The Probability of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #4)

I shrug it off, pretending to search my bag for something to avoid looking at him, afraid he might just see how full of shit I am. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago… and I’ve moved on.” I hold my breath, feeling him move up behind me, as if he wants to touch me or hug me better, but I can’t do that with him right now. Fooling around is one thing, but hugging is way too emotionally driven. “So there’s only one bed.”


“I’ll sleep on the floor.” Luke puts his bag onto the floor and releases a deafening breath before finishing off his beer and throwing the empty bottle away. “Sorry about this—about everything.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” I say, setting my half drank beer down on the dresser then bending down to unzip my bag and get the battery I bought for my phone out. “I pretty much forced you to let me come with you.” I don’t bother noting the other sorry he was throwing out there. It feels wrong for him to say sorry for something that was out of his hands. What his mother did wasn’t his fault and one day I hope I can fully tell him that.

“There was no forcing. Trust me. I wanted you to come with me more than I should of,” he says, sinking down on the bed, his head falling forward into his hands. “Because I’m selfish.”

“You’re not selfish.” I stand back up and open the package the battery came in. I take it out and put it in my phone, crossing my fingers it’ll work. “You’re anything but.”

He elevates his head, his eyes blazing with so much intensity I almost shrink back. “How the hell do you figure that?”

I press down on the talk button, shrugging as I wait to see if my phone will boot up. “You gave me my space when I left… when I told you that I didn’t want to see you. You gave me what I asked for and that’s not selfish.”

He gestures at the both of us, gaping. “We’re here now.”

“I chose to be here.” I relax as my phone screen turns on, but any elation plummets when I see that I have five new messages.

Unknown: So we’re no longer talking?

Unknown: Did I scare u that bad?

Unknown: Quit being a fucking cunt and text me back.

Greyson: Just checking in on u.

Unknown: U know I should have killed u when I had the chance.

Dizziness overtakes me as I read the last one and have to reach for the bed for support, but end up stumbling and grabbing onto Luke’s shoulder instead.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks worriedly, his hand grasping onto my hip to hold me upright.

I shake my head, staring over his shoulder at the wall, unable to look him in the eye. “It’s nothing.” My voice is hoarse as I clutch onto the phone and also his shoulder.

Luke’s hand slides up my side, to my neck, then ultimately he cups my chin in his hand and makes me look at him. “What was on your phone?”

“Nothing.” I’m struggling to breathe, images of that night flashing through my mind. Is it his mother texting me? Or the other person? The man? The one I never saw?

Luke swallows hard, fighting some kind of inner rage. “Is it Preston? Because I won’t let him do anything to you. I promise.”

“It’s not Preston,” I say, finally subsiding down on the bed beside him and frown down at my phone. “You remember that guy, Stan the reporter?”

He nods, listening intently. “Has he been bothering you again?”

“I don’t think it’s him,” I say, unsure what else to say. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to talk about the killer and my parent’s deaths when his mother was part of it? And when she could be the one sending the texts. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s a reporter at all, with the things that they’re saying.”

“What kind of things?” His hand finds my thigh, his fingers grazing up and down it, not in a sexual way but a comforting way.

I close my eyes and give him the phone. “Scroll through the texts from the unknown number.” I remain sitting with my eyes shut, listening to his breathing quicken.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath and I open my eyes, hovering back at the fury in his brown eyes, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists, clutching the crap out of my phone. “You have no idea who sent this to you? At all?”

I shake my head. “I’ve been getting little things off and on from reporters ever since the case was reopened, but this takes things to a whole new level.”

“How long has it been going on?” He struggles to keep his voice even and his anger under control. I’m sort of worried that he’s going to chuck my phone, with how hard he’s gripping it.

“They started up yesterday, right before I went to Geraldson’s,” I tell him. “I need to call Detective Stephner and report it.” I pause, reluctant to ask, but needing to do it. “Luke,” I swallow hard, “You don’t think it could be your… your mother, could it?” Finally, the large elephant that’s been hanging out between us has been acknowledged. But it makes the tension between us even worse, if that’s possible, especially when Luke remains quiet for what feels like forever. His knuckles turn white from holding my phone so tightly and I swear he’s going to grind all his teeth away with how tight his jaw is set.

“I want to say no, but honestly, I have no idea,” he finally says through gritted teeth as he gives me back my phone. “She’s fucking crazy and I wouldn’t put it past her to do something like this.” He drags his free hand down his face then leans forward and reaches for his cigarettes in his bag. He pops one out of the pack, puts it into his mouth and lights up, his hand shaking as he flicks the lighter. After a good, long, drag, he seems to settle down, but the next words he utters are far from settling.

“I’ll fucking kill her if she touches you,” he says, flexing his fingers as if he’s fighting the desire to punch something, like he was doing to the wall back at the apartment.

I don’t know what to say. I know it’s wrong, the whole eye for an eye thing, but part of me wishes his mother was dead. But not by the hand of Luke. There’s no way I’d ever want him to carry that kind of burden or suffer the consequences for doing it.

“Hey.” I put a hand on his arm, his lean muscles flexing under my touch. “Relax. I’m not even sure if it’s her, okay? So let me call Detective Stephner and see what he can do about it.”

His gaze fastens on mine. “I’m sorry this had to happen to you.” Sincerity pours out of his eyes like hot liquid trying to drown me.

Great, now I want to cry. Jesus, what the hell is with these last few days? I must be getting ready to start my period or something.

Unable to speak, I get to my feet and call Detective Stephner. It sends me to his voicemail so I leave a message telling him to call me as soon as he can, that I’ve been getting threatening voice messages. When I hang up, Luke’s smoking his cigarette and watching me with a look of inquisitiveness.

“What can I do?” he says as I put my phone into my pocket. “Should I take you back home? Please, tell me what can help this.”

“Going home isn’t going to help.” I reach for my beer and take a long swig before speaking again. “If some creep is stalking me, it’s better that I’m not there anyway.”

“Well, then what do you want to do?” He gets up from the bed and moves toward me, stopping in front of me and holding with the cigarette out to the side of him. “You name it and we’ll do it.”

“We’re going to go get you your money,” I say persistently with my hands on my hips. “That’s what I want to do.”