Unbeknownst to their parents, Violet and Cole had a clandestine 9-month relationship before parting ways following Cole's injury, courtesy of Paige. Despite the messy breakup, Violet managed to maintain a positive connection with the Walters, except...
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Violet stood in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection with narrowed eyes. Her hair was out—waves tumbling freely past her shoulders—and for some reason, it made her feel unfinished, exposed. She tilted her head one way, then the other, sighing in frustration. I look ridiculous.
"What are you—oh." Juniper's voice drifted from the doorway, light and teasing. Her sister leaned lazily against the frame, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. "You look cute."
Violet groaned, tugging at the ends of her hair. "I look frumpy."
"What? No you don't."
"I look daggy," Violet muttered, her nose wrinkling as she tried to tuck one stubborn strand behind her ear.
Juniper rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh my God, woman, you look great. Seriously. Stop picking yourself apart."
Violet gave her a doubtful glance, then let out another sigh as she reached for her phone. The screen lit up with Isaac's name at the top of her messages, and she thumbed out a quick text—On my way. Anything to keep her focus elsewhere.
Grabbing her jacket, she headed for the stairs, her voice flat as she called over her shoulder, "I'll be home later."
Juniper trailed after her, arms folded now, her teasing replaced with something heavier. "We haven't talked since Thanksgiving, really. Mom wants to talk to you too."
Violet stiffened at that, her steps slowing just slightly. Thanksgiving. The word alone made her stomach knot. The memory of her outburst—her breaking point—flashed sharp and ugly in her mind. She'd snapped in front of everyone on a holiday meant for gratitude. She hadn't been able to breathe that night, the pressure of family expectations, of being "the strong one," finally cracking her open.
She winced inwardly and tugged her jacket tighter around her shoulders. "Later," Violet muttered quickly, avoiding Juniper's gaze as she slipped out the door.
The late air hit her cheeks as she descended the porch steps, her eyes darting to the driveway. Her car sat waiting, finally fixed after weeks in Cole's hands. Please just work, she thought, sliding into the driver's seat.
Dropping her bag onto the passenger side, she let her head fall forward onto the steering wheel, exhaling slowly. The weight of everything—family, Cole, herself—pressed down hard. For just a second, she stayed like that, eyes closed, as if she could stall the world by refusing to look at it.
Then, with a resigned breath, she straightened, shoved the key into the ignition, and turned.
Click.
No engine. No rumble. No warmth. Just silence.
Her jaw tightened. She tried again, this time harder, as if force alone could will it back to life.
