Chapter Eleven Violet
Chapter Eleven
Violet
The hiss of the espresso machine filled the coffee shop, steady and insistent.
I went through the morning on autopilot, because, truthfully, my mind was still wrapped up in what I’d experienced with Grayson the night before. I could still feel his mouth on mine, his hands on my body. It had been the single most exhilarating experience of my life.
The early-morning rush had ended, leaving only the faint smell of burned sugar and roasted beans clinging to the air. Harper, my coworker this shift, hummed off-key as she wiped down tables, her apron streaked with coffee stains, her messy bun slipping apart.
For a second I just watched her. She looked careless and alive, the way people were when they didn’t have any problems. I envied her.
What did people see when they stared at me?
Another customer came in and Harper greeted them.
I replaced the filter basket and turned on the brewer, forcing myself to focus on the simple rhythms of work.
The smell of fresh grounds usually soothed me, and I inhaled deeply.
I’d hoped that spending time with Grayson, especially intimately like we had last night, would help clear my head of all the other things going on in my life.
It didn’t.
Nothing stilled the buzzing in my veins lately.
Every sound seemed amplified—the creak of wood under Harper’s sneakers as she moved around the coffee shop, the scrape of a chair leg across the floor when a customer got up, even the gurgle of brewing coffee in the pot I’d just restarted.
I felt like my body was locked in perpetual fight-or-flight mode.
“Hey, Vi,” Harper said, her voice snapping me back to the present. She stood on the other side of the counter, her brows lifted slightly as if she’d been standing there for a minute, waiting for me to take notice. “You okay? I called your name, but you’re lost in your thoughts, I guess.”
I forced a smile, but I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”
She tilted her head and then got a big smile. “You need something fun. A date. Or at least a good one-night stand.”
Heat climbed up my neck, and not just from embarrassment. Grayson’s image flickered in my mind—cut jaw, watchful eyes, the weight of his hand brushing my arm like a brand. The feel of his lips on mine. The way he . . . got me off.
I took a steadying breath, but it didn’t help clear my thoughts.
I muttered, “I think I’d rather be single than date anyone from this town.” I laughed, but it didn’t sound humorous.
“You never know,” Harper said, grinning. “There might be someone who might interest you.”
There was. And he wasn’t from Sweetwater Lake. But I wasn’t about to tell Harper any of that.
The bell over the coffee shop door dinged, saving me from answering.
I glanced up, the professional smile I wore for customers already in place.
A young boy walked in beside his mother, who pushed a stroller.
Her baby started crying, and she bent down to attend to it, trying to hush it before getting her diaper bag and pulling out a pacifier.
While the mother took care of the baby, the little boy crouched down near the entrance, pulling a crayon from his pocket. When I saw him color on the hardwood, I opened my mouth to stop him, but his mother was already there, scolding him silently.
Harper showed the mom to a table, the boy running after her. I finished up behind the counter before grabbing a rag and cleaning spray to wipe off the floor where the kid had doodled. But when I saw what had been drawn, I stumbled over my feet, heart instantly in my throat.
A wobbly circle was drawn in purple crayon, and inside it was a triangle, an eye, and drops of blood. It was all very childish in design, but I knew what I was looking at. The air in my lungs turned to ice, and the bottle of cleaning solution slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground.
Everyone in the coffee shop looked up at me, but it was the boy I stared at.
He smiled, and it was so innocent, so vulnerable, as he was missing the two teeth beside his front ones.
But the world faded away, and the edges turned black.
All I saw was Marcus’s hand guiding mine years ago, forcing me to draw that same pattern at the compound.
His voice echoed in my head, and I was thrust back into the past.
“Every line feeds our god. It gives the blood in His veins. It feeds our life and cause.”
My heart slammed, and I came back to the present. I hated that Marcus had any kind of control over me all these years later.
“Are you okay?” Harper asked right beside me. She reached down and grabbed the bottle, but she noticed I was now staring at the drawing. “Hey, Vi, seriously, are you okay?”
“I’m—” My mouth was dry, my focus still on the drawing.
“It’s just a doodle.”
No, no, it isn’t.
The boy’s mother scolded him lightly, apologized, and offered to clean it up, but I declined and started scouring it away.
I was still scrubbing the waxed floorboards when they headed out, but not before I glanced up and saw the little boy watching me, seeming totally oblivious to what his drawing actually meant.
They left with the bell dinging overhead, as if the world hadn’t just opened at my feet. My hands trembled as Harper crouched beside me. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I don’t know what—I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
Harper eyed me, frowning, but more so because she was concerned. “Here, let me finish. You’re pale. Go sit down in the back and catch your breath.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.” The words came too fast.
It was very clear she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t push, and together we cleaned up and went back to making coffee and serving customers.
The rest of the shift blurred. I moved on autopilot, refilling cups, wiping counters, pretending not to feel eyes on me when no one was there. When it was closing time, Harper hovered by the door, watching me pull the last receipts.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “I’m fine. Seriously.”
She eyed me for a second. “Look, I know we don’t see each other aside from at work, but if you ever need to . . . talk or vent and bitch, hell, if you want to get drunk until we can’t walk straight, call me, okay?”
My entire body went rigid. I’d always kept people at arm’s length, but managed a small smile. “Thanks, Harper. I’ll do that. I appreciate it.” And I . . . actually meant it.
“We’re friends, okay? So lean on me if you need to.”
The sentiment caught me off guard, and I probably looked stunned. Eyes wide, lips parted. Friends.
That single word—friends—was fragile, yes, but it carried a quiet weight that grounded me in a way nothing else had in years.
Grayson was different. He was intense. Consuming, like a storm that had crashed into my guarded shore and made me feel alive for the first time in forever. He was real, dangerously and breathtakingly real. And I didn’t care if he was tangled in shadows and secrets that still kept me on edge.
Because I was the same.
This, though . . . Harper’s simple offer, steady and uncomplicated, felt like the realest thing I’d touched since him. A normal connection, free of the fear that laced every moment with Grayson.
A reminder that maybe there was room in my life for something safe, too.
It was getting dark by the time I left work, hints of sunlight still peeking through the clouds, casting oranges and pinks across the horizon. I headed home. My bag hung heavy on my shoulder and bounced against my hip. Fog drifted in from the lake, metallic on my tongue.
It was a beautiful evening with a pleasant breeze, and the people on the street were happy and deep in conversation. But I felt uneasy. I felt watched.
I told myself to walk steadily, not to look over my shoulder. But halfway home, the prickle became even more intense. The feeling of hard, warm breath on the back of my neck, of eyes following my every move, was a frightening sensation. Every shadow seemed to hold a shape, a face watching me.
Paranoia, I whispered to myself. But that was just a lie I told to placate my anxiety. When I reached my house, I fumbled for the key with shaking hands.
“Hey.” The deep male voice came from behind me.
I spun, heart lodging in my throat. Grayson rose from where he sat on the porch steps, the shadows wrapping around his dark clothes, so I hadn’t seen him sitting there.
His coat hung open, his stance deceptively casual, but his eyes caught me in place like a snare.
I knew this man was always on alert, always aware of his surroundings. I doubt he’d ever been surprised.
“Hey,” I breathed out. “You scared the hell out of me.” I laughed nervously. “What are you doing here?” My voice was sharp, but it was the adrenaline coursing through my veins that made me sound harder than I’d intended.
He took a step toward me, and I could see the worry on his face. “I tried calling, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”
I reached into my bag and fished out my cell, seeing I’d accidentally turned it off. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Wanted to make sure you were okay.” I glanced up at him. “And I wanted to see you again.”
“Really?” I squeezed my eyes shut at how . . . hopeful I sounded with that lone word.
He smirked. “Of course.” Grayson’s voice was low. It was sexy, and I instantly felt safer having him here.
A twig snapped, and I glanced over my shoulder to scan the woods.
“Hey?” His voice dropped low, threading heat and steel. He waited until I looked at him again before he stepped closer. “You think I don’t see the way you scan shadows? The way your hand tightens around the strap of your bag? I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I swallowed hard. The memory of crayon on the coffee shop floor clawed at me. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to spill every dark corner until he wrapped me in his brutal steadiness and burned it all away.
But the words were sharp and stuck in my throat, and I kept them to myself.