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Do I give a fuck?

Absolutely not.

Because I may have fucked shit up with my relationships in the past, but Vi is different. I’m different with her. There’s no hiding, no pretending to be someone I’m not. She’s seen it all at this point and she’s still moaning my name, loving it when I swat her ass or attack her and mess up her hair.

And she’s shown me her too.

All the way down to the heart of hers that needs protecting.

So even if I’ve fucked up before.

I’m not going to do it now.

Not with Violet.

Not when I love her.

So yeah, this shit started off fake, but it didn’t take long for the lines to be blurred…and not much longer than that for it to become real.

Now she’s stuck with me.

Grinning, I turn back for my bedroom. We have a bit before we’re taking my mom to brunch but I know Vi is going to need to do some repair work on her hair and makeup.

And I want her to have plenty of time to express her gratitude when I give her what’s in the box.

And tell her that Evelyn helped pick them out.

“What the fuck are you doing, son?”

I still, fingers clenching on the box and bite back a sigh. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” I ask, turning to watch my dad climbing the stairs.

“Look, Dad,” I say. “It’s early. Violet and I are leaving tomorrow. Can’t we just cool it on the Ambrose asshole routine and have a nice day?”

“You’ve thought your shit didn’t stink from the time your mother and I brought your ass home from the hospital.”

Number one, that doesn’t make any sense.

I was a baby. I’m sure I wasn’t thinking about anything except food and sleep and who the loud blurry people taking care of those needs were. Same as I’m sure that my shit did stink.

Number two, it wasn’t like I asked to be put here on this planet.

“I’m not going to do this,” I mutter, turning away.

“And then you had to show your brothers up—always. In school. In hockey. Now with that princess you’re fucking.”

My hands clench into fists. “Don’t talk about Violet that way.”

“Pancakes, son? And high heels and pretty dresses? Really?” He scoffs. “You know that shit won’t last. It never fucking does.”

Those words hit deep.

Not because I worry that Violet will trade her heels and dresses for sneakers and sweats—truly I couldn’t give a fuck what she wears—but because I’m afraid I’m going to do something to fuck it up.

It won’t last.

It never does.

Have you ever thought that maybe it isn’t all your fault your past relationships didn’t work out?