Saying it out loud made it sound even more implausible.
Violet sat on the bench beside me. “You can do that, and you will,” she said, blinking her tears away, determination taking over. She glanced around the Shack. “I thought I saw a first aid kit around here.”
“Holden brought one.” I pointed at the small medicine box, sitting near the generator softly whirring in the corner.
Violet brought it back to the table. I winced as she touched antiseptic wipes to the scrapes on my cheek. “Tomorrow, it won’t be so red. It’ll look better tomorrow.”
I noticed she didn’t say anything about the fingerprints on my neck that looked exactly like what they were. No hiding them.
Voices sounded from outside.
“Shit, the others are here,” I said. “I don’t want them to see me like this. It’s fucking humiliating.”
Violet touched my cheek. “It’s not. It’s just what happened. They’re your friends, and they care about you.”
Holden and Ronan could be heard bickering at each other as they prepped the firepit, Shiloh cutting in to scold them for being jackasses.
Despite everything, I smiled. I’d missed them.
We exited the Shack. Three heads turned, and three pairs of eyes widened at the same time to see my face. I put my hand up before anyone—mainly Holden—could speak.
“I don’t want to talk about it. My mom’s boyfriend is a dick. Let’s leave it at that.”
“But fucking hell, Miller,” Holden began.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll deal with him when I get back.”
Somehow.
Holden reluctantly backed off. Shiloh’s face was a mask of concern. But Ronan…Ronan looked ready to kill. While the others were busy setting up the fire and getting the food, he pulled me aside.
“When you get back,” he said in a flat tone, his gray eyes hard and flinty, “we’re going to handle it. Okay?”
I nodded, teeth clenched to keep the damn tears from my eyes. “Okay.”
“Good,” he said, then I nearly fell over as he reached out and gripped my shoulder for a short second. Ronan never touched anyone. He gave me a thump and let me go.
He got the fire started while Holden got the conversation going. For a few hours, I was able to put what happened on the back burner. I sat in the sand, Violet in front of me, her back to my chest, my arms wrapped around her, her head nestled in the crook of my shoulder.
We ate hotdogs and potato chips. Holden told an outlandish story about the time he and another patient at the sanitarium in Switzerland attempted a poorly-planned escape and ended up being chased through sprinklers on the front lawn wearing only bathrobes, their bare asses waving in the wind.
Violet laughed with the rest of us, but I noticed she was watching Holden differently, as if seeing him in a new light.
After the food had settled, Shiloh asked me to play the songs I’d prepared for the meeting.
“Not in the mood,” I said with finality.
No one pushed it.
Eventually, it was time for me to say my goodbyes.
Holden put both hands on my shoulders, his peridot green eyes staring intently into
mine, serious as death. “Listen to me. If you get to this meeting and start to panic or freak the fuck out, I have a sure-fire solution that I use when I get in tough spots.”
“What’s that?” I asked, preparing myself for something ridiculous.
“I ask myself one question and one question only… What would Jeff Goldblum do?”