The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence 3)

“Go find a story that’s easier to get, then,” I tell him, inching forward so I’m standing beside Luke. “Don’t chase me down when I don’t want to talk about my past.”

“The easy ones are the ones no one wants to hear,” he says. “Girl who finds her parents murdered and stays in that house for twenty-four hours.” He moves his hand across the air, like some reporter in an old movie, making a headline. “Now that’s a story. I can only imagine the things in your head… the stuff you saw… And if people knew about it, maybe it’d help finally catch the killers.”

Luke’s body goes rigid as flames flash through my body. He just told Luke my secret, the one that everyone wants to run away from once they know. Out of nowhere, I lunge for Stan. Luke’s hands slips from mine as I raise my fist, preparing to crash it into Stan’s face. I haven’t felt this much fury in a long time and usually I’d find another way to deal with it, but right now all I want to do is hit Stan. Ram my fist into him. Watch his nose bleed. Watch him hurt like I know I’m going to hurt in just a few minutes.

Somehow, Luke manages to get his arms around my waist and he holds me back before I actually make contact.

“Let me go!” I protest, squirming. “I’m going to kick his ass.”

“No, you’re not going to.” He hugs me tighter as I struggle to get air into my lungs. I need to get away from him—need to breathe. I need to run, beat Stan, do anything at all beside feel what’s prickling up inside me. My parents. Luke knows. I’m f**ked up. He knows now what lies beneath my skin of steel. He’s not going to want to be with me anymore.

I push against him wriggling in his arms as he nearly crushes me against his chest. “Just breathe,” he whispers in my ear, smoothing his hand on the back of my head.

I swear to God it’s like he knows what’s going on inside my body, like he’s in tune with it. “I can’t,” I choke. “I hate him.”

“Just try.”

I shut my eyes and block out everything else besides getting air into my lungs. I can hear his heart beating steadily, and I listen to it as I try to get my own to match it.

“Get the hell out of here,” Luke growls at Stan, his chest rumbling.

“I’ve been trying really hard to talk to her,” Stan says. “If she just would, then we could get this over with.”

“If you don’t walk away, I’m going to let her go and beat your ass myself,” Luke says calmly. “So take the opportunity to walk away now.”

“You can’t threaten me,” Stan says. “I’ll call the cops.”

“Does it look like I give a shit about the cops?” Luke replies. “Now get the hell away from her.” He enunciates each word to get his point across. Stan mutters something about taking his card and Luke adds, “If you try to contact her again, you won’t be walking away.”

Moments go by, it feels like days, before either of us move or speak again. I’m the first one to pull away, and he releases me, giving me space. Luke watches me as I search around the yard for something that will make it easier to deal with what just happened, but ultimately my gaze travels back to Luke.

“So now you know,” I say and blow out a loud, defeated breath. I search for the disgust in Luke’s eyes, the look everyone has when they find out, but his eyes look black against the night, the porch lights glaring behind him.

The longer the silence goes on the more I feel like I’m going to cry. Tears sting at my eyes as I battle not to let them out, wanting to be that tough girl again, the one that doesn’t give a shit. I need her. She makes everything okay, even when it’s not.

“I didn’t know reporters were like that,” Luke finally says quietly as he wraps his fingers around my arm. “He seems crazy and intense.”

“Unfortunately a lot of them are intense,” I reply, biting on my fingernails, desperately wishing I could read what he was thinking. “But I’ve never met one so obsessed like that… he’s been calling me for weeks and he showed up at my work.”

His eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks and I don’t even bother to answer. “You should have said something.”

“Why? So I could tell you my sad story and you could look at me like you are right now.”

“You can’t even see my face so you can’t see how I look.”

“I know the look, though. It’s the one everyone has when they hear about me. The girl who found her parents dead and then sat in the house with their bodies for a day. The f**ked-up girl that scares the shit out of people.” If he wasn’t planning on ditching me before, I’m sure he is now.

His fingers spasm against my arm as he turns us slightly so I can see his face and there’s nothing there but sympathy and maybe even understanding. “Everyone has their dark past. I have mine and, trust me, I’d be a f**king hypocrite if I judged you for anything you did. I’ve done plenty of messed-up shit that most people wouldn’t understand.”

I slip my hand out of his and hug my arms around my waist, wishing I could fold myself into myself, hide behind the steel walls that have been shrinking over the last few weeks. “Like what?” I honestly don’t expect him to answer me so when he takes a deep breath, preparing to speak, my pulses stills.

“How about shooting your mom up with heroin when you were eight because she hated needles and so she made you do it for her?” he utters softly and I can tell he doesn’t want to say it, but it’s like his lips forced him to do it.

I don’t know how to react. If I should react. If I should hug him. Run from him. What I should do. Thankfully, he reacts for me, his fingers leaving my arm and circling around my waist.

“Do I scare the shit out of you now?” he asks and I shake my head. “And your past doesn’t scare the shit out of me,” he says. “Now you do, but for entirely different reasons. Ones that have more to do with me and how you make me feel.”

I nod, the tears drying as he leans down to gently kiss me. And it’s strange, but in a good way, because for a moment all the bad that just happened doesn’t exist. I don’t feel it crushing against my chest. Luke’s the first person that’s ever been able to lift some of the weight off me and it makes me want to cling to him as long as I can. So when he picks me up and carries me into the house, I let him. Just like I let him undress me. Allow him to pull my shirt off and slip it over my head, so I’m surrounded in the scent of him. I let him lay me back on the pillow and climb into bed with me. Then we fall asleep. Together.