The Probability of Violet & Luke

  “Likewise.” She pounds fists with him, then my uncle steps aside and motions for us to come inside. It’s cooler on the inside—thank God—the fans going, air conditioning blasting and circulating the cigarette smoke lacing the air. The curtains are all drawn shut too, so hardly any sunlight can get in. There’s some music playing in the kitchen and I can hear some voices, which means he has company. And probably not the family kind.

  “I have some people over,” Cole tells us as he leads the way through the foyer and into the kitchen, kicking a bag to the side that’s blocking the doorway. “And my son’s staying with me for a while. You remember Ryler, right?”

  I nod, but honestly I don’t really remember him that well. I think I met the guy once when I was staying here and all I can recollect is that he’s around my age (my uncle knocked up a girl when he was sixteen and pretty much bailed on his family until recently—guess it’s a family thing) and that he doesn’t speak. The details why he’s mute where never divulge clearly, other than there was some kind of incident when he was about eight.

  “He turned into one hell of a card player,” my uncle comments, all proud papa, as we step into the small kitchen area filled with smoke from the four guys sitting around the table, puffing on cigarettes. The sound of chips clinking together, the taste of nicotine in the air, the alcohol in the cups, the intensity surrounding the table gets my pulse soaring like an drug addict eyeing crack.

  “Ryler,” he shouts at one of the guys over the music then walks over to an iPod in a dock and turns it off. “Your cousin Luke’s here.” He points a finger at Violet and me.

  A guy around my age glances up from his cards and then takes a sip of his drink. He looks just as intense as when I saw him almost two years ago. Jeans with holes in them, eyebrow and lip piercings, a sleeve of skulls and crosses on his arms. His hair is jet black and it looks like he’s wearing black eyeliner, but I don’t think he is—his eyes just look that way. And he’s wearing an I’ve-been-through-tough-shit expression.

  He gives me a chin nod before his gaze drifts to Violet then he turns to his uncle and signs something.

  “Is he deaf?” Violet asks in a low voice as she steps up beside me.

  I shake my head as Ryler glances over at Violet, clearly hearing her, and my uncle chimes in. “No, he just can’t speak,” he tells Violet. “But his hearing works just fine.”

  Violet doesn’t ask questions, which isn’t surprising, but what she does next shocks the shit out of me. She lifts up her hand and makes these movements with her hand, clearly signing something to Ryler.

  This makes him smile, the darkness in his expression briefly lights up as he signs something back, causing Violet to laugh softly then shrug.

  “I don’t know everything,” she says to him. “But some.”

  I want to ask her how she knows sign language but Violet has had a very different upbringing from most, living with God knows how many families so I’m guessing she picked it up somewhere along the line. What I don’t like though is how Ryler is looking at Violet, like how I used to look at women when they showed up at games, with the intention of getting them on my lap and getting inside them later.

  “This is Violet,” I say, not even sure if they made introduction already. I casually put my hand on her back, hoping she doesn’t shove me away, so uncomfortable in my own skin it’s making me fidgety. I want to add, ‘my girlfriend,” but that would probably result in me getting kicked in the balls from Violet.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ryler,” Violet says and I relax at the lack of interest in her tone. She’s just being friendly.

  Ryler signs something to his dad and my uncle replies, “Actually we’re going to take Luke down to The Warehouse tonight.” He goes over to the fridge, gets three beers out, and offers Violet and I one.

  I oblige because I’m never one to turn down a drink, but I’m shocked when Violet takes the drink she’s offered. She was also drinking at Geraldson’s and it has be worried that maybe she’s starting to get into the habit, but mentioning it would be like the pot calling the kettle black, so I keep my lips shut, wondering how long the avoidance between us can go on.

  Violet

  His cousin Ryler was totally eye fucking me in the kitchen but I have no interest in him. The guy’s hot and everything, in a gothic kind of way. Tattoos covering his arms, piercings, black hair that hangs in his eyes, and his eyelashes are so thick it almost looks like he’s wearing eyeliner. But the last thing I need is some random hookup where I feel like crap afterward. Not to mention the drama that would come between Luke and I. And I hate soap opera drama.

  Then I found out he’s mute and I couldn’t help myself. As much as I love keeping my past to myself, I couldn’t help but use what little sign language I picked up when I stayed with one of the somewhat normal families who had a son that was deaf. During the four months that I stayed with him, he taught me a little bit when we were hanging out and I still remember pretty much all of it.

  After introductions, Luke’s uncle takes us up to a guest bedroom, which of course only has one queen size bed, because destiny’s been on such a roll lately. Then Cole leaves us to get settled, shutting the door behind him.

  As I’m trying to figure out the sleeping arrangement and if I even care, Luke turns to me with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. “So… where did you learn how to sign?” he asks.

  I shrug. “One of my foster families had a little boy that was deaf.” I drop my bag on the bed. “He taught me a little bit.”

  “Why did you leave the family?” As soon as he says it, it looks like he bites down on his tongue. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that.”

  I don’t want to either, but I find myself doing so anyway, proving once again how comfortable I am with Luke. “He got sick… the little boy and with the hospital visits and medical bills, there just wasn’t room for a fourteen year-old girl who had a lot of emotional baggage.”

  Now he looks like he’s really biting down on his tongue, so hard it’s probably bleeding. “I’m so sorry, Violet.”

  I shrug it off, pretending to search my bag for something to avoid looking at him, afraid he might just see how full of shit I am. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago… and I’ve moved on.” I hold my breath, feeling him move up behind me, as if he wants to touch me or hug me better, but I can’t do that with him right now. Fooling around is one thing, but hugging is way too emotionally driven. “So there’s only one bed.”

  “I’ll sleep on the floor.” Luke puts his bag onto the floor and releases a deafening breath before finishing off his beer and throwing the empty bottle away. “Sorry about this—about everything.”

  “You don’t need to apologize,” I say, setting my half drank beer down on the dresser then bending down to unzip my bag and get the battery I bought for my phone out. “I pretty much forced you to let me come with you.” I don’t bother noting the other sorry he was throwing out there. It feels wrong for him to say sorry for something that was out of his hands. What his mother did wasn’t his fault and one day I hope I can fully tell him that.

  “There was no forcing. Trust me. I wanted you to come with me more than I should of,” he says, sinking down on the bed, his head falling forward into his hands. “Because I’m selfish.”

  “You’re not selfish.” I stand back up and open the package the battery came in. I take it out and put it in my phone, crossing my fingers it’ll work. “You’re anything but.”

  He elevates his head, his eyes blazing with so much intensity I almost shrink back. “How the hell do you figure that?”

  I press down on the talk button, shrugging as I wait to see if my phone will boot up. “You gave me my space when I left… when I told you that I didn’t want to see you. You gave me what I asked for and that’s not selfish.”

  He gestures at the both of us, gaping. “We’re here now.”

  “I chose to be here.” I relax as my phone screen turns on, but any elation plu
mmets when I see that I have five new messages.

  Unknown: So we’re no longer talking?

  Unknown: Did I scare u that bad?

  Unknown: Quit being a fucking cunt and text me back.

  Greyson: Just checking in on u.

  Unknown: U know I should have killed u when I had the chance.

  Dizziness overtakes me as I read the last one and have to reach for the bed for support, but end up stumbling and grabbing onto Luke’s shoulder instead.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks worriedly, his hand grasping onto my hip to hold me upright.

  I shake my head, staring over his shoulder at the wall, unable to look him in the eye. “It’s nothing.” My voice is hoarse as I clutch onto the phone and also his shoulder.

  Luke’s hand slides up my side, to my neck, then ultimately he cups my chin in his hand and makes me look at him. “What was on your phone?”

  “Nothing.” I’m struggling to breathe, images of that night flashing through my mind. Is it his mother texting me? Or the other person? The man? The one I never saw?

  Luke swallows hard, fighting some kind of inner rage. “Is it Preston? Because I won’t let him do anything to you. I promise.”

  “It’s not Preston,” I say, finally subsiding down on the bed beside him and frown down at my phone. “You remember that guy, Stan the reporter?”

  He nods, listening intently. “Has he been bothering you again?”

  “I don’t think it’s him,” I say, unsure what else to say. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to talk about the killer and my parent’s deaths when his mother was part of it? And when she could be the one sending the texts. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s a reporter at all, with the things that they’re saying.”

  “What kind of things?” His hand finds my thigh, his fingers grazing up and down it, not in a sexual way but a comforting way.

  I close my eyes and give him the phone. “Scroll through the texts from the unknown number.” I remain sitting with my eyes shut, listening to his breathing quicken.

  “Fuck,” he says under his breath and I open my eyes, hovering back at the fury in his brown eyes, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists, clutching the crap out of my phone. “You have no idea who sent this to you? At all?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve been getting little things off and on from reporters ever since the case was reopened, but this takes things to a whole new level.”

  “How long has it been going on?” He struggles to keep his voice even and his anger under control. I’m sort of worried that he’s going to chuck my phone, with how hard he’s gripping it.

  “They started up yesterday, right before I went to Geraldson’s,” I tell him. “I need to call Detective Stephner and report it.” I pause, reluctant to ask, but needing to do it. “Luke,” I swallow hard, “You don’t think it could be your… your mother, could it?” Finally, the large elephant that’s been hanging out between us has been acknowledged. But it makes the tension between us even worse, if that’s possible, especially when Luke remains quiet for what feels like forever. His knuckles turn white from holding my phone so tightly and I swear he’s going to grind all his teeth away with how tight his jaw is set.

  “I want to say no, but honestly, I have no idea,” he finally says through gritted teeth as he gives me back my phone. “She’s fucking crazy and I wouldn’t put it past her to do something like this.” He drags his free hand down his face then leans forward and reaches for his cigarettes in his bag. He pops one out of the pack, puts it into his mouth and lights up, his hand shaking as he flicks the lighter. After a good, long, drag, he seems to settle down, but the next words he utters are far from settling.

  “I’ll fucking kill her if she touches you,” he says, flexing his fingers as if he’s fighting the desire to punch something, like he was doing to the wall back at the apartment.

  I don’t know what to say. I know it’s wrong, the whole eye for an eye thing, but part of me wishes his mother was dead. But not by the hand of Luke. There’s no way I’d ever want him to carry that kind of burden or suffer the consequences for doing it.

  “Hey.” I put a hand on his arm, his lean muscles flexing under my touch. “Relax. I’m not even sure if it’s her, okay? So let me call Detective Stephner and see what he can do about it.”

  His gaze fastens on mine. “I’m sorry this had to happen to you.” Sincerity pours out of his eyes like hot liquid trying to drown me.

  Great, now I want to cry. Jesus, what the hell is with these last few days? I must be getting ready to start my period or something.

  Unable to speak, I get to my feet and call Detective Stephner. It sends me to his voicemail so I leave a message telling him to call me as soon as he can, that I’ve been getting threatening voice messages. When I hang up, Luke’s smoking his cigarette and watching me with a look of inquisitiveness.

  “What can I do?” he says as I put my phone into my pocket. “Should I take you back home? Please, tell me what can help this.”

  “Going home isn’t going to help.” I reach for my beer and take a long swig before speaking again. “If some creep is stalking me, it’s better that I’m not there anyway.”

  “Well, then what do you want to do?” He gets up from the bed and moves toward me, stopping in front of me and holding with the cigarette out to the side of him. “You name it and we’ll do it.”

  “We’re going to go get you your money,” I say persistently with my hands on my hips. “That’s what I want to do.”

  He wavers with uneasiness, scattering ashes all over the carpet, but his uncle doesn’t seem like one to care since there was some all over the kitchen floor. “I’d rather you not come with me. It’s too sketchy where we’re going.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know what’s really sketchy? Going to a crackhouse for your foster mother when you’re fourteen because she’s as high as a kite and can barely walk but is sober enough that she threatens to throw you out on the streets if you don’t. Personally, I think she just didn’t want to risk getting caught,” I say. His lips start to part, but before he can speak, I interrupt him. “And I didn’t say that for you to feel sorry for me. You just need to understand that I’m not some clueless girl that’s oblivious to the dark side of life. I don’t need your protection. I’ve seen it all,” I trace my finger up my arm. “And I have skin of steel, baby.”

  With his gaze locked on mine, he brings his cigarette to his lips, sucks in, then moves it away, smoke snaking from his lips. “I understand that, but it doesn’t mean I want to protect you any less.” He leans in and brushes his lips against my cheek, smelling of cigarettes, cologne, and beer, all things that are Luke and for a moment all I can think is home. I want home to be with him again. The contact causes my skin to scorch and longing to swell inside me. It’s so brief, just a flutter of skin to skin, but it’s enough for me to remember how mind-numbingly good it felt to be with him. “I’m going to go talk to my uncle and see what time we’re leaving. If you really want to go, then be ready when I get back.”

  I nod, fighting to keep my balance and keep standing as emotions prickle at my skin. Only when he walks out the door can I breathe freely again.

  Chapter 8

  Luke

  I’ve never wanted to get into a fight more than I do right now. Someone threatening Violet like that is tearing me to shreds. Worse, there’s that stupid nagging voice in the back of my head¸ telling me it could be my mother. She’s crazy enough that if she’s somehow found out about Violet, she would do it.

  I try to call her a few times as I’m waiting for my uncle to take us to The Warehouse, but of course the crazy woman doesn’t answer her phone. Sure, she can call me every fucking hour of the day, but when I actually need to talk to her, she won’t answer.

  “Give me like a half an hour then we’ll head out,” my Uncle Cole says as I sit at the kitchen table, drinking another beer with Ryler, wishing for something harder but also wanting a clear head for what I’m about
to do. Ryler has a notebook and pen in front of him, our form of communication, just like the last time we met. “You got front money, right?”

  I nod, patting my pocket. “Yeah, about three thousand.”

  Nodding, he starts for the stairway but then pauses in the doorway. “Luke, does your father know you’re here?”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean I called him for your number, but didn’t tell him why. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’ll be a problem since he’s pretty much disowned me,” Cole says. “Ever since he went on a do-gooder streak a while ago.”

  “That would make two of us.” I raise the beer to my lips and take a large gulp. Yeah, definitely going to need something harder.