Chapter three
Violet
Fifteen years ago
The copper tang of blood lingers on my tongue.
“Get off me!” My voice comes out shaky and angry tears burn my eyes. I blink those traitors back, because Cindy Winters doesn’t get to see me cry; it would only make her go harder. She’s a shark in a frenzy at the scent of blood.
My lip throbs when I lick it. The taste of iron mingles with the rainwater running over my face as I pry her fingers off my jacket. My nails dig into her skin, pulling each finger back, one by one.
“Ouch, you little bitch!” She yanks me forward by my leather jacket, then shoves me away with a force that sends me tumbling. My ankle twists beneath me, and pain shoots up my calf. I bite back a yelp, determined to stay silent. Icy water soaks through my jeans, pooling around me in the gutter.
Cindy loves pushing me around. She’s fourteen, just two years older than me, yet twice my size. And she never lets me forget it. Ever.
“Ugh, Grunty!” Cindy sneers, wrinkling her nose. She wipes her hands down her coat as if she’s touched something toxic. “What are you, an animal? Those hands are like baby claws.”
Her best friend Jase laughs, watching on.
“‘Grunty?’ That’s hilarious.” Jase throws his head back in a loud, fake guffaw.
“Yeah, I know. I just made it up.” Cindy smirks, inspecting her fingernails to make sure I didn’t damage them.
Yeah, hilarious. I’m dying of laughter over here.
“What are you even wearing?” Cindy’s eyes rake over my leather jacket, a too-big hand-me-down that Jeanine gave me for my last birthday. My foster mom humors my dark style and lets me dress however I want.
“Did you steal it off a dead guy? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
I wipe the rain from my face, giving a slight shrug. “At least it’s better than that pink marshmallow you’re wrapped in.”
Her face flushes, and Jase sniggers. “At least my mom cares what I wear. You don’t even have a real mom.” Cindy crosses her arms.
Her words sink in, hitting harder than any shove. I know I’m small and nothing but skin and bones. My legs are too long for my body, and my eyes bulge out of my head. And she’s right: I don’t have the perfect family—or a real mom. But just once, I wish I didn’t have to hear it from her.
A flicker of movement behind them catches my eye.
A tall figure, framed against the dark rain clouds, approaches with quick strides.
He storms toward us, guitar case strapped to his back, and in a swift movement, he throws the case to the ground.
The loud thud breaks the tension. Cindy and Jase both flinch as they turn to face him.
“What did I tell you little shits about coming near her?” Carter’s fury rolls through them like thunder, his eyes trained on Jase.
“Get lost, Ashford,” Jase taunts, trying to hold his ground, but Carter doesn’t give him the chance to finish. His fist connects with Jase’s nose, sending him staggering backward, blood spurting down his face.
“Oh my god, you psycho!” Cindy shrieks. “Are you okay, Jase?!” She puts her arm around Jase, who’s now crying hysterically, holding his nose, and they scramble away, scattering like cockroaches down the street.
Carter lets out a low sigh, watching them run off, before turning to me. “You good, Vi?”
I nod, swallowing hard, trying to hold back the tears of relief, pain, and embarrassment all at once.
“I’m fine,” I manage, peeling off the wet leaves sticking to my torn jeans.
A sharp pain throbs through my ankle, making me hiss.
He extends a hand, and when I take it, his grip is firm but careful as he helps me to my feet.
The warmth of his hand in mine feels nice, and I hold on to it a moment longer than I need.
“You sure?” he asks, his eyes moving slowly over my wet boots, ragged jeans, and oversized hoodie, lingering on my jacket before focusing on the fresh cut on my lip.
I bite the inside of my cheek, willing away the blush creeping up my neck. Carter’s only three years older than me but lately he seems so much wiser. Cooler. I feel like such a little kid around him. “Yeah. Just . . . just drenched from the puddle, that’s all.”
A flicker of a smile crosses his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re tougher than them, you know.” He drags a hand through his wet, dark blond hair. “Let’s get you home, kiddo.” He grabs his guitar from the ground, slinging it over his shoulder with barely a glance to check if it’s okay.
“Is it damaged?” I ask, feeling a pang of guilt.
He just shrugs. “Eh, wouldn’t matter. Totally worth it.” He winks, flashing a smile that makes me feel ten feet tall.
He offers his arm, letting me lean on him, as I balance on my good foot. Together, we start down the empty street, rain-soaked and stumbling in step. The soft patter of drizzle fills the silence, broken only by the splash of our feet when we hit puddles, water flicking up around our legs.
I can’t stand Cindy. She’s always there, lurking after school, ready to pounce.
It doesn’t matter what I do—sitting in her lunch spot, talking to the wrong person, even glancing in her direction is apparently enough to set her off.
She’ll take any excuse to hurl insults or throw a punch.
It’s just one of the joys of small-town life, I guess.
There’s no avoiding your bullies in Riverstone.
As we walk, my water-logged boots squish with every step, and Carter looks over, smirking. “Alright, Vi. Let’s see what you’ve got. Who was the original drummer for Nirvana?”
I blink at him, caught off guard by the question. “Easy,” I say after a beat. “Chad Channing.”
His brows lift. “Smarty pants.” He tucks his hair behind his ear, giving me that lopsided grin. “Most people say Dave Grohl.”
“Most people aren’t me,” I reply, careful not to stretch my split lip into a smile.
He chuckles under his breath, nodding. “Fair.” He pauses a moment, then tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Okay, tougher one. How many songs did Aerosmith play during their set at Woodstock ’94.”
I frown, racking my brain. “Uh . . . fourteen?”
He laughs softly and shakes his head. “Nope. Twenty-four.”
I groan. “Damn it, I knew that.”
“Sure you did,” he teases, bumping my shoulder gently.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you next round.
” For a second, the pain shooting up from my ankle fades to a dull throb.
Despite everything, his words ease the ache, and soon, I’m again resisting the urge to smile wider than my lip will allow.
With each squishy step, my worries slip further away.
“Thanks, Carter,” I say, glancing over at him.
“For what?”
“For making me feel . . . I don’t know.” My eyes drop to my sopping boots. “Like this place isn’t always the worst.”
“Sometimes it is.”
When I look up, his gaze drops before I can catch it. By the time he looks back, his familiar grin is in place again.
“Anytime, kiddo.”
When we finally reach my house, Liam stands on the porch, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my drenched clothes, my limp, and Carter’s protective arm wrapped around my shoulders.
“What the hell happened?” he demands, his fists clenching at his sides. “Did those assholes mess with you again?”
Carter steps forward, releasing his hold on me. “I took care of it, man. Just leave it.”
“I don’t give a fuck. They don’t get to treat her like that.” Liam’s jaw tightens, a familiar fire in his eyes. He makes a move to head down the street, but Carter grabs his arm tight, holding him back.
“Liam, stop. It’s over. You can’t beat the shit out of everyone.” For a moment, they stare at each other, neither willing to back down.
I press my lips together, trying not to smile at the irony. Carter raised his fists for me today, but he’s always been the one to keep Liam’s anger in check, steering him away from trouble whenever his temper flares, clouding his judgment.
With a frustrated growl, Liam shrugs Carter off and stomps into the house. Carter sighs, dragging a hand down his face before glancing back at me. “You sure you’re okay, Vi?”
I nod. “Thanks, Carter . . . for stepping in.”
He gives me a warm smile, his eyes kind. “Welcome, little Vi.” Then he turns and stalks down the path, leaving me watching after him.
I head inside, where I can hear Liam muttering angrily to himself in his room. I know he means well, but his anger only makes things harder sometimes. I close the door to my room, leaning against it, my mind replaying every taunt Cindy threw my way.
My room is dimly lit, with faded posters peeling off the walls and mismatched furniture from a dozen other foster homes. I’ve been here a whole year now, which is longer than most places. Long enough that the idea this might actually be home is starting to stick.
A small mirror hangs above my dresser, and when I catch my reflection, I cringe. My hair is a wet tangle, plastered to my forehead; streaks of black eyeliner run down my cheeks, blending with flecks of mud. The cut on my lip is puffy and angry. I look like a drowned cat that lost a fight.
I wince, pressing a finger to my lip, feeling the sting of both the cut and the embarrassment of Carter seeing me like this.
I wish I could erase the whole afternoon—the humiliation, the insults, the fact he had to step in to save me. But at the same time, some small part of me is glowing. Carter defended me when no one else would. When no one else ever has . . . apart from Liam.
Turning away from the mirror, I limp over to my bed and tug off my boots.
My ankle is swollen and hurts something fierce.
I shrug off my jacket and let it fall to the floor, then stretch out on my bed, eyes trained on the ceiling.
My finger idly moves through the air, tracing the outline of the posters that I’ve taped to the roof—faces of musicians and artists from cities I’ve only dreamed of: New York, London, Tokyo.
I reach for my sketchbook and the pencil tucked beneath my bed. The cover is wrinkled and scratched. I open a fresh page and let my hand guide the pencil.
I don’t want to be a “weirdo,” or “Grunty,” or even “kiddo.” I just want to be me: Violet.
There’s a soft knock at my door, and I sit up and wipe the mud from my face with the sleeve of my hoodie. I clear my throat, trying to sound normal.
“Come in.”
Liam’s head pokes around the door, his expression still gloomy. He walks in, closing it behind him.
“You okay?” He scans my ankle, then my lip, releasing a slow breath through his nose as he takes it in.
I nod, offering a faint smile. “Yeah. Carter showed up, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.”
Liam’s frown deepens, his shoulders going rigid. “You shouldn’t have to rely on Carter. Or anyone, for that matter. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
The fierceness in his voice makes me shiver. I shake my head. “Liam, you can’t fight every fight for me. You can’t be by my side every second of the day. Besides, Carter already took care of it.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s messed up, Vi. They shouldn’t get away with treating you like that. I think we should talk to a teacher or something.”
I look down at my hands, my fingers still trembling, and pick at the flaking purple nail polish. “I just want to forget it. It’s . . . it’s not worth starting trouble.”
Liam’s stare lingers, hard and unblinking. “You are worth it.”
He leaves without another word, and I sink back onto my bed, still in my wet clothes, closing my eyes as exhaustion finally overtakes me. The image of Carter’s fist connecting with Jase’s nose drifts into my mind.
Boy, was that satisfying.