And I’m taking advantage of that.

Impulsively, I stride over and take Violet’s arm, moving her out of the way. “Let me,” I say, bending to throw Tia over my shoulder and carry her to the door.

Tia giggles nonstop all the way across the room. I hear Violet, obviously shuffling to keep up, whispering to Tia, “Stop laughing or you’ll make yourself throw up.”

She’s obviously been through this with her friend countless times. And her friend is obviously the most selfish bitch in the world to never consider what Violet goes through for her.

When I reach the door, Violet swings around in front of me, pulling it open and stepping outside ahead of me.

“Where are you parked?” I ask.

“Over there,” she says, pointing to the back of the parking lot, to the darkest part.

I strike out across the gravel, getting more and more irritated with the girl I’m carrying. I hear the crunch of Violet’s footsteps as she hurries along behind me.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” she says from behind me.

“I know.”

She falls silent for a few steps. “You can put her down. We can make it to the car just fine.”

“No. I’ve got her,” I reply. “Which car is yours?”

“The silver coupe.”

I scan the cars until I find it and head that way. When we reach it, I set Tia on her feet and lean her up against the driver’s side door. I turn to Violet and hold out my hand. “Keys.”

Wordlessly, she hands me the keys. I hit the remote button until I see the lock in the back door pop up. I open it and then turn to heft Tia up again and lay her in the backseat.

“Watch her head,” Violet says.

I resist the urge to bang her head on the inside of the door on purpose. It might make me feel better, but it would definitely not endear me to Violet. And I don’t need any more setbacks tonight.

“I will.”

I get Tia situated and shut the door. Gently. Then I turn to Violet.

“Where are you headed?”

“Home.”

“Do you two live together?”

“Oh, no. I mean, I’ll drop her off and then head home.”

“I’ll follow you. In case you need some help.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind. I think you could use an extra hand.”

“It’s really not necessary. I can handle her.”

“I’m sure you’re very practiced at it. Nevertheless, I’ll follow you.”

“Jet, seriously, you—”

I hold Violet’s keys up in the air, far over her head where she has no hope of reaching them. “It’s that or I’m driving, which means I’ll have to hitchhike to get back here.”

Violet tilts her head to one side, obviously exasperated. “Jet . . .”

“Violet . . .”

Finally, after watching me for several long seconds, she shakes her head in resignation. “Fine,” she says, holding out her hand for her keys.

I smile in satisfaction and give them to her.

“I’m very persistent.”

“I can see that,” she responds. Her tone is dry, but I can see the twitch at the corners of her mouth. She’s trying not to grin. I can’t stop myself from reaching out to brush the little dimple that appears at the edge of her lips.

“You’d do well to remember that.”

My action changes the mood instantly. I’d like to run with it, press things with her just a little farther. But I’m savvy enough to know now’s not the time. The risk outweighs the benefit. No, tonight I need to be on my best behavior so that I don’t scare her off.

I step back and give her a very casual, “Lead the way,” before I turn and make my way to my own vehicle.

When I hear Violet’s motor start, I think to myself that I can’t remember the last time I was this enthused about something.

I should feel like shit about that. But I don’t—at least not right this minute.

I’m just that much of a selfish asshole.

FIFTEEN: Violet

All the way to Tia’s house, my eyes keep flickering to the headlights in my rearview mirror. As terrible as it sounds, I think I’d pretty much forgotten Tia was in the backseat until she moans, “I feel sick.”

That is a very harsh reminder.

“Just a couple more minutes and you’ll be home. Try to sleep.”

I’ve been through this numerous times with Tia. And with my dad. They’re both the same in that if they keep their eyes closed and try to sleep¸ they won’t puke. But just as soon as they sit up and try to wake up for the ride home . . .

I hear her mumble something unintelligible, but then she falls silent. In my head, I’m crossing my fingers that she doesn’t get sick. I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear her soft snoring.

I’m thankful when I finally pull to a stop along the curb in front of her apartment building. I hurry to shut off the engine and make my way to Tia in the backseat before Jet can. I feel bad enough as it is.

I’ve got her hands and am pulling her into a sitting position when Jet pushes me gently aside.

“Here, let me.”

I don’t argue. Evidently, it won’t do me any good. Instead, I get Tia’s purse from my trunk, where we locked our things, and I dig out her keys. I lead Jet to her first-story unit and let us in, flipping on a light so that he doesn’t trip as he carries her to bed.

In her room, I pull back the covers and stand aside for Jet to deposit her on the bed. I pull off her shoes before I straighten out her legs and throw the covers over her.

We’re backing out her bedroom door when I hear her pitiful voice. “Violet, I’m gonna be sick.”

With a sigh, I go back in, helping her to her feet and to the bathroom. I barely have enough time to raise the lid before she falls down onto her knees in front of the toilet and pukes her guts out.

I grab a washcloth and wet it before I kneel beside her, pulling back her hair and wiping her mouth when she turns her head to the side. Her eyes are closed and her breath smells like vomit when she says, “I love you, Vi.”

“I love you, too, Tia.”

To make sure she’s not going to get sick again, I wait for several minutes before I suggest going back to bed. By that point, she’s ready.

“Okay,” she agrees, turning to crawl back into her bedroom. When she reaches the bed, she pulls herself up into it and rolls onto her side, starting to snore almost immediately.

I take the wet washcloth back into the bathroom and wash it out before flushing the toilet, spraying air freshener and closing the door behind me. I head for the living room, stopping when I see Jet leaning against the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed.

I put my finger over my lips. “Shhh,” I whisper, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind me. “She’ll be fine now, but just to be safe, I think I’ll stay here tonight.”

Jet says nothing. He just watches me, a strange expression on his shadowed face. Finally, an uncomfortable amount of time later, he says, “She doesn’t deserve you.”

“Yes, she does. She’s a good person. A good friend. She just has some . . . problems.”

“Are you always around to bail her out? To keep her out of trouble?”

“Oh, no. She gets in plenty that I don’t know about until after the fact.”

“I bet you patch her up even then, don’t you?”

I frown up at Jet. “Of course I do. She’s my best friend and I love her. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because some people are beyond help.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Yet, some part of you has to realize that what I’m saying is true. How long has this been going on between you two?”

Too long, I feel like saying. But I don’t.

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t give up on her.”

One corner of Jet’s mouth turns up in a wry smile. “Until the bitter end, is that it?”

I get the feeling he doesn’t approve. I raise my chin defiantly. Jet’s opinion of me doesn’t matter. I can’t let it.

“Always.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat as he shakes his head, stepping closer to me. I stand my ground and hold his gaze.

When he stops in front of me, he stares down into my face for the longest time before he raises his hand and brushes the backs of his fingers down my cheek.

“Violet, the soft, delicate flower that is stronger than steel. Strong enough to support everyone around her. But are you strong enough to fix the whole world, beautiful?”

Something in his voice sounds . . . pensive. And doubtful. It gives me chills.

“I don’t need to fix the world,” I reply quietly, not knowing what else to say.

“Then can you fix me?” he asks, his eyes burning into mine.

I see him glance down at my mouth. My lips tingle in response and I hold my breath. I know he’s going to kiss me. And that I’m going to let him.

Jet lowers his head, tilting his face just enough to graze my cheek with his lips.

“Goodnight, Violet. Sleep well.”

And then he turns around and walks out the door, closing it tightly behind him.

* * *

The ring of my phone wakes me. My first thought, which is both bothersome and ridiculous, is that it might be Jet. I try to get to it before it stops ringing. I scramble to untangle myself from the blanket that somehow twisted itself around my body and one of Tia’s couch cushions, binding us together. By the time I get to my phone to answer it, I’m out of breath and very much awake. I let out a sigh of disappointment when I look down and see my father’s number on the lighted screen.

With a complete and utter lack of enthusiasm, I slide my finger across the green square to unlock the phone, hearing a cheerful, “Good morning, sunshine” as my father greets me. I feel like growling, not answering in kind.

“Hey, Dad,” is my tepid reply.

“Could I swap you a hot cup of coffee for a quick ride to Summerton?”

I’m grouchy, and this was not how I’d hoped my day might start. My mouth falls open. Summerton is not a quick ride. Twenty minutes is not a quick ride. I bite back my knee-jerk complaint in favor of, “Has something happened to your truck?”

“Nothing extensive, I don’t think. I’m pretty sure it’s only the spark plugs. I just don’t have time to fix them this morning before I have to be at my new account.”

This brightens my mood. “You got it?”

I can hear the pride and pleasure in his voice. “Yep. Sure did. Aren’t you proud of your old man this morning?”

“I was proud of you yesterday morning, Dad, but I’m really, really happy for you.”

“I knew you would be. And I’m sorry to call and be such a bother on your day off, but I’m kind of in a pinch.”

I smother my sigh and add as much chipper to my voice as I can muster. “I’m at Tia’s. Can you give me fifteen minutes?”

There’s a hissing sound as he draws air through his teeth. “Wellll . . .”

“Okay, I’ll be there in ten then.”

“See you in ten.”

Luckily Tia lives closer to Dad than I do, so although I’m a little more rushed at ten minutes, I still have time to dig out my toothbrush from the cosmetics bag I keep under her bathroom sink. A clean mouth and brushed hair is as much as I can manage, however, before I have to leave. Last night’s makeup held up pretty well, and that’s fortunate because it’ll have to do. This is as good as it’s gonna get.

Tia’s still snoring, face buried in her pillow, when I slip quietly out her front door and hurry to my car.

Twenty-five minutes later, I’ve got a backseat full of lawn tools, a Weed eater in my trunk and I’m following Dad’s directions to get to the home for which he’s been contracted to do the landscaping. At my father’s suggestion, rather than driving all the way around the smooth, cement circle that sweeps in front of the beautiful three-story Mediterranean-style house, I simply pull up at the curb along the street to let him out.

“Wow, this place is gonna take you forever to maintain,” I tell Dad as I survey the expanse of lawn and all the elaborately planted beds.

“Thank God someone had already mowed it just before I got the contract, so I just have to do the trim work and some weeding in the beds this week.”

“Just. You say that like this is a cottage, not a mansion.”

My father turns a happy smile on me. “Lucky for me, I love what I do.”

I feel his pleasure reflect on my face. “I know you do, Dad. And I’m glad. Otherwise, this would be one seriously crappy Saturday.”

He shrugs. “Well, it would’ve been just the one. Normally, I’ll come on Tuesdays, but since he’d already had some work done, this is more of an in-between visit.” My father lowers his voice and speaks in a conspiratorial tone. “Honestly, I think he’s testing me.”

“Why would he do that?”

Dad frowns. “I don’t know. This one’s pretty shrewd, I’d say. Cold even.”

“Money does that to some people.”

“Nah. What is it they say? Having money just allows some people to be the assholes that they were always meant to be.”

“Da-ad!” He gives me a chuckle and a cute grin when I slap his arm playfully. “Come on. I’ll help you unload.”

I put the car in park and get out to unload some of the tools and Dad’s gloves while he gets the Weed eater and the gas can out of the back. I can only imagine how long it will take me to get that oil-and-gas smell out of my car. “So, how long do you want me to wait before I come back to get you?” I ask, dusting the pieces of grass off my hands, afraid to even think about trying to clean out my backseat.