Page 106 of Wallflower
Buying and preparing for Silver Leaf’s newest additions was supposed to take my mind off Violet, but it didn’t quite turn out that way.
The hockey season started less than a week after Violet left for Milan, so Luke did most of the grunt work—structural repairs to the barn and managing the delivery of feed, tack, grooming equipment, and all the other supplies.
It was a mixture of luck and abandonment that nobody noticed the stable’s transformation, and I watched it all take shape via emails I read in planes, hotels, and my new San Francisco apartment—the cold, sterile penthouse that I hated at first sight, and not the warm, sunlit place I bought for me and my girl because it was her favorite.
With a determined scowl, I concentrate on the horses and what the next chapter will look like for Silver Leaf. With advertising and word of mouth, plus a little time for Daisy to reacquaint herself with the local terrain, the ranch can finally offer trail rides again. And when Daisy has time to hire a team to help with the horses, I’ll buy her a dozen more.
Throw in Charlie’s contract with the Fury, and we’re on track to reestablish this place as the best tourist destination in the region. The way it was when Mom and Dad were still here.
That hopeful little moth starts beating its wings again. Something feelsright. And it’s still not enough.
I suck in a breath of country air, filling my chest until my ribs ache, then let it rush out as I push off the fence, reach into my back pocket, and pull out my phone.
I ignore the missed call from Coach Campbell, the email from the Fury media team, and the notifications on my team chat with Hayden, Jake, Breaker, West, and Theo, and I do what I’ve done every morning since I woke up alone in my bed five weeks, three days, and twenty-six minutes ago. I scroll through my contacts to Violet’s number and glare at it while resisting the urge to call.
You let her go, I remind myself. And if she didn’t answer my first seventy-seven calls, she’s not going to answer number seventy-eight.
When the impulse passes, I open her social media pages instead. Scroll through her feed for updates.
She doesn’t post every day, but there’s a new picture now. Violet’s elegant hand holding a takeout coffee cup.
I swipe through the pictures of her life in Milan. Cafes and boutiques and ancient architecture mixed in with sketches and fabric swatches. Never a picture of her face, which makes me ache, but I open each image anyway just to torture myself with the comments.
haters_gonna_hate:Total social climber. You used Chord and dropped him when you got what you wanted. I’m glad you left the country. He’s a fucking god who deserves better than you.
lives_for_fashion_99:STFU! Violet is talented. She’d never get an offer from Leonardo Bellucci if she couldn’t do the job. Jealous much?
hockeyhotties:Hard agree. If Violet left Chord Davenport, she had a good reason. The guy’s a jackass. Just ask his ex.
anon_31:I heard Chord dumped Violet because he found out she was using him for his money and connections. Just like his ex-girlfriend. Violet will be banging Spencer Cook next. LOL.
nhlnoos:I heard the Fury’s going to dump Davenport because he’s such a LOSER.
lives_for_fashion_99:@nhlnoos This is a FASHION page. Take your comments somewhere people care. (But even I know that’s total bullshit. The Fury is going to come back this season. Chord is HEARTBROKEN. Give the guy time to pull his head together.)
violet_james_fan:You’re all terrible people! LEAVE VIOLET ALONE!
I read this shit to stay angry. It was supposed to stop when I let her go, but nothing has changed. I can’t stop people from talking about Violet, and I can’t protect her from any of it, so if she has to wade through the vitriol every goddamn day, I’m going to do the same.
When I check again in a few hours, the most hurtful comments will have been deleted, but I hate that Violet reads these at all. Reads them and removes them every single day while she’s alone in a foreign country.
Even though she chose to be there. Even though she left my bed without saying goodbye.
I clench my jaw and keep reading, tapping through to a notorious hockey page and seeking out the worst comments.
I’ve started to feed off the ridicule. Crave the rage. It’s the only thing that feels real.
This season’s going to shit—the Fury has lost five of its first seven games, Coach is on my ass, and team morale dips lower every week—but I can’t dig my way out of this hole. The losses are depressing, my performance is sloppy, and I spend my nights afterward alone.
For the first time in my life, my career isn’t enough.
I go to my contacts list again and stare at Violet’s number. It’s killing me how badly I want to tell her I miss her. I’ve got my first game against my old team this week; we fly to Calgary in three days, well and truly, the underdogs to play last year’s championson their home turf. Spencer Cook’s waiting, and although I can’t wait to slam him into the boards, Violet’s absence will give everyone more reason to talk. To look at me for all the wrong reasons. Another thing for the press to throw around, and more ammunition for Cook’s insane vendetta against me.
I want so badly for Violet to be beside me in Calgary. I’d give anything to know she’s there. Her face in the crowd. My name on her back. And I’ve never experienced this kind of need before. I’ve spent my time in the spotlight alone, and just when Violet finds the courage to step into her own light without me by her side, I don’t know how I’ll do the same without her.
I want her to come home. I want her at this game against Calgary and every game afterward. I want to score goals and dedicate them to the woman I love, and I want to go all the way to the championship Cup for her. I want her to forget about Milan and work out of the studio in San Francisco. I want to hear her scream my name every night and wake up with her in bed every morning. I want her to make her dreams come true here with me, where she belongs.
I want. I want. I want.
