Page 34 of Twisted Violet
“Why?” I ask, voice smaller than I mean it to be.
Her face softens. “Because you’ve already been hurtenough. You don’t need more heartbreak on top of everything else.”
I nod slowly.
Not because I fully agree with her, but because I don’t know what else to do.
“I’ve got to go,” she says, glancing somewhere off screen. “My nurse is here. Promise me you’ll keep things simple with them. Just for now?”
I hesitate. “Okay.”
She nods and ends the call.
The screen goes dark.
I sit in silence for a long moment, listening to the faint tap of rain against the windows.
Rome’s milk tea is still sitting untouched beside me.
I pick it up, take one sip, and quietly wonder if she’s right.
If I let them get any closer…
Will I only end up hurting in the end?
TWELVE
VIOLET
It’s beena few days since my call with Stevie, and I haven’t seen much of Rome since. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss having his grouchy self around, but I think it’s for the best, for now at least.
Some time apart will do us both some good. In the last few weeks, I’ve gotten way too comfortable around him, and the last thing I want is to make him feel uneasy in his own home.
The apartment is quiet tonight, but it’s not empty. Not really.
Rome’s mug is still by the sink. The one Dallas gave him as a joke that saysWorld’s Okayest Boss. Niko’s boots, the laced-up leather ones he always leaves by the elevator, are still right where he kicked them off. Dallas’s hoodie is still flung over the back of the couch with the sleeves rumpled like he peeled it off mid-stride. And then there’s Ollie, curled up at my feet, tracking me with his big brown eyes as I move around the kitchen.
For the first time in weeks, I’m the only one home. But in a weird way, I’m not alone.
The stove hisses softly behind me. I stir the sauce, then lean over to check the pasta. Everything smells warm and delicious, like spices and garlic and home.
I’m not used to this feeling, the safety, thepeace.It still feels like I haven’t earned it, like any second, someone’s going to come in and take it all away.
I glance down to see Ollie watching me with those big, hopeful brown eyes. His ears are perked and his tail is wagging, like I’m putting on the most exciting show of his life.
It’s not like I’m doing anything impressive. He probably can smell the chicken I’m pan-frying and is just waiting for the moment I break and sneak him a little taste.
“Not happening, Prince Ali,” I murmur, even though my resistance is already slipping. “Your Papa will kill me.”
His tail thumps once on the hardwood, like he’s trying to argue and I shake my head.
The only thing bigger than his stomach is his attitude.
I grab a handful of basil and start dicing, slowly and steadily. Over the last few weeks, cooking dinner for the guys has become a kind of ritual for me. It’s the one thing I can do to saythank youwithout having to actually say it.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
I glance at it, fingers still slick with olive oil.
