“I’m trying to decide if you’re kidding,” I’d replied, because he couldn’t be serious. Best men were supposed to be friends, like each other, know each other.

“I know it’s kind of late notice, since the wedding’s in a couple of months,” he said. “But I’d really like you to be the one standing beside me.”

I shook my head, balling the invitation up in my hand. “I’m not even sure I can come to the wedding.”

“Oh, I see.” He sounded so disappointed, but I wasn’t about to give into him that easily. “Well, could you just do me a favor and think about it?”

I tossed the wedding invitation into the garbage. “I guess.”

“Thank you, Luke.” He sounded so sincere. “And if you ever need anything or want to talk, I’m here.”

I should have just let it all out then, everything I wanted to talk about. How he abandoned us and left me to be destroyed in that house. I should have finally told him what he left me with, what happened, what my mom made me do. But I didn’t say anything but good-bye, too afraid of what he might say or wouldn’t say, and then I hung up.

As I was driving down the road toward the nearest liquor store, I saw Violet limping on the damn foot, completely disregarding my advice to stay off it. I should have just driven by her, let her limp around, like I should have during my walk to school the other day. We keep crossing paths, but it’s not that big of a town or school so it’s not that surprising. We’ve always probably crossed paths a lot, but the thing is I’ve never really paid attention to her before. And now, all of a sudden, I’m hyperaware of her. Part of me is still curious what the hell was going on that night she jumped out the window and the other part… it has a lot to do with my messed up issues with women and control—the obsession with getting her underneath me.

So instead of a shot of Jack I settle for a hamburger, fries, and a Coke. Not much of a trade-off, but I can always hit up the liquor store on the way back.

Violet takes a bite of her hamburger and then sets it down on the tray. She adjusts the beanie on her head a little lower, so it’s covering more of her hair. She doesn’t have any makeup on again and she’s wearing this faded T-shirt that looks about ten years old. I’m starting to wonder if that’s just how she is, low maintenance. But when she jumped out the window, she was all dressed up. I’m not even sure why I’m analyzing it—her. She’s far from my type. I usually go for the slutty, prissy girls who like to look pretty. I’m not even sure why I prefer that look, other than girls like Violet look more intense, and if they’re anything like me they’ve got too much going on inside them, which is the last thing I want. I want no strings attached. I only want girls who can suck my cock and smile about it, without asking for more. And without any annoying giggling either.

“What?” Violet asks, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Do I have something on my face?”

I rip my gaze off her and open up my chicken sandwich. “No, I was just spacing out.” I take a bite of my sandwich. “Sorry.”

She reaches for my fries with an undecided look on her face. “So I have a question.”

“Okay…”

“About you.”

I slowly chew my food. “I’m not really sure I want to hear your question now.”

She picks a pickle off of her burger, pulling a repulsed face. “Well, I’m still going to ask it.”

I grab a handful of fries from the tray that’s on the table between us. “Go ahead and ask but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

She props her elbows onto the table with her burger in her hand. “Why haven’t you ever talked to me before? I mean, we’ve walked past each other probably a hundred times, but never so much as acknowledged each other and then suddenly you’re stalking me.”

I pick up my soda and sip from the straw. “First off, I’m not stalking you. I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

“You didn’t have to stop to pick me up.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why? You don’t know me—you’re in no way obligated to help me.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

“Why?”

I shrug, setting my drink down. “Why not?”

She gives me a funny look, like I’m the most confusing person in the world, when really she should be looking at herself like that. “I don’t get it. Why would someone like you help someone like me?”

I open up the bun of my chicken sandwich to pick the tomato off. “What do you mean someone like me and someone like you?”

She points at me. “You as in a football player who has friends.” Then she points at herself. “And me as in the loner girl who could probably kick your ass.”

I choke on a laugh and my mouth full of food almost shoots out of my nose. “You could not kick my ass,” I cough, and then take a swallow of my drink.

She scans me over while scooping up some fries. “I beg to differ. I think you’re not as tough as you try to look.”

“Do you really?” If only she knew what really lay inside me. “Because most people think I am and for a good reason.”

“I think it’s all for show,” she replies nonchalantly and I can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. “I think that deep down you’re just a softy.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me right now?” I set my sandwich down on the tray and crack my knuckles. “Because I’m not going to fight a girl.”

“That’s such a typical guy answer.” She hurries and takes a drink, but I detect a hint of a smile before her lips wrap around the straw.

“You know what I think?” I cross my arms on the table and lean in, cocking my head to the side as I observe her closely. “I think you like arguing with me and that’s why you’re bringing this up.”

Her shoulders lift and descend as she takes a bite of her hamburger. “Maybe, but maybe I’m being serious.”

“You know that as a football player I have to tackle guys, right? It takes strength to do that.”

“Maybe you just run, though,” she counters. “Maybe you’re just good at running.”

The way she says it reminds me so much of my past and it’s like a kick to the stomach. “Maybe I’m not, though. Maybe I suck at running.” I sound choked and I decide it’s time to cut this conversation short, my brain seeking that potent taste of Jack and Tequila mixed with nicotine. I glance at my watch, pretending to check the time. “I just remembered that I have to meet Kayden somewhere in like a half an hour, so I’m going to have to take you back.”

She balls up the wrapper for her hamburger, acting nonchalant, but her shoulders are stiff. “Sounds good to me. I was done anyway.” She seems irritated and I have no idea why, other than she seems to be able to read through my bullshit and test me, which most people can’t and won’t even try. I’m supposed to be a closed book. A mystery. That way no one can see who I really am. It’s the way I’ve been living for years and it’s comfortable. Not ideal, but nothing is ideal.

We don’t talk as I collect our garbage and then walk next to her as she limps out to my truck. I try to offer her my arm and open the door for her, but she denies my offer, moving to the opposite door and pushing it open.

During the car ride, she barely says two words to me. I should be happy about it. That way there’s no room for sudden questions and statements that will set me off, however I find myself missing the bantering thing we had going and the way she pushed my buttons. By the time I drop her off, all I want to do is ask her to stay, talk some more, let me get to know her. But I don’t understand why. I’ve never wanted to get to know anyone before. I’ve never even been out on a date. Each woman I’ve been with, I’ve only been with once. Just sex. That’s all it’s ever about. And I’ve never wanted anything more.

Until now.

Violet

There was more than just one person at my house the night my parents were killed, but one person sticks out in particular. She was tall, with long hair and eyes that glowed in the moonlight. She wore these bright yellow shoes with pink flowers on them that reminded me of a character in a fairy tale. In the book she would be a fairy or something, while in real life she was the evil villain. When she first snuck into the house she was quiet, but on her way she was loud and erratic, a mess of emotions.