by Emma Scott
To plunge the knife deeper, she still carried a torch for that bastard, River Whitmore. I suspected she kept her crush going because it was safe. Violet carried her shit close to her heart too, just in a different way from me.
But I couldn’t do it anymore. Tomorrow was the first day of school. I was about to face down another year—our senior year of high school—with Violet never knowing how I felt. I had to tell her before it was too late. Convince her to set aside her fear and see how right we were together. How fucking perfect.
How we just fit.
Violet must’ve been waiting for me, since the window flew open the second I came around the side of her house.
“Get in here, quick!”
She waved me up, a white, rectangular envelope flapping in her hands. Her parents didn’t care if I came in the front door or not. But every night I visited her, I climbed up the trellis like Romeo does in the play. Except in this version, Juliet friend-zoned Romeo. Hard.
I pushed my guitar case through the window first, and Vi carefully set it aside while I crawled in and hopped down from the desk, like I always did. Also, like usual, I took a breath to drink her in.
Violet McNamara had been a self-proclaimed geek when I first met her, but over the last four years, she’d morphed from a warm, fuzzy caterpillar into a butterfly—deep blue eyes, shiny black hair, and a body kept fit with soccer but rounded everywhere that mattered to guys.
To me, she’d already been perfect.
I loved how she used to run her tongue over her braces when she was thinking hard, or how she’d polish her glasses on the front of her shirt like a college professor, serious and smart.
So fucking smart.
Two years ago, she got her braces off. Shortly after that, she’d gotten whacked in the face playing soccer. I guessed her new contact lenses were a shitty prescription since she still couldn’t see how beautiful she was. Or maybe she did, though she’d never say so. But her confidence grew with her looks. She stopped hanging around with just Shiloh and me all the time and started hanging around study group friends, girls on her soccer team; she joined debate and the Math & Science club. Everyone loved her, including the popular kids.
Kids like River fucking Whitmore.
I coughed and diverted my attention to the envelope in her hand. “You got it?”
“I did!” she said, then narrowed her eyes at me. “How are your numbers?”
“I—what? They’re fine.”
“When did you last eat?”
I rolled my eyes, but her concern made me feel warm all over. “After work. Before I got on the bus.”
Violet’s large, impossibly dark blue eyes narrowed, studying me the same way I imagine she’d size up her future patients.
“Can I…?”
I smirked as she grabbed my wrist to look at the numbers on the smartwatch that was connected to my Continuous Glucose Monitor. The small CGM device was attached to my stomach with a sensor imbedded with a needle under my skin. It continuously monitored my glucose levels and sent the numbers to my watch. If they got too high or low, the watch made an alarm. A gift, courtesy of the State of California, since we were too poor to afford it on our own.
“Okay,” Violet said slowly, releasing my arm. “The numbers are okay, but if you need a snack or something, tell me.”
“Quit wasting time and tell me. Are you in or not?”
“I haven’t opened it. Waiting for you.” She started to tear open the envelope that had UCSC Medical Center’s logo embossed on the front, then stopped. “What if they don’t want me?”
“How could they not want you?”
How could anyone?
“The Patience Care Volunteer program is super competitive,” she began, but I waved her off.
“Your GPA is a four-point-a-million and you aced the interview. Not to mention, you were born for this. So open the envelope already and get your assignment.”
“Right. Okay.”
Violet opened the envelope. The smile that broke over her face was going straight into my next song.
“Holy shit,” she breathed and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes scanned the first page. “I’m in. I’m in!”
She threw her arms around my neck. Her excitement hummed through her body and I held her as tightly as I dared. I inhaled her scent—flowery and clean—and let my hand briefly touch the silk of her hair. Her breasts pressed against my chest and had to fight to keep my hands from sliding down the slim contours of her sides, down to her wide hips and rounded ass. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was luscious…as my seventeen-year-old body liked to remind me of, frequently.
I pulled away from her before my dick took it upon itself to broadcast to Violet those exact thoughts. I wanted her, badly, but she needed to know how much I loved her first.
She clutched the paper with both hands. “I can’t believe it. The PCV is, like, the program I need for my transcripts. The icing on the cake for my med school prospects.”
I smirked. “You’ve mentioned that once or twice.”
“Smartass.” She gave me a friendly punch on the arm, then flipped to the second page. “Let’s see who I’m assigned to. I hope it’s you.”
I leaned my ass against her desk, casual, not letting it show on my face how much I hoped it was me too.
I didn’t want a Patient Care Volunteer unless it was Violet, but my endocrinologist recommended it for me. Managing my diabetes was difficult, more difficult than most. If the universe were being benevolent, it would be my name and address that Violet read. She’d come to my place twice a week, helping me manage my glucose, insulin, needle care and replacement, and making sure my fridge was stocked with food that my meal plan required. Violet did most of that stuff already, whether I asked her to or not, but if she were officially assigned to me, she’d have to leave her endless studying and her new popular friends two afternoons a week. I’d have her all to myself.
But not only was the universe distinctly un-benevolent, it was downright cruel.
“Oh my God,” Violet breathed, sinking onto her bed. She looked up at me with those dark blue eyes that were now lit up with fear.
“Well? Who is it?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you. Patient privacy.”
“Come on, Vi. It’s me. You know I’m not going to say a word.”
Violet bit her lip. “Swear to me you won’t tell. Because it’s serious. More serious than I expected.”
“I swear.”
She lowered her voice. “I’ve been assigned to Nancy Whitmore. River’s mom.”
River fucking Whitmore. Of course.
I cleared my throat. “She’s sick?”
Violet nodded. “It doesn’t give details here, but just the other day, Dad took his car to the Whitmore Auto Body shop. When he came back, he and my mom were talking in low voices. I heard the word ‘cancer’ more than once.” Her hand dropped to her side. “Jesus, poor River. That’s probably why he hasn’t been hanging out with us this summer.”
Us was relative, but I let it slide. I never hung out with Vi and her popular friends, but I had been selfishly celebrating that Violet’s summer had been relatively River-free. And it was because his mom was sick.
The universe is a straight-up asshole.
I felt like one too.
She looked up at me fearfully. “God, what if it’s bad?”
“What do they expect you to do?” I asked, the urge to protect her rising in me. “Not heavy-duty shit?”
“No, no, simple things like changing bedding, bringing her food, reading to her, making her comfortable.”
I scowled. “Sounds like end-of-life stuff to me.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Are you up for that?”
Violet nodded and sat straighter, her trademark stubborn, determined look painted over her features. “I can do it. I want to help. And if I’m going to be a doctor, this is part of it, right? The good and the bad?”
“I guess so.
” Making sure a seventeen-year-old diabetic ate his vegetables wasn’t in the same ballpark as taking care of a dying woman.
Violet waved her hand. “But it might not be as serious as we think. She could be in treatment and recovering. We shouldn’t jump to the worst-case scenario.”
I said nothing. In my experience, the only way to prepare for anything was to assume the worst. That night, I should have taken my own advice.
“Just be careful,” I said. “If it’s too much, tell them.”
Violet smiled. “I will.”
You won’t.
If River’s mom was terminal, Violet would stick with her to the end, no matter how much of a mental toll it took. And the bitch of it all was that she’d be in River’s house twice a week. I hated that jealousy gnawed at my guts when the poor guy’s mom might be dying, but I knew what would happen. Violet would Florence Nightingale her way into being more enamored with River Whitmore, and he’d fall in love with her compassion and bravery. How could he not?
It’s what I did.
Violet caught my dark expression. “I’m sorry I wasn’t assigned to you, but I’m glad you’ll have someone helping. Don’t give your PCV a hard time, okay?”
“Who, me?”
“I’m serious. I worry about you.”
“Don’t.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “Like that’s possible.” She tilted her head and stood up, took a step closer. I could smell her perfume and the soap she used in the shower. “You look a little pale, right now actually. Are you feeling low? Do you need a snack?”
“I don’t need a snack,” I practically shouted, making her flinch.
The song I’d come to sing for her felt stupid and incredibly selfish after the severity of her assignment. And how could I tell her what I felt while her thoughts were entirely filled with River?
My hands clenched the side of the desk until my knuckles ached. Anger at the Whitmores for ruining my plan simultaneously battled with feeling like shit for the tragedy unfolding in their lives.
So, I did the mature thing and took it out on Violet.
“Miller…?”
“I’m fine,” I bit out. “I’m always the same. You’re the one who’s different. What the hell is going on with you, anyway?”
“Me?” Violet sank back down on the bed. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been distant.”
She blinked. “When?”
“Last week. This summer. All last year. Ever since you started hanging around Ri—Evelyn Gonzalez and her friends. Is that how it’s going to be this year? We’re not cool enough for you anymore?”
Jesus, my petulant bullshit had become a runaway train I couldn’t stop.
“You know that’s not true,” Violet said. “And who is we? Has Shiloh said something? I just hung out with her yesterday—”
“No.”
“And you? We’re literally hanging out right now.” Her face turned down in concern. “You really think I ignored you at school last year? That’s not true.”
“I’m not a fucking pity case, Vi. I’m just telling you what I—we—notice. Something’s different and has been for a while.”
“I have new friends. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about my old friends.”
“Uh huh. How are things with River?” I gritted out.
“Aside from his mom maybe dying? There are no ‘things.’ I’ve told you a hundred times. He hardly says a word to me. We’re not dating or anything.”
“Yet.”
She crossed her arms. “Jealous, are we?”
I swallowed hard. Here it was. Now or never. Confess or wallow in misery forever.
But in the silence that stretched between us, Violet began to stare at me fearfully, scared that I might be on the verge of imploding our friendship. Of breaking our blood vow.
My jaw worked as I wrestled with myself until downstairs, raised voices—one low, one higher pitched—rose up from the floor like a seismic eruption. As always, it shook Violet’s foundation, eroded her happiness. She tore her gaze from me and stared at the floor, then flinched as the sound of breaking glass from below. Footsteps thundered up the stairs. We both froze as her parents’ voices grew louder.
“No, you are not going to do this, Lynn,” her dad shouted. “Do not do this to her.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” her mom spat. “This concerns all of us.”
I instinctively moved in front of Violet as the door flew open and her parents crowded the doorway, her mom stopping short at seeing me. She smoothed a flyaway lock of dark hair from her mad dash down the hall and stood straight. Vi’s dad was a boxy guy who’d played football in college. He looked it—a former linebacker in a rumpled dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. They both looked worn out.
“What are you doing here this late?” Lynn McNamara demanded.
“Lynn…” Vince rolled his eyes and fixed me with a tired smile. “Hey, Miller.”
I lifted my chin. “Hey.”
Lynn pinned Violet with a hard look. “It’s nearly eleven. You have school tomorrow.”
“I know, Mom—”
“And honestly, Miller, our front door works, you know. I don’t even want to think about the damage to my trellis.”
“You haven’t planted anything on it in years,” Violet said.
“Of course not,” Lynn replied. “Why would I, if it’s just going to get trampled every night?” She swiveled to me. “Is it every night, young man? Just what are you doing in my daughter’s bedroom?”
Violet flushed pink. “Mom. I’ve told you a million times, Miller is just a friend. My best friend.” She looked to me, pleading. “Isn’t that right?”
My heart cracked, and I felt my head nod, my throat thick. “Yeah. That’s right.”
Her eyes were soft with gratitude, then hardened as she turned to her parents. “And what are you doing here, anyway? You can’t just barge in like this.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Vince said, frowning at his wife. “You’re absolutely right.”
Lynn scoffed but was calmer now. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” Her gaze shot to me. “We’ll talk about everything in the morning.”
She stormed out, and Vince followed, offering a weary smile. “Not too late, Vi. Goodnight, Miller.”
The door shut, and Vi sagged against me. I put my arms around her, held her close.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against my chest. “God, it’s so humiliating.”
“It’s okay, Vi.”
“It used to not be like this. We used to sit at the table and laugh. Talk. They loved each other so much. Mom told me once she was lucky she married her best friend. We were so…happy.”
I inhaled, I had to try. Gently. “Not every couple ends up like them.”
I wouldn’t let it happen to us. Ever.
She hugged me tighter and lifted her tear-streaked face. “Tell me the truth, Miller. Are we…okay?”
Her brave tone couldn’t mask the fear in her eyes. The agonizing bottom line was that she needed me to be her friend. In the last few years, her family had been on shaky ground, forcing Violet to grab on to any steady thing she could.
Like our friendship. Even if it tears my heart to shreds.
I swallowed hard. Swallowed down everything I’d come to say and sing to her. I even managed a weak-ass smile. For her.
“Yeah, of course we’re okay. I told you. It’s no big deal.” I shouldered my backpack. “I gotta go.”
Violet didn’t protest and that was almost worse.
Her own smile widened tentatively, hopefully. She wiped the tears from her eyes. “See you at school tomorrow. First day of senior year. I think it’ll be our best yet.”
“Yep,” I said, taking up my guitar case and moving toward the window. “See you, Vi.”
“Miller?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
God, she was so beautiful in her pajama shorts and t-shirt, her eye
s shining and full of gratitude. Athletic from soccer but rounded with curves, intelligence in her eyes, and a smile that could tear down a guy’s defenses in a heartbeat and leave him naked and raw and wanting…
I smiled with knives in my chest. “Always.”
The bus ride back to my neighborhood felt darker. The bus was emptier, and the streets outside the window were black and deserted. My guitar case sat on my lap, full and heavy. A thousand unheard notes bursting to get out.
She doesn’t love you like that. Get over it.
I mustered every broken piece of my pride, sealed up the cracks in my heart. Lesson learned: loving someone wasn’t enough to keep them. Didn’t work for my dad. Or with Violet.
I didn’t know why I kept expecting anything else.
Chapter Two
I got off the bus a few blocks from home—near the cliffs overlooking the ocean—and nearly tripped coming down the steps. The ground tilted beneath me, and my hands trembled as I clutched my guitar case. The bus hissed and rumbled off into the night, just as my watch sounded the alarm. I peered down at the number. 69 and sinking.
“Shit.”
I sat down hard on the curb and fished around in my backpack for the glucose gummies my doctor had prescribed. Orange juice worked faster, but I wasn’t going to make it the two blocks to my apartment for that, and I’d stupidly forgotten to bring a bottle.
I chewed three gummies and waited for my watch to give me a better number. A few minutes later, it registered a 74 and my limbs felt stronger and less watery. I hauled myself up and trudged along the darkened streets.
Shitty apartment complexes, much like the shitty apartment complex Mom and I lived in, rose up around me: peeling paint, concrete stairs, and rusted metal railings. They all had names like Ocean Front, Beachside, and The Coves, as if they were luxury condos with the ocean for a backyard, instead of rundown housing where the nearest “beach” was a rocky, unforgiving shoreline.
It was after eleven when I climbed up an exterior set of cement steps to 2C at the Lighthouse Apartments. Our new home, after my escapade with Violet’s garden hose. It was a small, two-bedroom, one-bathroom, with a heater that worked only when it felt like it and a shower that had shitty water pressure. Roaches scuttled in and out of cabinets and across counter tops when the light came on.
