The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #3)

Giving up on the shoe, I collect my book from the desk and then put some deodorant on. I comb my fingers through my hair and twist it up in a bun on the back of my head. I’ve looked a lot worse than wearing a day old dress and one shoe before, like the time I traded my shirt for a can of food and a pocketknife during one of the brief times I lived out on the streets and had to walk around in this weird tube-top bra for a while.

I hobble over to the door and maneuver it open, relieved when I make it into the hallway. Now if I can just make it to the elevator then all will be golden. Putting all my weight on my good leg, I gradually move down the hall, ignoring the stares and whispers as I pass people, heading to the elevator. I internally celebrate when I make it onto the elevator and it takes me to the bottom floor.

After a lot of struggling and holding on to walls, I finally make it outside to the yard surrounding the McIntyre Building, the dorm where the University of Wyoming puts most of the freshmen. I check my watch dragging my foot across the sidewalk as I move toward the grass and realize that I’m going to be late. I try not to flip out and put more weight on my ankle so I can pick up the pace. I breathe through the pain, reminding myself that I’m as tough as nails. But then I step into a divot in the lawn and my ankle rolls awkwardly.

I trip to the side and drop my book. “Damn it!” I shout, bracing my hand on a nearby tree as the pain spreads up my leg.

People walking down the sidewalk stare at me like I’m a nut job and I’m briefly thrown back to Amelia’s garage, surrounded by Jennifer and her friends. I hate how I feel just from remembering it. The sharpness. The little self-worth. I’m not that person anymore. I’m strong, shielded, and unbreakable. Yet the memories get to me, force my shield to drop. I want to run to that one thing that helps me turn it off, box up my emotions and lock them silently away inside me. But I’d need to move in order to do so. Fuck.

“Knock it off, Violet,” I mutter to myself, my skin damp from exertion. “You’re letting stuff get to you. Suck it up.”

I push back from the tree but then immediately return my hand to it. Shaking my head more at myself than anything, I slump back against the tree. I’m frustrated. I’m not going to make it and panic claws at my throat as disappointment in myself seeps in. I need a way to fix this… make the violent flood of emotions go away. Now.

I search the grassy area beneath the trees looking for a distraction from what’s going on inside of me. There’s a group of guys across from me playing Frisbee. I could pick a fight with them, see if I could get them to actually hit a girl, but fighting is usually a last resort, because it causes very little adrenaline to surface anymore. Or I could pick a fight with that creeper over by the tree, taking pictures of me with his camera, the ginormous flash blinding me even from this distance.

I lean forward, squinting to get a better look at him. The last time someone was taking a picture of me like that was right after my parents died and every damn reporter in the country wanted to get a picture of the girl who survived the slaying of her parents. But it’s been ages since that happened and no one seems to care anymore.

The longer I stare at the guy, the more he backs away through the trees, clicking his camera repeatedly, and I start to drift forward, with a threatening look on my face.

“Well, you look like shit,” someone says from beside me and I stop. “I can see you didn’t take my advice and stay off that damn foot.”

Luke Price suddenly appears at my side in the shadow of the tree next to me. I’ve seen him around school and last night when I kicked him in the face, but I don’t really know him other than what I told him last night, plus the fact that he seems super intense. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a small hole in the hem and his jeans have a small hole in them, too. He’s got cropped brown hair and intense brown eyes that automatically make me picture him as a fighter or boxer or something. But as far as I know he’s just a football player, another jock that’s probably walking in his father’s footsteps.

He reaches up to scratch the welt on his forehead from the impact of my boots and I notice he has a leather band on his wrist that has the word “redemption” on it. I wonder if it means anything to him. If he’s been saved from something?

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Stoically Aloof.” I aspire to sound disinterested but the soreness in my leg and my anxiety is straining my voice. I glance back over to where the guy with the camera was lurking but he is gone. Shaking my head, I turn back to Luke, forcing myself to be the normal, indifferent Violet that I strive to be. “God, you really know how to charm a girl.”

He eyes me with this illegible expression. “Who says I was trying to charm you?”

I’m not sure if he’s aiming to be a flirty douche or just a douche, but either way I’m done talking to him. I need to get myself calmed down anyway. I inhale and blow it out as I glide forward, but freeze as blinding pain radiates through my leg and I start to fall toward the ground.

“Shit.” Luke hurries forward with his arms out in front of him. “Let me help you.”

I stick out my hand as I stagger back against the tree. “I got it. I don’t need your help.”

He stares at me with condescending doubt. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I just need a breather and I’ll be good to go,” I insist, portraying confidence on the outside that I lack on the inside. I’ve pretty much given up hope that I’m going to make it to class today and the anxiety is only escalating. The ideal thing for me to do now is to go back to the dorm and take care of the problem the only way I know how.

He crosses his arms, his lean muscles flexing, and presses his lips together, either to conceal his irritation or amusement—I honestly can’t tell from the intensity dripping off of him. “Where are you trying to go?”

“I’m not trying to go anywhere.” I press my palms flat against the rough tree bark. “I’m going to go to class.”

He crooks his eyebrow. “To chemistry?”

“Yeah,” I say. “The class you’re supposed to be at, too, I’m pretty sure.”

“Yeah, I’m running late.” He gives a fleeting glance at the sidewalk and then his gaze lands back on me. “And now I’m going to be even later thanks to you.”

“No one said you had to stop and talk to me.” I square my shoulders, preparing to march my way across the yard with my head held high, showing that I do have some dignity left in me, even though I know I’m not going to make it all the way. I can pretend though, at least until he leaves.

I make it five amazing, dignified steps before my knees give out on me. Then Luke steals all the dignity I have left as he rushes forward and catches me in his sturdy arms. Even though it would have hurt worse, I would have rather face-planted into the grass and injured myself, then let my pride be wounded like it is now.

“What are you doing?” My flip flop scrapes against the grass as I endeavor to get my feet back under me. “I said I got it.”

“Sorry, but you obviously don’t,” he replies simply, tucking his arms underneath mine he helps me to my feet.

I consider shoving him as one of his hands slides down my side and to my waist, but then I realize he’s doing it to support my weight. I’m not sure what to do. I don’t ask for help with anything—I’m not that weak anymore—but technically I’m not asking Luke for help right now. He’s just doing it on his own, which isn’t the same. At least that’s what I tell myself to make this situation feel better. Besides, he’s become a very good distraction from the emotions stirring in my chest before he showed up. I’m starting to settle down, calming on the inside. No one’s ever done this to me before, except for maybe Preston and his ex-wife and my ex-foster mother, Kelley, and those instants were few and far between.

“Now are you going to let me help you back to your dorm or not?” His fingers gently press into my side.

I dither, then place my hand on his shoulder so I can lift more weight off my foot. “No, but I’ll let you help me to class.” I catch a hint of his scent; cologne mixed with soap and a splash of tequila.