking at me like I’m a memory that showed up where it shouldn’t have.
“It’s been six years, Rowan.”
Six years, eight months, and eleven days, but who’s counting? Not me.
“Violet…” I take a step closer, the distance between us stretching wider the nearer I get. “I’m sorry.”
She exhales, a soft, shaky sound that hits me hard. Her shoulders tremble for just a second, then she forces herself still.
“Sorry?” she repeats. “I kept waiting for a letter. A call. A text. But nothing ever came.”
I open my mouth, ready to tell her I’m not the same kid who left without a word. That I’ve spent six years building a life I thought might make me worthy of standing in front of her again.
Then she turns, and whatever speech I had lined up dies in my throat.
Her eyes meet mine, and I’m expecting to see anger there…but no. It’s so much worse.
What I find looking back at me is pain. The hurt sits there, exposed, and for a second I see myself reflected in it.
She doesn’t let me sit with it for long, though. Her gaze drops away, and she shifts her focus to the dog. Her hand moves slowly over its matted fur. “Let’s just worry about getting this one fixed up right now.”
I nod, not sure what else to do. My eyes stay on her as she works, watching the way her hands move with such careful attention.
She’s always been like this—tender, even with the things no one else wanted.
I remember the strays that would follow her around town, the ones no one else bothered with, because they knew a soft touch when they saw one.
They trusted her, and she’s still got that same magical ability to heal, to fix the things no one else could.
I’m still not good enough for her, but leaving her behind didn’t fix that the first time.