Chapter 18
Eighteen
RYLAN
I walk down the hallway toward the bedrooms, trying to ignore the sinking of my stomach at the reality sitting in front of me. This match is falling apart, and it hasn’t even been a week. She isn’t even living here yet. Dominic’s door is closed, but I know he’s not inside. The small Maserati was gone when we got home from Sunday’s performance. He’d timed coming back so that he wouldn’t run into either of us.
I blow out a breath and shake the thought from my mind. Dominic isn’t the biggest problem right now, and certainly not one that I have any hope of trying to fix. When Dominic and I disagree, we just end up fighting. And the last thing I feel like dealing with right now is a fucking split lip.
Jasper’s door is ajar, but I still knock on the threshold, not wanting to intrude if he’s intent on being alone today. He’s dressed in just a pair of sweats that have me immediately distracted. His eyes are tired, though, dark circles under them. The urge to calm him overwhelms me, and I palm his neck. His breath hitches as I run my nose over his jaw and down his throat, biting the soft spot where his shoulder meets his neck. Right where Liz’s bond mark was last night.
Fuck, thinking about bond marks is not a good idea right now.
Jasper’s dick hardens against me, and it twitches as I bite him again.
“What happened?” I ask when I pull away.
He sighs and runs a shaking hand through his hair.
“I tried to bring up Seattle so we could at least… I don’t know. Be on the same page, maybe? I was scared to do it privately. I thought asking her at the bar would be better.”
His body trembles under my touch, and not in the good way. I run my lips over his collarbone, trying to distract him. After a minute, he sighs.
“She ran into the bathroom. Like when I tried to bring up that blowjob I gave you when you were angry in the fall.”
I grunt. Not my best fucking moment. He’d been trying to gauge where we stood after he sucked me off, acting on instinct when I’d been so angry over the hickeys Dominic had left on his throat the night before. And instead of actually having a conversation like a 28-year-old man, I had hid in my room like a fucking terrified teenager.
“She looked…” His throat ripples with a swallow, and I urge him farther inside. “She was fucking terrified of me, Rylan. Why would she be scared of me ? Unless she thought I was going to rip into her over how she left me?”
I take his hand, pulling my lips away from his skin. I guide him to his bed, sitting against his headboard, and bringing him to kneel between my bent legs. He rests his hands on my knees, his dick tenting his sweats, but I stay focused on his face. For now, at least.
“I think there’s something wrong with what happened between you,” I say, trying to come up with a decent way to tell him my suspicions.
Jasper drops his hands and backs away from me. I grab his wrist before he can get all the way off the bed.
“I would never lie to you,” he growls, trying to rip out of my hold.
“I didn’t say you did, Jas,” I murmur, trying to pull him toward me again. “I’m saying that I think there might be discrepancies between what you remember and what she remembers.”
He pauses and swallows again. “What do you mean? Like she thinks something different happened between us?” When I nod, he grunts. “What did she say to you?”
Pulling him toward me, I shake my head. “Just nonverbal clues, mostly. Nothing I could really put into words.”
I don’t divulge what she said at the coffee house. For all I know, I’m reading too far between the lines and am fucking this up more than it already is.
“And I’m not saying that you have to fix it or anything. Just that maybe…” I blow out a breath. “Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe see about just trying to be around her. Maybe she’ll bring something up if you don’t push her too hard.”
That was something I’d definitely noticed. She got spooked real quick. Her hackles raised at the slightest mention of her potentially being the problem in any situation, even when it was clear that she wasn’t at all what was wrong.
Jasper sighs, kissing me. “All right. I’ll try again. But if it’s bad…”
I nod and pull him over me, letting his body drape over mine. “I’ll figure out where the fuck Dominic is hiding, and we can see about changing things.”
JASPER
A redheaded woman opens the door of the unassuming dorm room. Her green eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed, making her freckles blend into her skin just a bit. The radiant smile brightening her face drains away as she looks me over. I tighten my grip on the flowers Bianca had dropped by the house earlier today, fresh from her favorite florist at my request. Best to have an item to justify dropping by unannounced. She’d also brought along a confirmation that Dominic was still alive and had been helping his dad out with some things regarding the business.
My stomach twists again at the thought of him going back to his father and the mafia. Did that mean he meant to dissolve our standing as a pack with the Council?
“Oh,” the woman murmurs, pulling me from the morose thought. She glances at her phone and says, “I have to go. I’m so sorry.”
“No worries, Red.” The warm male voice is practically a croon, the power of an Alpha’s soothing washing over me without finding anywhere to really stick. The memory of the selfie on Violet’s Instagram flashes through me, both her and this woman dressed for the matching gala. She must have been on the phone with one of her matched Alphas.
Shit, I should have sent a text or something instead of just showing up, even if it meant her cussing me out.
The woman locks the screen of her phone and purses her lips.
“I’m—”
“She’s not here,” she says without preamble, cutting me off as she crosses her arms.
Rylan had made sure she wasn’t working today. Worry twists my stomach. I blow out a breath, reminding myself that I’ve handled scarier people with better composure than this. Of course, I hadn’t been chest deep in unresolved heartache and one bad fight away from my relationship falling apart. Was it even considered a fight if the other party never bothered to show back up? A lump forms in my throat.
Even still. I could do better than this. I swallow down the lump.
“My pack mate told me she would be.” I keep my voice level, not letting any of my confusion and anguish weave through it.
One brow rises as silence stretches between us, her face incredibly impassive compared to all the photos I’ve seen of her on Violet’s social media. There’s nothing of the carefree college student standing before me. She looks like she's ready to go to battle.
I try again. “I brought her these. May I at least be here to give them to her?”
She looks me over again, her eyes catching on the large bouquet in my hand. “You broke her heart, you know that?” The words are stark, and they hit me just as solidly as a punch. “Twice.”
“N-no,” I say, trying to figure out when I had hurt Violet. “I was under the long-standing impression that she broke mine, actually.”
She frowns and cocks a hip. “So you didn’t tell your pack mate that matching with her would be the absolute worst thing to happen?”
I flinch. She had heard that? She’d disappeared into the crowd before I ever got close to Rylan that night. How had she been able to hear what I said to him?
"I'd rather talk to her about it than use a messenger," I say.
A long moment passes, and I clutch the flowers tighter, willing myself to stay still under her scrutiny. Just as I'm about to give up and try again later, she nods once and moves away from the door. She doesn't say anything as I step over the threshold. I take in the space, trying to absorb as much of it as possible, try to see the Violet I knew in Seattle anywhere in its furnishings. There's a couple of small pillows on the simple gray couch and a basket full of throw blankets, most either pink or blue. The walls are filled with framed landscape photos. Sunsets and snow storms and even one of the last time it rained in LA, the droplets on the lens distorting the Santa Monica pier that's as famous as anything else in the city except maybe Hollywood itself. They're beautiful and nothing of what I would expect of somewhere Violet lives.
My gaze catches on a group of photos hanging behind the lounge chair in the corner beside the window.
Violet's roommate crosses the small living room and opens the door on the wall to the right.
I stride across the room so I can take the pictures in better. They're nearly identical, though small things change in each one, and I realize they're a timeline of sorts, each picture from a different year. I focus on the one I think is newest, the redhead's hair nearly as long as it is now. Each detail of it slices across my chest until I struggle to breathe around the pain. Violet stands with her arm around her roommate's waist, their heads pressed together as they laugh. Around them, people mill about, boxes and bags and furniture being carried. The focus of the picture is perfect, the edges blurring so that the women are the sole focus, as if it's a memory plucked from someone's mind and then printed on the page.
I drink in Violet. At first glance, there's nothing left of the girl I loved to the point of my own heart shattering. Her eyes are flinty despite her laughter, and her ears are pierced multiple times. She wears a necklace, multiple gold chains of varying widths and lengths without a pendant. The careful skirts and dresses she'd always worn to appease her mother are gone. Instead, she wears cut off jeans and fishnets, black boots, and a band tee of some kind, though I don't recognize the artwork of the album. It looks like something Rylan would enjoy, though. It’s so similar to the picture the Council had given us, except in this one… she’s happy.
She's stunning, like everything we had ever talked about had been able to come out and express itself away from Sienna’s hawkish, grueling gaze. I can’t help but trace this photo the way I traced the other one, keeping my finger a hairsbreadth above the glass.
"You can use this for the flowers." The woman's voice is softer this time.
I drop my hand and turn toward the roommate, keeping from flinching by the skin of my teeth. She holds out a small decorative vase. It's navy with a gold floral design painted around it. I swallow again, trying to wet my suddenly dry mouth, and take the small object from her.
There's an unassuming kitchenette tucked beside the front door, and I set the flowers on the counter so I can fill the vase. The woman doesn't say anything, and I'm not quite sure how to broach the silence, my mind still caught up on the four photographs.
"I'm Faedra," she says once I've gotten the flowers into the vase and out of my hands.
I turn toward her and grab the counter to keep my hands from trembling.
"I'm Jasper," I say, though it's obvious she knows who I am. Shit, I should probably know who she is, too.
She settles onto the couch, grabbing a small pile of fabric and a needle. "Feel free to sit."
I drop into the lounge chair and close my eyes, messing with the chain of the necklace to keep from fidgeting.
"You're different than I expected," she says after a while.
I can't even manage a quirk of my lips. "I'm sorry?" It comes out as a question.
"You're much more... I don't know, really. Not as shrewd, I suppose."
I glance over at her and raise an eyebrow. I’m not sure anyone has ever described me as shrewd. That’s more Dominic’s specialty.
"Shrewd?" I ask.
She nods, tilting her head as she keeps sewing the small pieces of fabric together.
"I suppose I should have realized that her viewpoint was probably pretty biased. But I'm her best friend. It's kind of my job to take offense for her, you know?"
I grunt, and she looks up at me, her cheeks pink.
"I just expected you to be a lot more cold and domineering. Something that would match a guy that just left her with no warning." She purses her lips. "Well, aside from a nasty letter left with her mother of all people."
Warning bells go off in my mind. Was this what Rylan had meant this morning? Had she mentioned something about the breakup from her perspective, and he noticed the story didn’t match?
I lean forward, a knot of unease sitting heavy in my stomach.
"Hold on, she thinks I left her? That I broke up with her using a noteleft with Sienna?"
Faedra frowns and drops her hands to her lap as she straightens. "Well, yeah. She still had the letter when we moved in together as freshmen."
I stand up and cross the room, messing with the flowers to keep myself busy.
How was that possible when I’d burned a letter from Violet the day I moved into my little shoebox apartment here?
"I..." I trail off.
Should I really be saying any of this to Faedra instead of Violet? Doesn't she deserve to hear it first? Except...
Except I've tried to have this conversation with her once already, and she ran from the room the moment she could. I shake my head and try again, closing my eyes.
"I burned the letter I received from Sienna stating that she was breaking up with me. But I bet there’s still a picture saved in my drive somewhere on my phone.”
“She gave you a letter?” Violet asks. “From me?”
I turn around fast enough that my vision blurs, the sound of her voice nearly bringing me to my knees. She stands in the threshold of a different door set into the far side of the wall opposite where Faedra had gone to find a vase for the flowers. Her hair is down, falling around her face, and she's in the same shirt as the picture, though her shorts and fishnets have been traded for a set of leggings that hug her hips and make heat burn in my gut.
So much for not being here.
I purse my lips and glance between the two women. Violet narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, but I can see the hint of vulnerability in the way she twists her lips and taps her fingers against her arms. Just like the video call, she seems fragile. Like she’s waiting for me to say something that will absolutely ruin her.
But why would she think that? I would have burned the world for her, would have destroyed myself, to make sure she was happy.
“She did,” I say, though my voice has gone dry. I force a swallow and continue. “She gave it to me on the front porch when I stopped by. You... you hadn't texted me back all week. I knew you might be radio silent since it was your first heat, but I had gotten worried over how long it had been. Kurt said they typically last four or five days, and it had been closer to nine.” I run my hands through my hair. “She handed me the letter along with the necklace I'd given you."
Violet's eyebrows furrow as she frowns. Her question rings through the room, hitting me in the chest like a damn gunshot, my knees crumpling under me.
“What necklace?"