Chapter 17

“Hey, JL,” Violet said as she walked into her apartment after a long day of work.

“Hi, chick,” JL said as she fed Bird. “Don’t you fucking bite me, asshole.”

“Asshole. Asshole. Asshole.”

Violet laughed.

JL turned around abruptly. “What the hell was that?”

Startled at her tone, Violet looked around. “What?”

“Did you just laugh? I haven’t heard you laugh in three months.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” JL said, throwing herself onto the couch.

“Sorry if I’ve been kind of down,” Violet said, plopping down next to JL, her feet on JL’s lap.

“It’s okay. I get it, but I hope you snap out of it soon.”

“Honestly, if he’d just never spoken to me again, I think I would kind of understand. But, the fact that Cain not only left me again but ran to a battlefield…what if he’s—”

“Don’t even think that.”

“But I’ll never even know if something were to—”

“Stop.” JL squeezed Violet’s foot. “Let’s go out tonight. Do something fun. I’m meeting some friends in a new club in the design district.”

“Ew! That’s not a great neighborhood.”

“It will be soon. They’re building all sorts of trendy spots.”

The last three months had been hell. She’d cried all the time and checked her phone constantly. When she finally communicated with IMC, they refused to divulge Cain’s location. Her heart was broken and she wasn’t sure it would ever be fixed.

“Come on. Please. Don’t make me go alone.”

She’d been moping for too long. It was time to get out of the house. “Fine. I’ll go.”

JL jumped up and down. “Yay! Okay, let’s go get dressed.”

A couple of hours later, with the music pounding and the lights beaming harshly, JL and her friends were somewhere on the dance floor and Violet sat at the bar nursing a Diet Coke. She knew she really should have a drink and loosen up, but she just wasn’t in the mood. The loud music was giving her a headache, and the strobe lights were making her nauseous.

“Can I buy you a drink?” a deep voice said right by her ear.

“I’m good,” Violet said, looking down at her cup.

“Hey, I know you.”

Violet turned her head and squinted. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint how she knew him.

He looked at her intently and then snapped his fingers. “You’re Cain’s girl.”

Cain. The mere sound of his name made her chest ache. “You’re his friend. The one I saw at the fight?”

“Yes. I’m Iggy. I work with him at IMC.”

She sat up straighter. “Oh, that’s right.” She turned in her seat, suddenly very intent on talking to the man. “Do you know where he is? Since you’re in town, does that mean he’s in town too?” She felt hopeful for the first time in months.

“Last I heard, he’d moved to Jacksonville.”

“Jacksonville? What? I…uh…wasn’t he with you?”

“No. He quit. We were going to meet up this weekend. I’m in town for the week before I head back.”

“Back?”

He shook his head. “Classified, honey.”

“So he’s coming down to Tarpon Springs to meet with you?”

“Yeah.” Iggy took out his phone from his pocket. “Excuse me for a second—I’ve been waiting for a text.”

Violet didn’t want to look as the screen lit up. In the darkness of the club, it seemed as bright as the strobe lights overhead. She tried not to look, but as she brought her glass to her lips, she couldn’t help but sneak a look at the screen. What if it was from Cain? She had to know. It said, Parker High School. 1 a.m.

He pressed a button, darkening the screen. “It was nice to see you again. Violet, right?”

“Oh.” She extended her hand. “Yes. I’m sorry. Violet Channing.”

“Well, Violet Channing, it was nice to see you. Be safe.”

“I’m with friends. Don’t worry about me. Please ask Cain to give me a call when you see him.”

“Will do,” he said, and he walked away.

Violet looked at the time on her phone. It was midnight. If that text was what she thought it was, it was another one of those underground fights. She had to get to Cain.

Violet paid for her drink and went to the dance floor, surprised to find JL with her arms crossed, yelling over the loud music to Enzo. From her flailing arms and Enzo’s annoyed-looking face, it seemed like the surprise encounter was not going well.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m not feeling well. Do you think Enzo or one of your friends can take you home?” Violet said into JL’s ear.

“No. Don’t bother. This guy’s got some nerve. Let’s go.” She threaded her arm through Violet’s and turned, leaving Enzo surprised and upset.

Enzo trailed after them. “Where are you going?” he asked once they were outside.

“Vi doesn’t feel well and I don’t want to embarrass you any longer, so we’re leaving.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jamie Lynn. Stay. I’ll take you home,” Enzo said.

“No.” She stopped in front of Violet’s bright red Mini Cooper and stood there for a second while Violet climbed inside. “I’m sure there’s a blond, blue-eyed Harvard grad somewhere with a clean vocabulary who’ll make you a great wife. I’m obviously not that girl, so you can go fuck yourself, you pretentious asshole.” She got in the car and slammed the door. “Go!” she yelled at Violet, who startled and quickly started the car.

Violet backed out of the space, careful not to hit Enzo, who stood by the car, seething. “You want to tell me what that was about?” Violet asked quietly. “I’ve never seen you so upset.” She looked to the side and thought she saw tears. “Are you crying?”

“No,” JL sniffled. “No!” she said again, more assertively this time. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just take me home.”

They didn’t speak during the ten-minute drive home, and when they reached the apartment, JL went straight to her room and shut the door. Violet took the opportunity to head to Parker High School.

Three months.

Ninety days.

Twelve miserable weeks.

Cain drove straight to Violet’s house. It was only seven in the morning, but he couldn’t wait one more second to see her. He’d learned in the last three months that he owed many people lots of apologies, but no one as much as Violet. After he realized no one was home, he drove to the clinic where she worked, but it was still closed. He jogged across the street to WtF Academy. He could always start making amends with his friends.

The familiar musky locker room smell of the Academy assaulted his senses. In one corner of the Academy Jessica was conducting an early morning yoga class to quiet music, while on the other side of the gym Tony was working on some wrestling techniques with some kids he taught in the mornings.

Tony noticed him first. “Is that really you?”

“Yes, it’s me.” He waited while Tony put down his gloves and gave his student some instructions before walking over to him. He wasn’t sure if his friend would break his nose or start to yell. What he didn’t expect was for Tony to give him a hug. Not a one-sided man-hug, but a real hug. “Brother.”

Slade came out from the back. “Yo, man. You’re back. Good to see you.” He squeezed Cain’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Cain said, feeling unexpected emotions. “So, I’m…I wanted to say that I’m sorry for all the shit that went down and—”

“It’s cool. Glad you’re back,” Slade said.

“No need for words. We’re all good. You better?” Tony added.

“Yeah, I’m good. Real good, man.”

Tony playfully slapped him on the back. “So where the hell were you, man?”

Just then the bell on the front door sounded and Jack walked in, looking a little pale and a lot somber. Seeing him walk in wearing a shirt and tie, obviously still on duty, was alarming.

“Cain? You’re back?” Jack asked, his face going from dismal to…something else.

“Just got in.”

“Hey, brother, what are you doing here at this time?” Slade asked Jack. “Fuck. Is it my sister? Did something happen to Chrissy?” he demanded when he noticed Jack’s face. The music had stopped, and now Jessica had come over, along with JL, who had been in Jessica’s yoga class. Slade asked the parents of the kids taking Tony’s class if they’d mind waiting in the locker room.

“I came to speak with JL, but now, seeing that Cain’s here, I guess I need to speak to you both. Something’s happened.” Jack looked at Cain and JL.

“What is it?” Cain asked.

Jack looked around the room uncertainly.

Cain took a step forward and repeated, “What?”

“It’s Violet.”

“What?” Cain yelled, his anxiety building to insurmountable levels.

“What happened? Is she okay?” JL asked anxiously.

“Talk,” Cain said impatiently.

“Apparently there was a scheduled underground fight at an abandoned high school downtown. I suspect you know something about it,” Jack said, eyeing Cain.

“I don’t know shit about it.” Fuck, please don’t say it. She didn’t go. She didn’t go, he chanted over and over in his head. He’d changed his number and been off the grid for the last three months; he didn’t know about any fight.

“Too many people in a small place. Kerosene lanterns had been hung around the place for some light, since the building didn’t have electricity hooked up. There was a lot of ruckus. The fire marshal said the fire was caused by someone knocking down one of the lanterns. The wooden building immediately lit up.”

His heart stopped.

He took out his phone and started dialing Violet.

“She was there? At the fight?” JL asked, sounding stunned. “No. Can’t be. She took me home. We were at the club and she went to bed.”

“Her car was found in the parking lot.”

“She’s not answering. Where is she?” Cain asked. “She wasn’t home earlier when I went by. Jack, what happened to her?”

“Man. I…uh…I went there personally when another cop noticed her car. She has that noticeable red Mini, so the guys knew who it belonged to. I didn’t let any ambulance leave without checking. She didn’t leave on an ambulance.”

“Could she have just walked out?” JL asked, trembling.

“No, honey. No one walked out,” Jack said grimly.

Cain knew what Jack was saying. The victims had all left in ambulances or were removed in body bags. No one had walked out unharmed.

“What? Oh my God,” JL gasped, her hand on her mouth. Enzo, who Cain hadn’t even noticed was there, reached her just before she collapsed.

When Cain had been in Iraq, there’d been a few FUBAR moments when an explosion happened nearby and time seemed to slow down and voices became muffled. This was just like that. Jack continued to move his mouth, but the words were not making it into his ear.

“Cain!” Someone was shaking him. “Cain!” Then suddenly, the noise came back in a whoosh. “Cain!”

“The building completely burned down. There’s nothing left. She’s not home. Is there anywhere she could’ve possibly gone? Maybe she wasn’t at the fight. I don’t know how to account for the car, though. Would she go to another fight after you told her not to? We all talked to the girls about that,” Jack said.

JL pushed Enzo out of the way and ran to Cain. “You know she would’ve gone, you asshole!” She punched his chest. “She would’ve gone. She was worried about you. Even after all the shit you put her through. She was probably looking for you. You left her again!”

Enzo wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled her away from Cain.

He couldn’t react because he deserved it. Every single verbal or physical assault JL had to give, he would take, because she was right. He was at fault. Again.

“What hospital are they taking the survivors to?”

“St. Joseph’s. But I’m telling you, she didn’t leave on an ambulance.”

Cain lunged forward and grabbed Jack by the shirt. A snarl he didn’t even recognize came out. “Yes she fucking did!”

Cain took off running. He heard Slade and Jack behind him telling him not to drive, but he was already on his bike, revving it up. Swerving in and out of traffic, going way over the speed limit, it took him five minutes to make it to the hospital. He jumped off his bike and ran to the front door. The emergency room was crawling with people, some of whom he remembered having seen at the fights months earlier. He impatiently waited his turn, and when he reached the front desk he asked the nurse about Violet. He knew they wouldn’t give him any information because of all the privacy laws, so he said he was her husband. The nurse looked through the records of all the patients that were brought in, and there was no one by the name of Violet Channing. He felt all the air rush out of his lungs. He had hoped that once he was inside the hospital they’d show him right to her room, where she was resting, perhaps with some minor injuries. He would berate her for the next thirty years for having gone to the fight, but she’d be alive to berate—that’s what was important. But instead, there was no sign of her. He saw a woman sobbing in Russian to another woman; he wondered for a second if the Russians had survived, but that was quickly overshadowed by the immediate feeling of dread. He sat down in a corner of the waiting room.

How in the fuck could this have happened? For the second time in his life he’d lost someone he loved after a big argument. But this…this time it was exponentially worse. This made his chest ache. This made him unable to catch his breath. This made his eyes sting. Unable to sit still, he took off. He headed straight for Violet’s house. Again, the hope of finding her there lingered. Instead he found the front door unlocked and Enzo consoling JL.

As soon as JL saw him she rushed to him and embraced him. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she sobbed. “It was wrong of me to say that. I am so sorry. I know how much you loved her.”

The lump in his throat was overwhelming. “You were right. It’s my fault. I should’ve…I should’ve…” His eyes filled with tears, making it difficult to look at JL. “I should’ve manned up. I should’ve stayed. I—” But he’d come back. He’d made himself better for her. Three months in intensive therapy. He needed to tell her. He’d done this to be a better man for her.

“No. Stop that.” She hugged him harder. She was going to say something else, but he cut her off. “I’m going to her room for a few.”

She nodded and he saw Enzo pull her into him as she sobbed. He walked into Violet’s room and closed the door behind him. The first thing he saw was that photo by her bed. That was the final straw. Her beaming smile. The thing he loved most about her—caught perfectly on camera. By him, of all people. He’d always cherished that light in her eyes, and now she was gone and he was destined to live the rest of his life in miserable darkness. He crumpled down on her bed and sat holding the picture, with tears streaming down his face, long enough for the sun to set.

Every single memory Cain had, Violet was in it. From the first time he’d ridden a bicycle without training wheels and she’d cheered him on while she sucked her thumb to the way she had tried to sabotage his first date with Milly Ruben by hiding a toad in the front seat of Cain’s old car. Almost thirty years of memories flooded back. Memories that would be all he had to hold on to now that she was gone. How when she was nine years old she’d hated her curly hair because it got in the way of casting the fishing line, so one day she’d grabbed her father’s scissors and chopped it all off, then cried about it for a week. Or how she’d stood up to his dad when Cain got in fights in school, telling his dad that it was the other kids’ fault. How he and Jeremy would help her climb out of the window after her dad went to sleep to go fishing in the lake. But most of all, he would miss her laugh. And that thought alone caused him so much pain he physically thought he would not survive.

He quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand when he heard a knock on the door. “Man. I don’t even know what to say,” Tony said as he walked in. Cain just looked at the man who had become his close friend, unsure how even to react. “We’ve gone to all the hospitals in and around town, just in case.”

Cain understood what he meant. There was nowhere else to look. Tony handed Cain her purse. “Here. It was in her car.” Damn it! It was all becoming too real. Too much. He held her purse. It smelled like her. Vanilla and something else…something flowery. “You want me to drive you home, man?” Tony said as Cain held the bag close to his face, not wanting to lose her scent.

What was he supposed to do now? There were so many things in his mind. She didn’t have any family left, so there really wasn’t anyone he could call. Except for the Edwardses. How would he tell the Edwardses?

Then there was the matter of the funeral. Something he couldn’t even fathom thinking about. It just didn’t seem real.

“Take me to the scene.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t care. Either you take me or I drive.”

Tony must’ve noticed his shaky hands, so he took a breath and tipped his chin.

The house was quiet when Cain walked out of Violet’s room. It was late, so JL was likely still asleep. Leaving the room felt like a goodbye of sorts, and it took him a moment to turn off the lights and close the door behind him.

Cain folded his long body into Tony’s 1969 Camaro, and in somber silence they arrived at the burnt building. The smell of smoke still lingered. There was a void where the building had stood. A crew was still removing debris, and police officers and firefighters remained at the scene assessing. Cain sat in the car but couldn’t get out. “You want a moment?” Tony asked.

“No. Forget it. Can’t do this.” He knew what would happen if he walked out. There were some body bags nearby. With fires, identifying the remains was difficult if not impossible. Since he’d been at the fights before and knew some of the people who would’ve been there, they would ask him to identify the remains they’d been able to locate. He couldn’t do it. He would have to eventually, he was sure. But at the moment he couldn’t do it. “Take me home.”

Tony shook his head and drove off. When they reached Cain’s place, Tony parked and began to get out of the car.

Cain stopped him with a shake of his head. “Need to be alone.”

“You sure?” Tony asked, concern marring his face.

No. He wasn’t sure. But he nodded anyway.

“I’ll come by tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid,” Tony said.

He nodded again and reached for the door handle.

“Hey, man.” Tony stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Where were you for the last three months?”

“In-house treatment for PTSD.”

Tony’s eyes moistened, and he let go of Cain’s shoulder as Cain got out the car.

He’d come back—not fixed, because that would take years, but feeling better—only to find himself in hell.

Cain opened the door to his crap apartment with its bare white walls.

He’d been stupidly saving his winnings. He should’ve bought her the house of her dreams and proposed. That’s what he should’ve done. He should’ve been living his life with the woman he loved. Instead he’d yelled and left her begging. What an asshole he’d been. He’d never forgive himself.

Never.

No amount of therapy would fix this.

She was dead. His Violet was dead. And the last words he’d said to her had been some bullshit about not being able to love her. The truth was, he’d never survive without her. She gave him a reason to live, to breathe. The tears in his eyes blinded him and he wasn’t sure how he made it to the couch or how a bottle of vodka ended up in his hand.

At some point in the middle of the night, he woke up, stumbled to the bathroom, and threw up. Still feeling like shit, he brushed his teeth, opened up another bottle of vodka, and took a burning gulp of the clear liquid. He couldn’t get numb enough.

A beeping from his phone disconcerted him. He staggered to the living room, where he’d been passed out, and began to toss objects aside in search of the ringing phone. He threw the couch cushions out of the way, knocking over a lamp. Maybe it was Violet, some part of his drunk brain thought, and this had all been a fucking nightmare. Penance for the awful way he’d treated her.

He stuck his hand in every crevice of the couch. Searching. Looking. Hoping.

The beep taunted him.

He took another swig of vodka, slammed it down on the coffee table and pushed the couch and loveseat over. There was nothing.

It was Violet looking for him. She needed help. It had to be. And goddammit, he couldn’t get to her.

He hadn’t unpacked, and his luggage still sat in the middle of the room. He lifted the duffle bag and threw it against the wall with a roar, shattering the mirror that hung there. He was seeing double and a part of him knew he was too drunk to be walking around, but he had to find that damn phone.

He punched the wall with all his might, making a hole in the drywall before sliding down to the floor, his back against the wall. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled as the room spun and his knuckles ached.

Frustration, fear, sadness, anger…nothing but hopeless emotions consumed him.

Then he saw the little red light of the phone blinking on the floor by the television. Triumphantly he crawled the two feet to the phone and slid down to his stomach to see who had text. It was messages from friends checking in on him. No good news. No Violet. That’s when he realized that he’d been holding on to a hope that just didn’t exist. The thin strip that had been holding held him together snapped: he drank from the bottle until there was nothing left but complete numbness and darkness.