Page 6 of A Violet Obsession

“Your little friend is a drama queen,” Scott says from behind me.

I stiffen, my fists curled at my sides. “She’s upset that I’m leaving.”

“She’ll get over it.”

I hear the crinkle of a can and turn to look at him. “My parents don’t allow alcohol in the house,” I say, my back straightening. “My dad doesn’t like it.”

Scott’s gaze holds mine as he upends the can and chugs the entire beer before dropping the empty can on the floor. His mouth curves in a slow, mocking smile. “Well, seeing as how your dad’s dead… I don’t really give a fuck what he doesn’t like.”

4

LILY

10 years ago

The inside of my cheek is raw from days of biting it, but as the familiar landscape of my tiny hometown slips past the window, my teeth sink into the tissue again. I close my eyes and concentrate on the pain in my mouth, letting it override the agony in my chest.

I haven’t cried in twelve hours. Not since I realized that no matter how much I pleaded and sobbed, nothing would change what was happening to me.

I have no control over my life.

I hadn’t realized when I said goodbye to a sobbing Emma yesterday afternoon that it would be the last time I’d see her.

An hour later, Scott told me we were leaving for Atlanta—my new home—in the morning. Late that night, I tried to slip out the window of my first-floor bedroom to go to the Markhams. They’d help me. They’d call that social worker who claimed she was there to help. Well, she could help me now.

But the window stuck, and Scott heard me.

It was the first time in my life an adult hit me.

Scott’s eyes widen immediately, like the slap caught him by as much surprise as it did me. I stumble back, both hands flying to my cheek, the sting blooming hot across the side of my face.

“You’re hysterical,” he says, as if that makes it okay. “If you run off, it’s going to bring too much attention to—” He cuts himself off and reaches for the beer he set on my dresser when he first rushed into the room and dragged my kicking and sobbing body away from the window.

He takes a long pull, grimacing. “I’m sorry. I don’t hit women. Or kids. But I need you to stop for a second and listen to me.”

I press my back into the corner of the wall where the bookshelf meets the window.

“If you make trouble for me, they’ll put you in foster care.”

“Good,” I snap.

His eyes narrow. “Not good.” He sets down the beer and leans against my doorframe, arms crossed. “Are you a virgin?”

Ice shoots through my veins, and I make a sound.

Scott’s lip curls. “I’m not asking like that. You’re what, fourteen? That means you’d go to a group home. You won’t be a virgin for long.”

My heart hammers so hard I feel it in my throat.

“You think a slap is bad?” He shakes his head. “Girl, you have no idea how bad those places can be. You’re much better off with me.”

“Why? Because you’re my blood?”

Scott’s expression freezes. Then something shifts behind his eyes—something that almost looks like grief. “Because you’re my baby sister’s kid.” For a moment his face creases in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Melinda was the only good thing to come out of our family. She had to cut me loose, and I get that. I know we don’t know each other, but I’m the one offering to take you in.”

My nostrils flare. “The Markhams said⁠—”

“They said for the rest of the school year. What then? They already have two kids. Can they afford to take you in? How soon before your friend gets jealous because she’s not getting something she wants, because their money is going to you?” He shakes his head again, looking genuinely sympathetic.