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I start to follow her then stop, turn to Beck.

“What the fuck?” I growl again.

“Deep breaths, big bro,” he says, palms up. “Like I told you, she got a call from someone named TJ—he’s one of her brothers, right? I could tell by her tone of voice that something wasn’t right, that whatever she was hearing wasn’t good. She listened for…I don’t know, thirty seconds? Then said ‘Okay,’ and hung up. That’s when I saw her face and I called you over.”

“Fuck.” I shove a hand through my hair. “Fuck!”

Her brother called her?

Her brother who she went no contact with?

Her brother who hurt her and made her life miserable and now had her curled up in a protective fucking ball?

I grab the nearest thing—aside from Beck—and slam the hockey stick against the concrete.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Snap!

Then I lock it down, throw the broken pieces to the side, and go after her.

The light is on in my bedroom, shining out into the hall, and I don’t give a fuck that I’m running, that Beck is right behind me.

That my parents are right behind him.

“What’s going on?” my dad demands.

“Violet was crying,” my mom says shrilly. “Why was she crying, Ace?”

Not my fault. I know that.

But this is still a fucking nightmare.

This is my fucking nightmare.

It’s good. It’s always good.

And then it goes wrong.

Then I make it go wrong.

I hesitate on the threshold of my bedroom, pain lancing through my heart when I see Violet slamming her suitcase closed and kneeling on it so she can close the zipper, clearly ready to get the fuck out of here.

Away from me.

I close my eyes, grit my teeth⁠—

A hand settles on my shoulder.

Eyes flying open, I turn to see Beck has managed to stall my parents at the end of the hall and come close.

He studies me for a long moment. “This isn’t on you,” he says quietly.

“I—”

A sharp shake of my shoulder. “Shove that shit out of your head and focus on your woman. She needs you.”

He’s right. Violet needs me.