42. Drew
DREW
I stand and immediately regret it. The room tilts slightly.
Fucking whiskey.
No wonder I don’t drink it.
I grab the edge of the bar.
“I’m fine.”
I’m not.
Once everything settles, I head for the door while ordering an Uber.
“Where to?” the Uber driver asks.
I give him Violet’s address.
My heart starts pounding halfway there.
What am I doing?
This is insane.
“No wait,” I say suddenly. “Right here.”
He glances at me in the mirror. “This is a block away.”
“Perfect.”
The driver slams the brakes. He eyes me in the rearview mirror as I climb out.
I take a breath, watching him speed away.
Okay. I can do this.
It’s still light out.
Excellent planning, Drew.
I walk down the street like a casual guy out for a stroll. Although I probably look more like a drunk guy weaving across the sidewalk. But whatever.
I’m sweating profusely by the time I reach her house.
Hiding behind a tree, I peek around it.
It’s quiet.
Good.
I tug my polo collar up like every terrible spy movie I've ever seen.
Smooth.
I step off the sidewalk into the yard and immediately step on something.
WHACK.
The handle smacks me in the head.
“What the—why is there a rake—”
I grab it, tossing it aside like it personally offended me.
I gasp, rubbing the spot on my forehead. “Are you kidding me?”
I look around, checking to make sure no one—especially Violet—hasn’t come outside to investigate.
Nothing.
The coast is clear.
“Okay. This is fine. Minor setback.”
I move forward, sticking to the shadows of the trees.
A branch catches on my shirt.
“Come on—”
I tug.
It doesn’t give.
“Seriously?”
I yank harder.
Rip.
I freeze.
“…That’s fine. It’s fine.”
It’s not.
I finally make it to the back of the house, slightly out of breath, mildly injured, and definitely reconsidering my life choices.
I crouch near a window, then slowly lift up, peering inside.
Callie is in the kitchen, humming as she makes something that looks like iced coffee.
She’s alone.
I lean closer, looking for Violet.
No sign of her.
My foot catches on something—maybe a loose stone, maybe the universe personally deciding I’ve had enough dignity for one night.
I stumble.
Callie starts to turn, like she feels me watching.
“Shit—”
I try to catch myself but fail.
An odd screech rips from me as I stumble backward and fall… straight into a bush.
Branches scratch my arms and face.
My dignity is shredded.
I lie there, sweaty and bleeding, staring up at the sky and questioning every decision that led me here.
Please don’t come outside.
I’m scared to move, convinced the second I do, she’ll see me.
I hear Callie’s voice floating through the window.
“Weird. Probably just a bird,” she says. “Or maybe a squirrel shrieking about something.”
I clamp a hand over my mouth.
Oh my god.
She thinks I sound like a squirrel shrieking?
Focus.
Not the point.
Violet’s sister is home.
I didn’t consider that.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
I lie there for a second longer, reconsidering my plan.
“No,” I whisper. “I’ve come this far.”
I just need to be careful. Discreet.
I crawl out of the bush, covered in leaves and regret.
I stand, peering back in the window.
I don’t see Callie... or Violet.
Blowing out a breath, I silently creep to the back door, making sure there are no more rakes or tree branches waiting to attack.
I reach for the knob and turn it.
It’s unlocked.
Blowing out a breath, I step inside, quiet and careful.
I take a few steps... and my foot hits the chair leg.
SCREECH.
“Shit.”
I freeze.
My eyes dart around, but I don’t see anyone.
Loud music drifts down the hallway.
I move through the house toward the stairs.
My hand grips the banister as I creep up, sweaty and bloody.
This is a terrible idea.
But I’ve come too far to back down now.
I carefully walk down the hallway, peering through the doors, searching for Violet’s room. Luckily, it seems to be the opposite end of the hallway from what I assume is Callie’s room, judging by the off-key singing and loud music pouring from the doorway.
Blowing out a breath, I step inside the large bedroom. Jasmine fills my lungs, and I know I’m in the right—
I squint.
Wait.
Is that a picture of me in a frame beside her bed?
I move closer.
It is.
And she must have photoshopped herself in it, because she’s beside me, staring up at me with adoration on her face.
Okay, that’s a little odd.
I study it. It looks like the one on Ivy’s Instagram page. Except, I can’t remember if I was wearing that shirt in it.
Not exactly evidence she’s stalking me.
I continue my search, bumping around things as I move.
Fucking whiskey.
I grab her desk chair... and notice a binder lying there. Probably something related to her job.
Curious, I flip it open...
And my heart stops.
I’m sweating more profusely now as I blink, then keep flipping through it.
Wait... this is my daily schedule.
With dates.
The time I get up.
My morning routine.
My stomach knots.
Favorite foods. Drinks. Dislikes.
What the hell?
The room sways.
I’m drunk... right?
I mean, this isn’t real.
Is it?
I step back, shaking my head like this is a bad dream. A nightmare.
I hit the chair leg, which is on wheels.
It slides, and I stumble back, trying to get my balance.
The chair slams into the wall. I grab onto her desk, but it tilts and everything hits the floor.
Books.
Pens.
Laptop.
The binder flies out of my hands as my back hits the floor, knocking the wind out of me.
Shit.
This is bad.
I sit up, looking at the mess surrounding me.
Fuck. I don’t remember how it was organized on her desk.
The container of pens—was it to the right or left of the laptop?
My eyes widen.
The laptop.
What if it’s broken?
After a couple of failed attempts, I manage to scramble to my knees. My fingers are almost on the laptop when there’s a scream—
I look up to see Callie, her face twisted with rage, running into the room.
What’s in her hands—fuck!
A wide-eyed Callie is already swinging a tennis racket.
I throw my hands over my head and scream, “What the—”
WHACK.
“OW!”
I fall back on my ass, my arms stinging from the hit.
Before I can move, she swings again.
“GET OUT OF MY—”
“IT’S ME! IT’S ME! ” I scream.
WHACK.
Ouch. That fucking hurt.
I lift my head slightly.
Oh, Jesus. She’s gonna hit me again.
She draws back, ready to swing again.
“STOP!” I yell, cowering.
“What the hell—”
A familiar voice cuts through the chaos.
I look up, my worst fears realized when I see who’s behind her.
“CALLIE!” Violet screams over the music.
Callie freezes mid-swing.
I’m on my back, tangled in my own limbs, surrounded by everything I knocked off Violet’s desk.
Violet moves closer, her eyes wide. “Stop! It’s Drew!”
Callie lowers the racket slowly.
I try to get to my feet, but my foot slips on my shoelace that somehow came untied. I start going down, but warm hands wrap around my arms, keeping me steady.
Violet helps me to my feet.
Her eyes roam over me, taking in the scratches.
The dirt.
My ripped shirt.
The leaf she plucks out of my hair.
“…Drew,” she says slowly. “What are you doing?”
I give her a sheepish smile. “I thought you were stalking me,” I say. “So I tried to get proof.”
Silence.
My pulse thuds in my ears.
This isn’t good.
Maybe she’s going to have me arrested.
Then, a giggle fills the air.
Callie loses it.
“You are the worst stalker ever,” she says between breaths.
Violet presses her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Um… Drew…” she says carefully. “Is the proof scratches, dirt, and leaves?”
My spine stiffens. “No... that’s just an unfortunate side effect.” I point at her. “Stalking is bad.”
She plucks another leaf from my hair. “Obviously, it’s quite dangerous.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
Callie is still laughing. “What proof were you trying to get?”
I hesitate. “Um...”
I look over at the binder, which somehow came open in all the chaos. Pages scattered on the floor.
“The binder...”
That’s all I can get out.
Everything goes still.
Callie stops laughing.
Violet’s gaze flicks to the floor, to the pages listing a detailed schedule of my day. My favorite foods. Likes and dislikes.
Her expression doesn’t change.
“You’re not going to say it’s not yours?” I ask.
“No.”
That catches me off guard.
“No?”
She bends down, carefully gathering the pages like they matter.
Like they aren’t evidence in what could probably be a very convincing court case.
“It’s mine.”
My mouth opens.
Closes.
“You’re admitting that?”
Her brows pull together. “Why would I lie?”
I stare at her. Because that is somehow the craziest answer she could’ve given.
“You have a binder about me.”
“Yes.”
I wait.
She doesn't elaborate.
“With my schedule.”
“Yes.”
“My favorite coffee.”
“You drink terrible coffee.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
I blink at her. “You know?”
She looks up at me. “I know how it looks.”
“And how does it look?”
She pauses, like she’s thinking about her words.
“Like I knew you were important before you were ready for me to.”
“But you... you’re...” I can’t even say it.
The words stalking me are lodged in my throat.
This is mortifying.
But then, I open my mouth and humiliate myself further. “My ex is getting married… and I’m too much of a pussy to even ask you on a date.”
Violet stares at me.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
Why did I say that?
“Or—to be my girlfriend,” I add, because clearly, I’m committed to ruining my life. “I should probably take you on an actual date before I ask you to be my girlfriend. Not just invite you to my brother’s or for you to pick me up and take me on a date.”
Jesus. I’m rambling.
Not only that, my word vomit is humiliating.
And I said those things…
I swallow hard.
Out. Loud.
In front of Violet.
Callie.
Luna.
Even God himself.
I close my eyes. “I’m going to leave now.”
I try to step back... and immediately lose my balance.
Violet’s hand tightens on my arm, steadying me. “Drew.”
My eyes fly open.
Her voice is softer now. Quieter.
She’s not laughing.
Her eyes are focused. Bright.
There’s something in them I can’t quite read.
“You came all the way here?” she asks.
The question catches me off guard.
“…Yeah,” I whisper. “I was at the bar.”
The words are simple. But they feel heavier than anything else I’ve said.
She exhales slowly. Something shifts in her expression.
And for a second, the chaos fades.
The embarrassment.
The bruises.
The fact that I just broke into her house like an idiot.
None of it matters.
Because I’m here. With her.
And she's looking at me like the only thing that matters is that I came.
Even though my intentions were a bit... crazy.
Her hand doesn’t leave my arm.
Why does it feel like everything’s just changed?