My eyelids feel heavy.
Tired.
Almost as if I haven’t slept in ages.
I open them with agonizing difficulty, and all I see is…white.
Too much white.
Clean.
Sterile.
The oppressive color coats the walls, the ceiling, and the sheets tangled around my legs like restraints I don’t remember getting trapped in.
My breathing is too shallow, too controlled, as if my body is relearning how to function.
I try to blink away the fog, but my lashes are heavy, my lids sluggish.
My muscles ache in places I don’t even recognize, deep inside my bones, like they’ve been frozen solid and only now decided to thaw.
Where…am I?
My fingers twitch against the stiff sheets; my limbs feel like two slabs of stone I can no longer control. I’m so disoriented, I feel disconnected from my own body, like I’m an imposter in someone else’s skin. The air smells like linen and faint cedar laced with emptiness and everything that’s…wrong.
I try to sit up.
Pain punches through my ribs, the ache spreading to my shoulders, my legs, everywhere. My stomach clenches, nausea clawing at my throat with every sharp inhale.
Is this a nightmare?
A different type of nightmare?
My arms tremble as I push myself upright, breathing through the sharp, electric pulses overflowing my nerves.
I move like I haven’t moved in a long time, and that’s when the first spark of recognition hits me.
Memories of the attack, Julian, and his stupid Nietzsche book slam through me. That was hours ago, right?
Swinging my legs off the bed is an effort. Cold air bites at my bare feet and zaps through my bones, and I press a hand against the wall as I push myself up, my legs shaking like they might buckle at any second.
Like I’m learning how to walk all over again.
Still grabbing onto the wall, I walk out of the room, and the farther I go, the tighter my chest gets.
Everything about this place feels wrong.
The house is small, painfully neat, like a picture someone arranged for the sake of appearances. A single untouched gray couch sits in the living room. A fireplace stands cold and empty. Through the large glass window, the outside world is coated with snow, the sky a vast, unforgiving gray that stretches endlessly.
I swallow hard. My heartbeat pounds in an erratic, stuttering rhythm.
Snow?
It’s…September. Why is there snow?
The outside world feels out of sync with my internal one. Like I’m playing catch-up with reality, but something isn’t adding up.
I nearly fall, and I hold on to the sofa for balance. My gaze flicks to a small stack of newspapers on the sleek black coffee table.
I don’t realize I’m reaching for them until my fingers skim the top one. The pages feel thin and strange under my fingertips, new, even—
My hand clenches around the paper when I read the date.
Late December.
No.
It was September. Fall.
It was just a few hours ago when Julian was sitting beside me, flipping through a book and watching me like I was nothing more than cattle lined up for slaughter.
But now…it’s December?
Three months?
My stomach plunges.
The room sways and warps around me, and I collapse onto the sofa, my breath ragged and sharp, every inhale slicing through my ribs like shattered glass.
I’ve been gone for three whole months, but my brain refuses to recognize it.
A sharp, shrill ring shatters the silence, and even my jumpiness is sluggish as I see the phone that’s sitting beside the newspapers.
My fingers shake as I pick it up, pressing it to my ear.
Silence.
Then a low, controlled voice fills my ears. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Violet.”
Julian.
“Where am I?” My voice is hoarse, fractured, almost alien.
“Rhode Island. The start of the new life I promised. You need to lay low for a while as I arrange your transfer to Seattle.”
“D-Dahlia. Where’s Dahlia?”
A slow exhale filters through the receiver like he’s indulging me with the bare minimum of patience. “She will join you shortly.”
Oh, thank God.
She’s okay.
And I’m alive.
Does this mean it’s all over now? Am I allowed to breathe properly?
“Before then, you’ll be visited by my doctors for a final checkup to assess your body’s regenerative capabilities.”
“What about Mario?”
“In a real coma. Will probably never wake up.”
My throat closes.
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
God. What have I done to poor Mario?
My jumbled thoughts start to filter in. Memories? No—words. Dahlia’s mostly, but also…
My heart thuds as fragments of dark promises and a deep voice I could never forget filter through.
Jude.
He was there somewhere.
My head hurts the longer I think about it. I think I woke up at some point, opening my eyes, even, but how long ago was it? I remember seeing the snow outside, the TV was on, and the Vipers were playing.
Jude slammed someone, and I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I was surrounded by people in white and…
“Her pulse is unsteady,” one of them said mechanically.
And then Dahlia was kissing a player on TV—Number 19, Davenport.
Why was Dahlia kissing someone from the Vipers…?
The memory slips through my fingers as fast as it appeared, like sea foam, disintegrating with each of my breaths.
And then another grainy, distorted memory hits me—a large hand on my face, hot breaths skimming my lips, and unintelligible words.
I inhale and exhale harshly into the phone. “Was Jude by my side recently?”
“Yes. He kidnapped you, but I saved you in time. You owe me a considerable number of favors, Violet.”
“Kidnapped me? Why?”
“You know exactly why.”
To finish what he started and kill me.
But if he wanted to kill me, wouldn’t he have had many chances to do that while I was sleeping?
Yes, Julian mentioned that Jude would have no access to me while I was in a coma, but knowing how resourceful Jude can be, he could have found me.
And why does my chest ache? Is it a side effect of the coma?
This feels the same as when I learned he sent those people to kill me and Mario.
Those emotions of betrayal I’d hoped to never experience again, because they’re beyond stupid. I’m the one who chose to have naïve thoughts about Jude and his motives.
“Listen, Violet. I better not see you or your sister around here again. Not in Stantonville and certainly not in Graystone Ridge.” Julian’s voice is still calm, but it’s a threat wrapped in silk.
And then, like a knife pressed against my throat, the last words slide in. “For your own good.”
The line goes dead.
I stay there, the phone still clutched in my trembling hand, the silence pressing in around me. The white walls. The untouched furniture. The frozen world outside.
I’ve been gone for three months.
Mario is in a coma because of me.
And Jude still wants to kill me.
Even though I woke up, I want to go back to the nothingness of whatever I was in.
Things didn’t go as Julian planned.
And I’m not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse.
It’s been over three weeks since I woke up from the coma, and I’m now living in Graystone Ridge.
It’s due to many reasons.
For one, Dahlia is dating the Vipers’ captain and Jude’s best friend, Kane Davenport. They got together because she approached him to avenge me.
For Dahlia’s sake, Kane offered Jude the rest of the folders containing names of the people who were present during Susie’s death with the sole condition that he wouldn’t hurt me.
Also, for Dahlia’s sake, Kane somehow pulled strings to have me admitted to GU in the second semester and paid for it in full.
As if that weren’t already too much, Kane bought us a huge penthouse that I live in alone because, in reality, Dahlia lives with him now.
He also told me not to worry about Julian and that he has the situation ‘under control.’
Kane wanted to pay for my expenses as well, but I drew a line at that. However, something tells me he’s arranged for my acceptance into a well-paying part-time job at a youth charity, even though I have zero experience.
I’m deeply uncomfortable with him giving me things, even if it’s for Dahlia. My sister, who’s become even more overprotective since I woke up, told me to just take it.
“I know it’s tough, and I also thought I shouldn’t accept his money in the beginning, but, really, should we be so pressed about it? It’s the first time we’ve had a chance to live a better life. After being in survival mode all these years, I think we deserve to stop struggling and just be happy.”
I don’t know about that, but what I know for certain is that Kane worships the ground she walks on. I’ve seen the way he looks at her when she’s not paying attention and the constant smile he wears when she’s talking nonstop.
He loves her deeply, and she’s head over heels for him, which I never expected Dahlia to ever be.
She used to treat relationships like an afterthought, and she has worse trust issues than me. So seeing her this happy and in her element lately has warmed my heart—which is probably the only good result of my coma.
I still hate third-wheeling them, though, and I feel guilty when she comes to spend the night instead of being with her boyfriend because she’s worried about me.
Or right now, because she ditched him and is walking with me from campus because it’s our ‘movie night.’
She’s grinning at her phone, typing with super speed, her cheeks slightly flushed, her lower lip trapped beneath her teeth.
God. She’s glowing. Her light-green top and pale-beige jacket contrast against the tones of her olive skin, and she has the most beautiful complexion, especially lately since she’s not stressing out.
“Oh,” I say, pretending to scroll through my phone. “I have a mock test tomorrow.”
Dahlia looks up and then narrows her eyes. “Don’t you dare cancel our movie night.”
“I’m sorry.” I side-hug her. “You know I’ve been trying to catch up, especially with the new school and everything.”
She pouts. “Are you sure you’re not doing this because you don’t want to spend time with me or something? You can tell me if I’m annoying, Vi.”
“Never. You’re my only friend and family, remember?” I smile and rub her arm. “Go have fun with Kane.”
“Fiiine. Want to go watch the Vipers play this weekend? I have premium tickets. Perks of interning as a medical assistant and being the captain’s girlfriend.”
My chest constricts at the reminder of the one player I think of when that team is mentioned. I try to breathe normally, but my ribs ache even as I force a smile.
“You know I’m not a hockey fan.”
“I wasn’t either, but it’s so much fun! Besides, Kane is a badass and an actual hockey god. The entire team is amazing, actually. If a skeptic like me can be converted, so can you.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“All right. I’ll take Megan, then. She’ll be over the moon.” She types into her phone, probably telling her friend and previous roommate about the tickets. “I’ll call you later.”
I nod and hug her as we separate.
I smile as I watch her walking in the opposite direction. At least one of us got her life together.
As a habit I can’t get rid of, I check my surroundings, expecting to see a large man wearing a helmet and gloves and leaning against a bike.
Watching me with disapproving dark-brown eyes.
Eyes that visit me in my sleep on the regular now. In my dreams, they’re harsh and unforgiving, always making me wake up in a cold sweat.
I have no idea why he won’t leave my subconscious.
He’s not there—no longer stalking or tormenting or threatening me. And Mario, whom I’ve been visiting regularly, is still in a coma.
Jude probably got bored, as I expected he would, and moved on to his other targets. Like Kane said, he won’t hurt me.
I haven’t even seen him on campus, and I’m thankful that my social studies building is far away from where he studies business.
And yet…I can’t help but feel ill at ease.
Why, I don’t know.
Theoretically, my life couldn’t get any better than this. I live in a spacious penthouse, my studies are paid for in full, and I work fewer hours than before.
I have more free time that I use to embroider, mostly while visiting Mario. Dahlia told me she used to talk to him as well, so he wouldn’t feel lonely, so now that I’m back, I go to the hospital on the regular, mostly to keep him company. But also because I don’t like being alone. I talk to him sometimes, just to fill the silence.
Due to all that, I’ve ended up with too many handkerchiefs and patches, so I opened a little online shop to sell them, and I’m hoping that if sales are good, I might be able to volunteer at the charity and let someone else have the paid position.
Things have been better than I could ever dream.
Now, if my brain could catch up to those facts, that would be great.
“Hold up, it’s you!”
I come to a halt, or more like I’m forced to stop walking, as a large man stops in front of me. He’s surrounded by two leggy brunettes whose eyes throw daggers in my direction as if I wronged them in a past life.
The tall, muscular guy has styled blond hair, a square jaw, and disturbingly beautiful Caribbean-green eyes. He’s prince-like in his beauty, but also so broad and tall and…a Viper.
He’s wearing the team’s jacket, and I definitely recognize him. Number 13, Armstrong.
Now, I refuse to think that I recognize him because Jude always got into a fight whenever anyone came near Number 13.
I search my surroundings, thinking he’s talking to someone else, but he comes closer, grinning, and, wow, he has deep dimples in his cheeks. They’re adorable.
Though, that’s an oxymoron because I don’t think this guy is anywhere near adorable. He’s dangerous just like all of them, but he somehow seems more approachable.
“Viola, right?” He stops in front of me, and the two girls follow suit, their smiles looking forced at best.
“Violet,” I say. “Do I know you?”
“You haven’t had the pleasure, but I’m Preston! Call me handsome for short.” He shakes my hand even though I didn’t offer it. “Dakota must’ve told you so much about me. I’m kind of a big deal.”
“Who’s Dakota?”
“Uh, your sister?”
“Her name is Dahlia, and she never mentioned you, actually.”
He pauses, almost as if I slapped him, and one of the girls wraps an arm around his. “Come on, Pres. Why are you talking to a nerd?”
He places his index finger on her shoulder and pushes her away, then wipes his finger on her coat. “I told you not to touch me. Leave, now.”
They both freeze, but when he gives them a poker-faced look, they hurry away, gulping, and one of them glares at me.
What did I do?
Preston grins as if he didn’t look downright murderous not two seconds ago. “She must’ve spoken about me, but you forgot.”
“I don’t think so…?”
“I’m Kane’s bestie. Of course she did. Anyway, you really have great skin. What’s the skincare routine secret?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, right!” He snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I flinch, my shoulders tensing, but then he balls his hand into a fist and places it near his mouth. “Today, we have a one-of-a-kind witness to Jude’s lackluster performance. We’ll tell you all why you should vote Preston for the best dick around. Miss, can you tell us in detail why sex with Jude is disappointing?”
My mouth hangs open as he places the imaginary mic close to my face. Jude told him about the sex? Can those encounters even be considered sex?
I mean, they technically were, but still. Also, how much does this Preston know?
“Come on.” He steps closer. “Just give me some ammo to crush that big man.”
He’s peering down at me, narrowing his eyes and kind of pushing into my space. My chest tightens and I step back. Pushy men, or those who don’t respect space, hike up my anxiety and trigger memories I covered up and shoved into my metal box that I’m glad Dahlia kept with a few of my belongings.
Those memories start slow, like a spark of electricity through my brain. Preston’s cologne asphyxiates me, and I can feel thick, meaty fingers trying to pull at my skirt, large hands landing on my shoulders, over my breasts.
Our last foster father tried to touch me any chance he got, and even though I pushed him—and got punched—I always feel his meaty hands on me whenever a man touches me threateningly.
Not with Jude, though. The irony.
My shoes catch on the concrete and the spark of discomfort grows and expands. My mouth fills with saliva, and I know I’ll be sick soon.
A large body appears behind Preston.
My heart stutters.
And so does my breathing.
My shaky fingers latch onto my wrist as I stare into those dark eyes, the color of the night. Still as disapproving as ever, still as…hypnotizing.
It’s been months since I last saw Jude Callahan in person.
But seeing him right now is like being hit by an arrow right in the heart. A rush of inexplicable emotions buzz through me, and my limbs are trembling.
Is it anger? Is it all the unsaid things I couldn’t tell him?
Is it something else?
He looks as tall and muscular and intimidating as I remember him. A man who’s able to snap someone in half if he wants to.
A monster.
The man who tried to kill me but changed his mind after he made a deal with Kane, and Mario became collateral damage in his games.
I don’t know what I expect him to say or what I’d reply, but he says nothing.
Just stares.
And I stare back, hoping he sees how much I hate him. That I’ll never forgive him for what he’s done to Mario.
“Oh, big man. It’s Sleeping Beauty, who’s not asleep anymore,” Preston says, completely oblivious to the tension thickening the air.
Jude wraps an arm around his neck from behind, headlocking him, and then drags Preston with him.
“Wait! I still haven’t heard her answer about the disappointing sex. I was going to start a podcast!” Preston tries to fight, but Jude is already taking him away.
He doesn’t look back.
Doesn’t acknowledge me.
As if I’m back to being the wallflower he wouldn’t have noticed if life hadn’t shoved me right in his way.
