Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Violet’s ringtone is a bad omen.

She’d purchased it in eighth grade, when purchasing phone ring tones was still a thing people did. Back then, she’d had no idea that the sound of the classic iphone ringtone fading into a techno take on One Direction's “History” would feel like the harbinger of her own personal apocalypse.

Now, hearing the first few notes is enough to startle her into full muscle lock up. And when she hears her phone begin to ring that fateful Saturday morning, that’s exactly what happens. Violet goes stock still, the sloshing of the coffee in her mug the only movement in the otherwise empty house.

The emptiness of the house is a big, glaring red flag, waving in the distance. Her phone’s ringing stops and starts again. It’s face down on her coffee table, while Violet stands beside it. She’s still in her pajamas from the night before. She’d been seconds away from settling into her couch and relaxing, leisurely scrolling as she sipped her coffee.

The phone continues to ring. The ringing is undeniable. It is happening. It is a fact, and with that in mind, Violet runs through the other facts she knows.

The phone call cannot be coming from Rhiannon, because Rhiannon is watching her niece and nephew, and she locks her phone up when she’s with them so that the kids get her full attention. The phone call cannot be coming from Sawyer, because Sawyer is actively on an airplane, on his way to Tennessee to visit his parents. The phone call cannot be coming from Ridoc, because Ridoc’s on a romantic retreat with Bodhi, at the Riorson-Durran family cabin in the woods to commemorate Bodhi finishing his first year of law school, without reception. The phone call cannot be coming from Dain, because she’d blocked Dain. The phone call cannot be coming from Mira, because Mira is on a submarine for the next two months at least. The phone call cannot be coming from her mother, because her mother doesn’t call her. The phone call cannot be coming from her father, because her father is dead.

The phone call could, hypothetically, be coming from Brennan or Naolin, but Brennan should be sleeping off his twelve hour ER shift Friday night, and Naolin should be entering his own twelve hour ER shift.

She doesn’t want it to be coming from Brennan. The last earth shattering phone call she’d received had been from Brenan. That phone call was the reason Violet no longer took phone calls, the reason every single person she’d thought of before knew not to call her, under any circumstances. And yet, someone is still calling.

She picks it up with her eyes closed, so she doesn’t see the contact name. She gives herself no time to preemptively mourn.

She says, “Tell me you’re alright.”

“Violet!” Ridoc’s voice crashes into her ear, with all of its usual charm and cheer. “And here I thought you were ignoring me in my time of need.”

Slowly, Violet opens her eyes, reorienting herself to her universe. Her college house bears a strange resemblance to a cabin, so her walls are brown. Her floor is in desperate need of a good mopping. Her couch has lumpy cushions. Her pillows are not fluffy. This is her life, and everything is alright.

She swallows. “I don’t do phone calls, Ridoc.”

“I know,” he says, voice guilt-drenched, “I wouldn’t have called unless it was an emergency, Vi, and it is one.”

“Are you and Bodhi alright?” she asks, because he hadn’t explicitly answered her originally, and if he hadn’t, that could mean they were sick, or hurt, or dead, or dying, and Violet had to get there, or–

“We’re fine. I pinky promise,” Ridoc says.

She’d been digging her nails into her palms in her panic, so she shakes her hands out now to reduce the sting.

“Explain the emergency.”

He says, “I’m sort of hoping you’re psychic so you already know what I’m about to say.”

Violet frowns in thought. What could Ridoc possibly need from her when he’s with Bodhi? They can’t have broken up—Violet won’t even entertain that possibility, they fit together far too well for that. And any emergency is one Bodhi is more than equipped to handle. Ridoc has bragged about his various skills enough that Violet knows this for certain. The man can do CPR, start a fire, put out a fire, build a house, and forage for edible berries. Violet’s not sure how most of those things came up in conversation, but she knows she’s been regaled with every tale.

“I’ve got nothing,” she admits. “You’ll have to be brave.”

Ridoc lets out a long suffering sigh, which Violet knows means he’s working himself up to something. It’s not normally directed at her, because Ridoc prefers to go to Rhiannon or Sawyer when faced with a problem, but Violet’s usually with them when they get the call. Like this call, actually. This is The Call.

Violet decides to study the street while she waits. She walks across her living room and settles down in their bay window. This spot is Violet’s favorite in the entire house. It’s perfect for reading, for one thing, with the sunlight shining down at just the right angle, and these pillows are perfectly plump. Plus, it reminds her of the bay window in her father’s old office. She feels safe here.

The street before her is full of the usual, early summer sights. Her neighbors across the street drink wine on their porch and kids play basketball in the street. A young couple rides their bicycles up the street, while an old man goes on a run in the opposite direction.

“You’re the one who’s going to have to be brave, actually,” Ridoc says. Coming from Ridoc, this can mean anything from recusing a spider stranded in the shower, to taking six shots in a row. So, Violet laughs.

“Brave how?”

Ridoc says nothing. She can imagine what he looks like now, hands pulling at the roots of his dark hair, lip between his teeth. If Bodhi’s with him, which he should be, his arms are probably wrapped around Ridoc’s waist, his forehead resting on his shoulder, curls brushing his neck.

Violet does not feel jealous in response to that mental image. That would be insane. She doesn’t want Ridoc romantically, and she definitely doesn’t want Bodhi romantically.

“I’m not ready yet,” Ridoc says, “I need to give you the context.”

“So give me the context,” Violet says, shifting her hips against the bench seat to get more comfortable. The kids basketball game on the street is heating up. A little blonde girl, whom Violet is 90% sure lives next door, scores a basket, and proceeds to taunt a child Violet is 85% sure is her brother by putting her fingers into the shape of an L on her forehead and sticking out her tongue. The sight makes Violet smile, though her chest aches ever so slightly.

“You remember that I am a land nav god, right?” Ridoc says. He manages to deliver the ridiculous sentence with complete sincerity, which, frankly, is very on brand.

Violet can’t tell if he’s joking, but she definitely does remember the fateful excursion Ridoc’s referencing, in which Violet and her roommates had ventured out to a nearby state park their freshman year of college, planning to go on a team bonding hike. What they didn’t plan for was that the trail was lined with big boulders, and climbing big boulders is very, very appealing, and after you climb a few big boulders, it becomes very easy to get lost in those boulders.

Ridoc somehow led the group back to the trail, and has referred to himself as a land navigation god ever since.

“Of course,” Violet says. A small smile plays on her lips at the memory. It should have been terrifying, but her friends had a way of sucking the fear out of everything.

“Good,” Ridoc says, “Keep that in mind as I talk. I don’t want you to worry.”

Somewhere, in the recesses of Violet’s mind, an alarm bell begins to sound. But Violet ignores it. This is Ridoc. The only thing he’s better at than getting himself into situations is getting himself out of them.

“About you?” Violet teases. “Never.”

Ridoc lets out a sharp breath, then blurts, “I climbed a mountain to make this call.”

Violet blinks once, then twice. “This is my context? You’re a mountaineer?”

“A mountain,” Ridoc continues, “In the middle of nowhere.”

In the background, Violet can just make out Bodhi’s muffled voice saying, “Babe, maybe get to the point?”

“A mountain in the middle of nowhere,” Violet repeats. “I’m guessing you’re going to tell me why?”

Ridoc does another preparation breath-and-blurt. “Bodhi’s car is in a ditch.”

Violet’s jaw is on the floor.

Bodhi’s muffled voice says, “Babe! Not like that.”

“Oh my god!” Violet sputters, “Are you sure you two are alright?”

“Oh yeah, we’re spectacular. Land nav god, remember?” Violet fails to see the connection between car crashes and excellent navigational skills, but she senses that now is not the time. “See, the ditch was in the middle of nowhere, so we are also in the middle of nowhere.”

“How’d the car end up in the ditch, exactly?”

“Oh!” Ridoc sounds surprised by Violet asking this particular question. “I crashed it.”

“Ridoc!”

“What? I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Violet lowers her voice, in case Bodhi’s listening. “Is he mad at you? That car was expensive, wasn’t it?”

“Violet. I could kill a man and Bodhi wouldn’t care. He’s completely fine with being stranded.”

“Stranded?!”

“Yes, that’s what I was working up to saying this entire time. The car’s toast. Dunzo. And my beloved Bodhi and I are in the middle of nowhere. On a mountain.”

“A mountain near your cabin?” Violet asks, voice high with hope, fingers shamelessly crossed.

“You didn’t hear this from me, because I am a land nav god, but I couldn’t even tell you what direction the cabin is in right now. We are Stranded stranded. If we go down the mountain at all, we lose service. From here, my phone GPS says we can expect to walk for fifteen hours. Also, my battery is dying. And Bodhi’s is already dead.”

Violet folds herself in half so her forehead rests on her knees. “Oh, Ridoc.”

“I know. Tell me about it.”

“You want me to come get you?” Violet asks, “That’s why you called?”

“Sort of. You see, it gets worse.”

The alarm bells Violet so easily ignored earlier have grown louder and more frequent.

“I’m going to help you either way, but I’m struggling to see how this could possibly get worse if you’re both alright. You’re both not injured, right? You aren’t lying to me so I don’t panic?”

“Completely, totally fine,” Ridoc promises. “More than able to have a romantic night under the stars, I assure you.”

“Perfect.” Violet is actually not that enthused. “Tell me the bad part.”

“The bad part…” Ridoc sighs again. Violet loves him, she does, but the anticipation is about to kill her, because there’s only one remaining way for this situation to worsen. Normally, she’d dismiss this worst case scenario on principle, because her friends love her too much to subject her to this particular form of torture. But Ridoc, sweet, funny Ridoc, happens to be dating the cousin of Violet’s worst case scenario, and that complicates things.

“Ridoc,” Violet says, “Big girl voice.”

“I need you to come pick me up with Xaden Riorson.”

Violet’s blood turns cold.

“Say that again?” Violet’s throat strangles the words.

“I need you to come pick me up,” Ridoc says, slower this time, “with Xaden Riorson.”

“Why does he have to be there?” Violet hisses.

“Because he’s Bodhi’s cousin, and Bodhi already called him.”

Ridoc sounds tired. He’d likely carried this argument out with Bodhi already on Violet’s behalf. There was also the mountaineering to consider.

“Ridoc,” Violet whines, “Please.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Vi, I would never ask this of you normally.”

“You know how I feel about him,” Violet says. She sounds like a child, petulant, ready to tantrum. That’s what Xaden Riorson reduces her to, and that is why she can’t do this.

She cannot sit in a car with Xaden Riorson for an untold number of hours. She can’t.

“I know. I know you associate untold break up songs with him, and that that’s really traumatic for you-“

“Ridoc! Don’t say that when Bodhi can hear!”

Ridoc scoffs. “Bodhi already knows. If it was a secret, you shouldn’t have blasted the songs. We have thin walls.”

“He’s his cousin!”

“Yes, Violet, I know. That is the crux of my every issue.”

“It’s the crux of my every issue!” Violet retorts. “You can’t seriously expect me to do this. Tell him he can’t come, and I’ll come get you.”

“I can’t do that, Violet.” Ridoc sounds as if he’s speaking through gritted teeth. The visual of a Ridoc that irritated is enough to stump her, even if he hadn’t used her given name.

“Tell me why,” Violet says. “Besides him being Bodhi’s cousin, why do I have to go with him?”

“Well, their whole friend group is strangely codependent,” Ridoc starts, “You know this from seeing them at trivia.”

Bodhi makes a sound of protest in the background. Violet sort of wants to protest as well. The codependent-ness of Xaden Riorson’s friend group is evident in much more than their behavior at the weekly trivia nights both friend groups attend.

Ridoc continues, “So there was no way Bodhi wasn’t calling Xaden, and there was no way Xaden wasn’t going to insist on being part of the rescue squad.”

Bodhi notably doesn’t protest this point. Frankly, neither does Violet. She may hate Xaden Riorson, but he does love his cousin.

“I’m not seeing how this mandates my involvement, Ridoc.”

“I know you think Xaden hates you-”

Violet interjects, “He does!”

“I disagree, but even if I didn’t, Xaden hates me more.”

Violet is dumbfounded. Completely and utterly silenced.

“I’m sorry, I missed the time when Xaden ghosted you,” she snaps, “When was that exactly?”

Ridoc huffs, “He hates me in different, more severe ways.”

“More severe? No way!” Violet retorts, “There is no one he hates more severely than me.”

She hears a scuffle on the other end, then the sound quality changes. Bodhi stole Ridoc’s phone and put it on speaker. “I need you both to understand that this is not a normal conversation, and maybe that means he doesn’t actually hate either of you. Food for thought.”

“No, Bodhi,” Ridoc and Violet snap in unison.

Bodhi sighs, and Violet listens as Ridoc’s phone is returned to his possession.

“Violet,” Ridoc pleads, “You can’t make me do this alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Violet says, “You’re with your beloved Bodhi.”

“Where Xaden’s concerned, I am very, very alone. He hates me.”

Bodhi tries to protest this once more, but his voice grows fainter and fainter. Ridoc must be walking away from him.

“You know he hates me,” Ridoc continues, “He doesn’t think I’m good enough for Bodhi, or serious enough, or enough, period. And that’s fine. I don’t actually care what he thinks, but I don’t want to be stuck in a car with him for twelve hours-”

“Twelve hours?!” Violet yelps.

“Twelve entire hours, Vi,” Ridoc confirms. “Twelve hours full of hatred.”

“See, that was actually a description of what you’re expecting me to do, except make it twenty four hours. Twenty four! That’s an entire day.”

“Violet, it’s going to get worse one more time.”

Violet can’t even hear any thoughts in her mind besides the alarm.

“Did you invite my mother too?” Violet asks. She’s not entirely sure she’s joking, but her relief is welcome when Ridoc laughs.

“God, can you imagine? Next time. Anyways, no. You see, you said I’m expecting you to do this…”

Violet is frozen in her seat. “Are you going to blackmail me into it?”

“No. Sort of. Maybe?” Ridoc exhales, shakily. “I’m spitting it out again. Alright? Alright. You see, I sort of already told Xaden you’d go with him.”

“What?” Violet’s voice is harsh, cutting. There is no questioning-lilt to her response, only the threat of eventual bodily harm. “What would possess you to do that?”

“I had good intentions!” Ridoc exclaims. “I thought that if he hates you as much as you think he does, your promised presence would deter him from insisting on coming.”

But Ridoc was wrong. Xaden does hate her as much as she thinks he does, and so, nothing sounded better to him than terrorizing her for hours on end with his presence.

“Ridoc. Call him back, and tell him no.”

“Vi, I can’t,” Ridoc says.

Violet doesn’t understand at first. Of course he can. He can do whatever he wants. He’s a grown man.

But then, she sees the kids in the street scatter. A black car pulls down the street. She doesn’t know what kind it is, but she doesn’t need to. She remembers the damn car, for one thing, and for another, she can feel him.

Violet throws herself off the window sill in her effort to hide, and as consequence, she lands on her wrist. Hard.

She groans low at the pain. Her phone had fallen out of her grasp in her panic, but she still hears Ridoc’s harried voice saying, “Vi? What happened?”

She can’t pick the phone up because one hand is entirely useless now, and the other has to clutch her injured wrist. The stabilization keeps the pain from overpowering her, but only just.

She uses her outstretched leg to kick her cell toward herself, and uses her bare toe to put it on speaker. “I love you, Ridoc, but you suck.”

“I know,” he agrees, “I’m the worst.” There’s a pause. She isn’t sure what Ridoc uses said pause for, but Violet spends it listening to the sound of Xaden Riorson’s car door slamming shut.

He starts, “You don’t have to do it-”

“I’m doing it.”

She hears Xaden’s footsteps on the walkway, his feet kicking up pebbles, sending them scattering.

Ridoc, baffled, says, “You’re–actually?”

“You called, didn’t you?” Violet retorts, though there’s no heat in it. She doesn’t have heat in her right now. She’s certain that will change the very second she sees Xaden’s stupid beautiful face, but, for now, she’s hiding on the floor, heat free. “Remember when we broke into my mom’s office?”

“And moved all of her things two inches to the left? I could never forget.”

“I needed you then,” Violet says, but she’s interrupted by a knock on the door. She sighs, long and low. “And you need me now. He’s here. I’ll let you go.”

“We are going to go to a bookstore, and I will buy you so many books. All the books. The whole store. And I’ll carry them for you,” Ridoc promises.

“I already said yes,” Violet says, though a smile plays on her lips. A small one, because she knows she’s being marched toward her execution now, but a happy one, too. She has good friends. Friends worth suffering for.

Xaden Riorson knocks again, and Violet’s happiness vanishes.

“I do need you to hang up, though,” she admits, “I may have fucked up my wrist.”

“Oh, Vi,” Ridoc says, “Don’t drive if it hurts.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Violet replies, though something is almost always in pain while she drives, and there is no way she is subjecting herself to watching Xaden Riorson drive for hours and hours. “Seriously, hang up.”

“Love you too,” Ridoc says, then ends the call. She sees his last location in their message thread, in the form of coordinates. She opens the little map. Bodhi and Ridoc really did get Stranded stranded. He never does anything halfway.

Another knock. In response to this one, Violet shouts, “Key under the plant!”

Xaden Riorson must be standing still, intentionally ignoring her carefully crafted instructions, because she hears nothing.

“I’m letting myself in?” he says.

She seriously does not have the energy for this conversation.

“You can let yourself in, or you can fucking leave. Up to you.”

She hears him shuffle. The key jiggles in the lock. The door is old, so he still has to force it open with his shoulder, but once he does, warm, summer air greets Violet where she sits on the floor, and so does Xaden Riorson’s presence, in all his glory.

“Violence,” he says, as he steps through the front door, obliterating the proverbial line in the sand.

“Don’t call me that,” she snarls. She’s still clutching her wrist, and she knows, she knows, she needs to tape it, wrap it up, and move on with her day. Ridoc is waiting for her on top of a mountain. She needs to move.

“Did you really fall out of the window seat?” Xaden asks. He doesn’t sound amused, which is a shocker, but he also doesn’t sound concerned, which would have been frightening in its inappropriateness. No, Violet’s demise isn’t a matter of real concern for Xaden Riorson.

“No,” she snaps, “What gave you that impression?”

“Looks like you hurt your wrist.” His head is cocked in her direction, sizing up her injury. It’s already started to swell, and a purple bruise has just begun to blossom. The knuckles of her left hand have turned white with the tightness of her grip.

Her retort is not her best. She blames the pain. “You should see the other guy.”

“Is the other guy the floor?”

He’s smirking at her. Her wrist is quickly turning into a pomegranate, and Xaden Riorson has the gall to smirk. She wants to punch him. If both her hands weren’t out of commission, she might actually punch him.

She’s not sure what he sees on her face. Maybe it’s smoke curling out of her ears, or rage in her eyes, but his smirk falls in one moment, and in the next, he’s reaching for her.

“Here, let me-”

“No.”

“No?” he questions, brow raised.

She shakes her head, scrambling backward, though she’s yet to actually stand up. The refusal must be swift, the rejection complete. He does not have the right to help her.

“No.”

“Let me grab your stuff for you then. What do you need?”

She needs her KT tape and her wrist brace, both of which are on her nightstand, but retrieving those means stepping into her bedroom, which is another thing Xaden Riorson does not have the right to do. She also needs a nice big bottle of painkillers, but she doesn’t want to ask that of him, either. He doesn’t get to know she hurts.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she says, then forces herself to her feet and turns to leave the living room. The motion is jerky, so it causes the ache in her wrist to spike, but her face is hidden from him as she winces, so it’s fine. It’s all fine, until she hears his footsteps at her heels. She snaps her head back around to glare at him. “Stay.”

He raises his hands and takes a few steps back, but Violet doesn’t stop glaring at him until he retreats further, sitting on the couch.

Taping her wrist with one hand shouldn’t be too difficult. This, she’s practiced at. Once she’s inside her bedroom, tucked under the stairs, she tears the backing off the tape with her teeth, and places it expertly. One strip longways, one strip sideways. She adds an extra slit for thumb support, and she’s ready to go.

She eyes her ace wrap with unhidden disdain. The ace wrap is more comfortable than the brace, but the brace will be significantly easier to put on without help.

She elects to grab the brace, and she uses her chest to support the fabric of it while she uses her good hand to attach the velcro strips. Still, she folds up the ace wrap and begins to contemplate the arduous process of changing her clothes. Her pajamas consist of a comically large t-shirt, and miniscule shorts. She should be able to change with one hand—she’s practiced enough—but she’d meant to do laundry today, and that absolutely will not be happening now.

“You know, Violence,” Xaden shouts from down the hall, “we don’t actually have all day.”

“Fuck off and die, Riorson.”

Fine. She doesn’t need to look nice. This is Xaden Riorson she’s talking about. And Bodhi and Ridoc, but she doesn’t need to look nice for them, either. Fuck changing her clothes. She finds slippers discarded near her door, fuzzy pink monstrosities, and she slides her feet into them. Fine. This is all fine.

She stomps down the hallway, before pivoting into the kitchen, and charging toward the freezer. “We’re taking my car,” she declares.

“Oh, we are?” Riorson retorts. He’s picked up the book she’d been reading from the coffee table, and flipped through it. Violet nearly screeches. The scenes in that book! She forces herself to stay silent. If she doesn’t claim it, maybe he’ll assume Ridoc has a pension for romance. Or Sawyer.

If she happens to yank the freezer open with more force than usual, or clutch her ice pack tighter than usual, or slam the freezer shut, that’s unrelated.

“Yes,” she snaps, “We are.”

“The prius, Violence. Really?”

“One, don’t call me that. And two, it’s the smarter choice. More economical than your gas guzzling death trap.”

Her secondary reason is that she’d like to bring her ice pack to help her wrist, and she’d be uncomfortable leaving an ice pack in Riorson’s car, in case it got the seats wet, or burst, or some other unforeseen incident. The prius has been through a lot. She can take it.

“I’ll pay for gas,” Xaden says.

“Well that doesn’t matter,” she snaps. She stands in front of him where he sits. With their height difference, she barely has any height on him at this angle. “My car. Or you’re not going.”

“Fine,” he agrees. “I’ll still pay for gas.”

“Good. Rich boy reparations.”

He doesn’t deny it, or agree with it, but he does hold her gaze. His eyes do something to her, making her insides writhe.

“If you’re not in the car in two minutes I’m leaving you behind,” she snaps, then turns on her heel to head to the garage. He chuckles lightly, but he does follow her. Her feet stomp a bit, but she has to work out her remaining angst somehow. When she reaches the door that leads to the garage, she stops.

“We need ground rules,” she declares.

“Will the discussion of these ground rules affect my two minutes?” he asks, “Because I’d really prefer not to tail you the whole way, Violence.”

“Ground rule one,” she grits out, “Don’t fucking call me that. Violet or Sorrengail or nothing at all. I prefer option three.”

“Why can’t I use your nickname? It’s so fitting.”

“It’s not my nickname. You’re the only one who uses it.”

“It’s my nickname for you. Answer my question.”

She huffs. She has absolutely no interest in doing what he tells her to, but she desperately needs him to stop saying that damn word.

“Because I don’t like it.”

He tilts his head. “You liked it the first time I used it,” he counters.

She had liked it. That’s the problem. She isn’t allowed to like anything he does.

“If you can’t stop yourself from saying it, you’ll just have to keep your mouth shut.” She smiles, faux sweetly. “Ground rule two: we take the fastest route.”

“Did you think I’d propose something else?”

“I don’t have a clue about what you’d propose,” she says. “That’s what the ground rules are for.”

“Fine,” Xaden says, “I have a rule too. I’m driving.”

“Absolutely not!”

“I’m driving. Look at your wrist.”

“I know perfectly well what my wrist looks like,” she snaps. “It’s my wrist!”

“And it would hurt to drive, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s my car,” she seethes. “If it hurts, it fucking hurts. My thumbs hurt every time I drive, and it’s always fine.”

He stills. “Every time?”

“Not the point. It’s my car, my friend, and my wrist. I’m driving.”

“No.”

“No?”

She realizes, vaguely, that this conversation is perfectly illustrative of why precisely Violet should not be confined in a small space with Xaden Riorson. She’s fully in his face now, and her hand burns with the urge to smack him. Her blood boils under her skin every time he so much as smirks.

“No. There’s no reason for you to be in pain when someone else is capable of making it easier.”

“My car,” she repeats, voice shaking with barely restrained rage. “And I’ll be in pain either way.”

“Will you or will you not be in more pain if you’re driving?”

She doesn’t answer that. The answer is obvious. Her wrist throbs.

“Compromise,” she counters, “We take turns.”

“I want the first turn,” he says.

“Fine.”

He smirks. “Fine.”

“Ground rule four,” she declares, reluctantly counting Xaden’s contribution, “No fighting in the car.”

“You’re saying that aloud for your own benefit?” he says, “Because I’m perfectly capable of not fighting with you.”

“No, you’re not. You start shit.”

“I start shit?”

“You do. You antagonize me. You’re antagonizing me right now.”

“How am I antagonizing you?” he retorts.

“With your…” she waves her uninjured hand in front of his general person, “With all of this!” The motion still manages to jostle her hurt wrist, and she has to suppress a wince.

“It’s not my fault that you get so worked up around me,” he replies.

“Yes, it is, and you’re not going to start shit in the car. Understand? I don’t want to crash and leave Bodhi and Ridoc on that mountain.”

“Believe it or not, Violet,” he emphasizes her name in a way that makes it clear he’d rather be saying Violence. Bastard. “I don’t want that either. And I do understand. And I won’t fight with you in the car, as long as you don’t fight with me in the car.”

“I’m not the problem here,” Violet retorts. “I wouldn’t have made the rule if I couldn’t follow it.”

“Of course not,” he agrees, reaching around her to get the door. “You’re excellent at following rules, aren’t you?”

She feels her cheeks heat. “That counts as antagonism.”

Violet unlocks the prius. The beep feels strangely ominous. Xaden goes to the passenger side first, and opens Violet’s door for her. She glares up at him. “That is also antagonism.”

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks, faux-pleasantly. His elbow is propped on the roof of her car, so he’s leaning over her in the open doorway. She’d really like to start icing her damn wrist, but she doesn’t want to do that while he’s watching. It's best not to show weakness around predators, and if Xaden Riorson is anything, he is that: a predator, and Violet is his prey. “I was going to ask you to list the specific things I can’t say, but I figured that list might get too long.”

“You can shut up and drive,” Violet replies, mimicking his ridiculous tone.

“Whatever you want,” he replies, then shuts her door. He doesn’t slam it. For some reason, Violet really expects him to slam it. Regardless, as he walks around the hood of her car, Violet takes advantage of his absence to mold her ice pack to her wrist, balancing it on her bare thigh.

Xaden opens the driver's side door, and stares at the seat in disbelief.

“Jesus, you’re short. How do you even fit in here?”

“If it’s a problem,” she snaps, “Save us all the trouble and don’t get in.”

He squats down, grabs the bar under the seat, and wrenches it back as far as it will go. “Better,” he mumbles, though he seems to not find it that much better. And as he climbs into the seat, Violet realizes why: he’s nearly too big for the car. His thighs come close to touching the steering wheel, and his head’s near the ceiling.

This is healthy, Violet decides. A good thing for her. Because if Xaden Riorson had extra room in this vehicle, she might jump him, like she did the last time they were in the car together, and that would be very, very bad.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“I’m in the car, aren’t I?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “But it’s your last chance to back out.”

“No it’s not,” she counters. “I can kick you out of the car at any point and leave you on the side of the road if I damn well please.”

“We both know you won’t do that,” Xaden says. He sounds so sure of himself, it only infuriates her more.

She won’t be leaving him on the side of the road, but she thinks they’ll both have a better experience if they let themselves pretend it's an option.

“So,” he continues, “If you ask me to leave right now, I’ll get out of the damn car, and we won’t do this.”

“And what? We’ll drive separately? Because I’m not letting you go without me, and I don’t think you’re letting me go without you.”

“If you want to drive separately, we drive separately. I’m not forcing you to sit next to me for hours on end. Especially not when we both know how much you don’t want this.”

Violet shakes her head. “Drive the damn car, Riorson. I’m not the one with the ‘wanting’ problem.”

She should not have said that. It’s far too revealing, far too close to the forbidden topic at hand.

Somehow, Xaden doesn’t address it. He merely says, “Xaden.”

“Yes, I do, in fact, know your name. It’s one of three facts I know about you. Do you want to hear the other two, or do you want to get on the fucking road?”

“If I can’t call you ‘Violence’, you can’t call me Riorson. Call me Xaden.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Violet snaps.

“That’s fair,” he counters. “You limit me, I limit you.”

“Drive,” she seethes, “the car.”

He presses the power button with sarcastic flourish, but he takes his sweet time adjusting every last mirror. By the time he’s put the car in reverse, Violet’s grinded an inch off her teeth.

They move through Violet’s neighborhood in silence. She counts herself lucky that they’re going straight to the freeway—no visits to the pier, no backroads. She doesn’t turn her music on, because that would make the whole trip feel far too fun. Violet is not allowed to have fun when she’s within a foot of Xaden Riorson. It’s one of her bylaws.

They reach a stoplight. Xaden eases the car to a stop. He’s a good driver, though Violet’s known that for a while.

She shuts her eyes, head tilted back toward the ceiling. She isn’t going to sleep—she doesn’t think she’s capable of sleep, not in these conditions—but she can’t just keep looking at him, seeing him.

Because her eyes are shut, she doesn’t see him fiddling with the AUX cord, plugging his phone in, and queuing up his own music. But, when the opening bars of “Alexander Hamilton” start, her eyes fly wide open.

“What did I say,” she snaps, “about antagonizing me?”

The light turns green, so he has an excuse not to look at her. His eyes are ahead, on the traffic before them, as he calmly replies, “It’s a song, not a personal attack.”

She shakes her head furiously. “No. No way. Turn it off.”

“I’m driving. You can pick the music when you drive.”

“You’re making fun of me!”

“I’m not,” he says. But there’s an edge to his words Violet detects easily, one that says, why would I bother making fun of you? You’re nothing to me. That’s why I never came back.

To say Violet is furious would be an understatement.

“You are, and I want you to know that it won’t work. I am allowed to like what I like.”

He shrugs, shoulders bobbing against her seats. The softness of the upholstery contrasts with his own hard edges. He doesn’t look right in this car, in her environment instead of his own.

“Never said you weren’t.”

“It’s implied,” she seethes, “when you make fun of me.”

“Sit back, relax, and listen, Sorrengail. I’m just playing some music so I don’t get tired and crash the car.”

“How am I supposed to relax when you’re here?” she retorts. If she were capable of it, she'd cross her arms over her chest, but as it is, leaving her wrist entirely alone is the only way to get any relief. She shuts her eyes once more. Maybe, if she’s alone with the music, with the story, she’ll be able to pretend she’s somewhere else, anywhere else with anyone else.

“It’s a struggle for me, too, believe me,” he replies, voice low.

They drive on, and once the titular song ends, “Aaron Burr, Sir,” begins to play.

“The entire soundtrack?” Violet asks.

“Just playing one song would be weird,” Xaden counters.

And it would. Violet can agree with that, but she isn’t going to voice her agreement, because that would also be weird. She pulls her feet beneath her hips and turns to face the window, fully. From the passenger side, she sees only canyons and houses. Schools and baseball fields. The soundtrack continues playing uninterrupted, and soon, they reach the freeway. If she was willing to look at Xaden, which she isn’t, she could see the ocean, waves crashing against the shore.

The music helps, though Violet is loath to admit it. She catches herself mouthing along at points, completely subconsciously. She has to snap her jaw shut each time, then dart her gaze in Xaden’s direction, just in case he’s looking at her, but he never is.

She removes her icepack during “Helpless” and makes sure to turn her entire body away from Xaden during “Say No To This.”

Two and half hours into the drive, when the soundtrack ends and Violet’s busy pretending her cheeks aren’t tear stained, Xaden cues up another musical soundtrack.

She’d know the opening bars of Les Miserables anywhere. This time, she doesn’t bother with speaking to him. She snatches his phone out of the cupholder and aggressively hits pause. His homescreen, she notes, is a picture of himself and his father. There’s a pang in her chest, and it almost makes her want to abandon her anger, but then he’s snatching his phone back and hitting play.

She does the only logical thing and rips the AUX cord out of the outlet.

“Seriously?” he demands.

She does feel a bit manic, limp cord dangling from her palm, white knuckle grip and all.

“You,” she seethes, “Are playing fucking mind games, and I will not stand for it.”

“How is listening to music a mind game?”

His grip on the wheel is steady. His eyes are still on the road. Maybe letting him drive really was the best decision, because Violet feels beyond chaotic now. If she was in control of the car, they wouldn’t still be on the road

“Because! Because you’re playing my favorite songs for road trips, which you logically should not know about, because you know nothing about me! Because you’re pretending that this choice has nothing to do with me, when it does! You’re psyching me out!”

“Why would I be psyching you out?” he retorts.

“What else could you possibly be doing?”

“Oh, Jesus, I don’t know, playing music you fucking like so you aren’t so fucking miserable at the thought of being near me. My bad, Sorrengail, we’ll just drive in silence. That’ll go well.”

His grip tightens on the wheel, but the car doesn’t speed up. She averts her eyes. She has an old air freshener holder on the sun visor on the passenger side. She’d bought it a few Christmases ago, so it’s in the shape of a snowflake, but the scent she’d picked out is entirely depleted. There is no hint of calming eucalyptus mint in this car.

“How’d you know I liked it?” she asks, voice low.

“How do you think?” he retorts.

“Recreational stalking?”

“No. Ridoc doesn’t shut up about you.”

Of course. Violet almost laughs. How could she possibly forget?

“And that’s just so annoying, all these little details about me are seared into your brain,” she snarks. “Naturally. I’m sure that’s absolutely awful for you, having to hear about me.”

“It is, actually.”

Great. Brilliant. Wonderful. Just what a girl longs to hear.

“Well, sucks for you,” she decides, turning fully onto her side once more. She will not look at Xaden Riorson, and he will not look at her. Not at her face, at least.

He plugs the aux back in, and the Overture begins to play. It stirs Violet’s heart, as it always does. She can almost see her father’s face. Ridoc must have mentioned that Violet preferred the OBC to the movie. She can’t imagine how that came up in conversation.

“You’re insane,” she says. “You do realize that, right? This is an utterly insane thing to do.”

“How is it insane?”

“How is listening to music you don’t like for hours while sitting next to someone you hate insane? Let me count the ways, Riorson.”

“First of all, every time you call me ‘Riorson’, I get to call you ‘Violence’. Second of all, who says I don’t like it?”

Violet ignores his first command entirely. She can’t be blamed for things she says when enraged. “Literally anyone with a brain would say you don’t like ‘Hamilton’, Xaden.”

She spits his name at him, like the curse it is.

“I liked the combined five minutes where you seemed to be enjoying yourself, and if that can happen again, it’ll be worth it.”

Violet is speechless. She risks turning around to look at him, to see if his face gives away any signs of humor, if his lips twitch with mirth. They don’t.

Her throat is dry as a desert. She has to cough before she speaks, and when she does, his eyes flick to her. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think he looked concerned. That’s what that expression would mean on anyone else, brows furrowed, eyes tight. But on him, it must mean something else.

“Why would you want that? Am I such an awful travel partner in my current state?”

His eyes slid back to the road as she spoke, but they flicked back to her once more. “Is it truly so unbelievable that I don’t want you to be upset?”

“Do you blame me?” she retorts. “You make me get upset, and I’m just supposed to believe it’s all accidental?”

“It isn’t all on purpose,” he replies, voice low.

She doesn’t know how he expects her to respond to that. It doesn’t matter what harm he meant when every second of being beside him is excruciating.

“If you’re forcing me to listen to this with you, we’re doing it correctly,” she says.

“And how’s that?”

“Silently.”

He doesn’t reply. She has no explanation for why she feels jilted by that. It was what she wanted, what she demanded.

He stays silent through the second soundtrack, too. He says nothing when Violet cries through “I Dreamed a Dream” and “Do You Hear The People Sing?”

She’s glad he doesn’t. If he did say something, if he asked why she was so moved, she’d have no choice but to lie to him. She cannot look Xaden Riorson in the face and tell him that she’s crying because she thinks of her father. Because he loved these songs and this story, because he loved every story history had to tell.

He’s silent until the very last chord of the finale stops vibrating through the car, the final symbol crashes. In the silence, her stomach grumbles. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Hungry?” he asks.

Her stomach grumbles again. “Nope.”

“Nice try, Violence,” he says, smirking all the while. She opens her mouth to snap at him again, but she’s cut off by the click of the turn signal, and Xaden craning his neck to check the back window. The angle is good for him, his jawline looks sharp enough to bleed on.

“There’s a diner,” he adds. “It’s good.”

“Come here often?” she grumbles.

“Well, it is my cabin. So, yeah.”

He takes the exit. The timing is perfect, predestined. The diner isn’t exactly a diner. It’s housed in a long, yellow building with an angular roof, and a painting of a cherry pie above the door. The inside of the restaurant contains red booths and plaid tablecloths. Yellow curtains frame the windows, and the napkins are bright, lacey, and white. It isn’t somewhere she’d normally attend in her pajamas, but she has little other option now that they’re here.

In the entryway, she turns on him, eyes narrowed. “Do you even eat pie?”

He certainly doesn’t look like he eats pie. He looks like he alternates between chicken and protein shakes for every meal.

“Believe it or not, they serve more than just pie.”

The board behind the hostess’s stand lists thirty different types of pie, at least.

‘The pie’s a big thing, though. You have to admit that.”

“They have more than just pie, Sorrengail,” he repeats. The hostess appears then, all smiles to start with, but grinning even bigger when she lays eyes on Xaden.

“Just you two, today?” she asks, already grabbing two menus. Violet watches her look Xaden up and down. Jesus, it’s like she wants to eat him!

Violet’s not sure what comes over her, but in one second, she’s in possession of her rational mind, and in the next, she’s grasping Xaden Riorson’s hand in her own, and grinning back, “Yep! We love our lunch dates!”

She expects Xaden to look at her like she’s lost her mind, to drop her hand and take ten thousand steps back, but he squeezes her palm in his and leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

The hostess blinks. Violet smiles at her, though she suspects she looks less like a girl and more like a hyena.

“Alright, table for two, follow me.”

She leads them down a row of tables, all empty, but she deposits them near the middle. On the wall behind the table, there’s a picture of a farmer in a field. Violet envies him. He probably isn’t a huge idiot, destined to get himself in completely avoidable, completely terrible situations. Probably, anyway.

Violet slides into one side of the booth, dropping Xaden’s hand as she does so. She expects him to go to the other side of the table, like a normal human being, but he doesn’t. He slides in right beside her, and clasps her hand in his once more with a little tsk, like he can’t believe she dropped it in the first place.

The hostess gives them a closed-mouth smile and slides the second set of utensils from the opposite side of the table in front of Xaden. Violet is certain her cheeks are bright red. She isn’t sure she’s ever had karma come crashing down on her this quickly.

“Someone will be with y’all shortly,” she says, then walks back down to the hostess stand. Xaden waits for her to be gone before he looks to Violet.

“Care to tell me what that was?” he asks.

Violet’s not even sure what that was. Possession. Temporary psychosis.

She has a sneaking suspicion regarding the actual cause, but it can’t be that. It can’t be, because that would imply that Violet has feelings she absolutely doesn’t have. She’s over Xaden Riorson. Completely.

Violet huffs, “She was trying very hard to get in your pants, and if I didn’t intervene, you would have gotten derailed, and gotten railed, and I would have been stuck here while you ran off having sexcapades with her, and Bodhi and Ridoc would get frostbite on that mountain of theirs and die.”

He stares at her for a moment, comprehension dawning. “Are you aware that it’s June? In California? I feel like you’re overestimating the risk of frostbite.”

“What I am aware of is your habits,” she hisses, noting a waitress leaving the kitchen, and visiting a table two rows over. Now that she’s assembled some semblance of a plan, she’d at the very least like for it to work, and not to have the hostess over Xaden some break up sex.

“My habits,” he repeats, “and what might those be?”

“Ambushing unsuspecting women with your eyes and your attitude and-”

“My eyes and my attitude?” he asks. He looks like he wants to say more, but his hand is still in hers, which is absolutely, utterly ridiculous. She moves to withdraw her palm, but he holds her tighter. “Uh-uh, Sorrengail, you have to commit to it now. Finish what you started.”

“What I started?” she hisses, “I didn’t start anything! I was just making sure we didn’t get distracted from our mission!”

“You said we were on a date, so now we have to act like it, don’t we? Wouldn’t it be awfully embarrassing for the hostess to find out what actually happened?”

Violet snaps, “It would be awfully embarrassing for you if she found out you were so easy I had to concoct plans just so you’d keep it in your pants.”

“Yes, because that’s exactly what’s going on here, isn’t it?” Xaden retorts, clearly unruffled by her accusations.

“Well, you do have a reputation.”

“I do?”

“For having sexual relations with girls in cars and then not calling back,” she snaps.

“I did that once,” he says, “with you, and only with you. No one else.”

“Well, great. I’m so honored that you decided to ghost me, Xaden. Whatever shall I do to repay you?”

He scoffs. The sound is meaner than anything he’s said to her so far. She’s about to crawl under the table, just to get away, but then she hears the click-clack of heels against the tile floors. Their waitress approaches.

“Play along, Sorrengail,” Xaden murmurs, setting their joined hands on his thigh. Great, now she can feel his fucking huge thigh muscles and the warmth of him through his jeans. Just what she wanted. She shifts uncomfortably against the booth. In her tiny shorts—an article of clothing that is filling her with regret—her thighs stick to the bench seat beneath her, and she has to pry her skin from the plasticky leather.

“So good to see you again!” their waitress gushes, the second she sees Xaden. Luckily for Violet, who is absolutely out of back up plans, their waitress–Ruby, judging by the name tag—is about Violet’s mother’s age, but significantly more pleasant. “And who’s your friend?”

“This is Violet,” Xaden says, turning to smirk at her, “my girlfriend.”

Violet’s heart plummets to her feet. Xaden squeezes her hand. She must show something on her face. Horror, maybe. Disappointment, more likely. Those aren’t words he’s allowed to say.

“Hi there,” Violet says. In her panic, she sounds oddly southern. Crawling under the table to hide is sounding more appealing by the minute.

Ruby smiles in turn, “You want your usual, I’m guessing?” she says to Xaden, who nods, “And for you?”

Violet hadn’t had time to look at the menu. She’d been preoccupied with her and Xaden’s joint war games.

“Oh! Um…just water, to drink, please, and um…”

Xaden leans in close, whispering into her ear, “The coffee here is really good, and so are the pancakes, but get whatever you want.”

What she wants involves one of Xaden Riorson’s ridiculous thigh muscles and a very large knife, but she senses that wouldn’t portray the perfect happy couple.

“Actually, pancakes and coffee, please and thank you.”

“Sure! How lovely.” Ruby scrawls on her pad, then focuses back in on Xaden. He scooted closer to Violet without her noticing, and now their thighs touch, his black jean clad leg against her bare one. “Heading up to the cabin for the weekend?”

“Sort of,” Xaden says, “You remember Bodhi, don’t you?”

“‘Course I do. Such a sweetheart.”

She watches Xaden smile at that. He almost seems proud.

“Bodhi and his boyfriend are up there right now, and their car broke down, so we’re on a rescue mission.”

Ruby shakes her head ruefully, then turns to Violet. “If nothing else, he’ll keep your life exciting, won’t he? Boy’s always getting into trouble.” She clicks her pen against her pad. “I’ll get these in for you now.”

She bustles back to the kitchen. Violet focuses on her breathing, on her napkin, on the farmer on the wall, anything but Xaden Riorson. Anything. Even the aching in her wrist is preferable to this.

“You do come here a lot,” Violet hedges.

“Like I said, it’s my cabin. Bodhi and I went up a lot as kids.”

“And you always stopped here on the way?” Violet asks.

“It’s a nice place,” he replies easily, a pre-programmed response. She’s grateful that he doesn’t go back to their squabble from before. She’s disregarding every single one of her own rules today, and that doesn’t suit her well for the rest of their journey. Really, they’re on hour five of twenty four, if not more. She has to keep herself going. She has to persevere.

“They’re fast, too,” he adds, “So we can get back on the road faster. But, if you don’t want to keep playing along with your little lie, I’ll go tell them we need the food to go.”

Violet’s brow furrows. “Why would we take it to go? Then you can’t eat.”

“I’ll eat when we get there,” he says, easily. She’s glad he doesn’t acknowledge her Freudian slip. She won’t be able to drive anytime soon. Her wrist is far too achey for that. Moving it out of her lap period hurts.

“In seven more hours?” she retorts.

“I’ll live,” he replies. “Tell me what you want to do.”

“We’ll eat here,” she snaps. “I’m not scared of playing a game with you.”

“Mm, and that’s all this is, isn’t it? Just a game.”

“What else would it be?”

“I don’t know, Sorrengail, you tell me.”

“What on Earth could I possibly have to say to that? You’re the one being weird.”

Their faces are inches apart. This always happens. Xaden has some magnetism to him that intensifies ten fold the second they start arguing. Violet can’t stay away.

If they were an actual couple, this is where they would kiss. And at the feel of his lips on hers, Violet’s anger would melt away. No, it would transform, into heat, into lust, into wanting. And damn her, she’s already there.

She averts her gaze, giving them a couple more inches of space between them. When she falls back, Xaden follows suit.

“I think most people,” Xaden notes, “would find you randomly holding my hand and lying about our relationship to be weird. But maybe they’re wrong.”

“I already explained my reasoning to you,” Violet replies, voice tight in her throat.

“Oh, yes, that I’m a whore. How could I forget?”

He smiles at her as he says it, but the expression isn’t happy. It’s sharp, like a blade.

“I…” Violet scrambles. Suddenly, she feels guilty, which is ridiculous. Xaden Riorson deserves this. He deserves every insult Violet could conceivably throw at him, and then some. “I didn’t say that.”

“You made it pretty damn clear that it’s what you think,” he retorts, with a little huff.

“Did you expect me to think anything else?” she replies. Her voice is quiet, but he hears her.

“No,” he admits. “I deserve it.”

For some reason, hearing him say he deserves it is different than Violet thinking it. On this end of the exchange, the words don’t sit right.

“For what it’s worth,” he continues, “I’m sorry, about all of it.”

“All of it?” she echoes. “Never fucking talking to me again, you mean.”

“No,” he says, “I’m sorry I did anything with you in the first place. I shouldn’t have.”

He may as well have slapped her. That, at least, would have hurt less.

“So you’ve said.” The words scrape her throat on the way out. “You already said it was a mistake to ever be with me. I don’t need to hear it again.”

“That’s not what I-”

“How else could you possibly mean that?” she snaps, but the click clack of heels interrupts their tirade. Riorson was right. They are fast.

Ruby appears a moment later, plates perfectly balanced in one hand, carafe in the other. Xaden passes Violet’s mug up to the edge of the table, while Ruby sets his plate down, and hands Violet’s to him. When he sets her plate down, he murmurs, “Here you go, baby.”

Maybe he didn’t mean to say it. His eyes flash up, wide. Violet says nothing. After all, it’s a part of their game.

When Ruby leaves, two steaming mugs in her wake, Violet works up the courage to grasp her knife in her injured hand. Even closing her fingers around it is enough to make her wince.

Xaden’s watching her. She knows he is, and so, she tries. She tries to male a cut, but she can’t make her fingers grip the knife without her wrist screaming in discomfort. She barely manages a single line down the pancake before she’s dropping the knife, and clutching her wrist to her chest.

Wordlessly, Xaden takes over. He butters the pancake first. In her worry, Violet had forgotten. He cuts it up for her, into tiny bite size pieces, then drowns the thing in syrup, just the way she likes.

The process, in total, doesn’t take more than a few minutes. To Violet, it’s an eternity.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

“Anytime,” he answers. She almost thinks he means it.