“No,” I snap.
“Then why do you care so much?”
“I told you. I need to know that you’re okay.”
“I was doing just fine before you started stalking me.”
I search her eyes with my glare. “You forget how well I know you. You would never have been at that party, stripping for a bunch of strangers, if you were okay. You needed the money.”
“You’re shaming me now.”
“I would never. I’m just trying to understand, and maybe then I can help.”
Violet tosses her head back and laughs. “Good ‘ole Jami to the rescue, just like old times. I’m not the innocent little girl I once was. I’m an adult who is very capable of taking care of herself. I made my own bed, and now I’m lying in it.” She huffs out a breath. “Trevor was the one with the money. I didn’t work while we were married, so when we got divorced I had to start from scratch, and I’m building. I work three jobs because I want to.”
“You want to?”
She sighs. “Yes. The dance studio is my dream, but it’s in Trevor’s name. In the divorce settlement, he agreed to let me rent to own. Until I can pay him off, it’s his. Luckily, the dance studio is busy enough to pay for itself and my employees, but I need the other jobs to pay for other things. The bar job alone isn’t enough, and my boss runs the private events.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “So, then why the secret? Is it because of Trevor?”
She nods, her gaze falling into her lap. “He can’t know about the private events. If he finds out, he’ll—”
The fear in her eyes is enough to squeeze my chest. “What is it, Vi?”
“He’ll possibly have grounds to keep our son from me more than he already does.”
Suddenly, so many things begin to make sense. “You have a son?” How did I miss that?
“I do. We do. Trevor and I.”
I have so many questions, so many emotions. “What’s his name?”
Despite the heaviness of our conversation, the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile. “Brayden. Bray for short. He’s five, in case that was your next question.”
I’m still taking in the news, wondering how I could have missed something so… important, when her smile fades a little.
“He’s already been through so much with this divorce. Trevor gets him most of the time, and it kills me that I don’t get to see him every day. I can’t lose any more time with him.”
It hits me in that moment that Violet isn’t just my best friend who betrayed me years ago. She’s a single mom with a very real fear. The stress my visits have caused are certainly not helping matters.
“Then why work a job that puts you at risk? You could do so many other things.”
She laughs. “Like what? I’m qualified to dance and bartend, so that’s what I’m doing.”
“Then work for me.” The words shoot from my lips before I can even think them through, but it seems like the obvious solution.
“No.” Her answer is quick, sharp. I’m certain she hasn’t even thought this through.
“Just think about it. I run the bar at the camp, and I’m hiring full-time staff. Our prices allow me to pay well, and with your bartending skills, I can possibly match your pay.”
“I don’t want your handouts, Jami. I can do this on my own, I just need you to let me.”
I growl in frustration. I’ll never get used to this stubborn woman she’s become. “This isn’t a handout. I need qualified staff, and you need a new job.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
“I’m giving you an out, a chance for a better life, for you and your son. Let me help.”
Violet sighs, her head turning back to face the lavender fields in front of us. “That’s the thing, Jami. I don’t need you riding in on your shiny horse like I’m yours to save. You’re not my white knight anymore. Those moments in time are long gone.”
Chapter Seven
VIOLET
“Which fruit do you want with your yogurt, Bray?” I call out from the kitchen to where I know he can hear me in his bedroom. “Strawberries, blueberries, or apples?”
“All of them,” he booms as he walks out of his room, fully dressed with his school uniform that I laid out for him last night, but his hair is a disheveled mess.
“Oh man. Looks like we need to do major reconstructive surgery on that head of yours. Learn how to use a comb, will ya?” My tease earns me a grin.
He runs his fingers through his hair and grins up at me. “I like it.”
Smiling, I focus on preparing his plate—a bowl of plain yogurt with granola sprinkles, blueberries, strawberries, and a cut-up apple on the side. “Here you go.” I set his plate down and tousle his bedhead. “Let’s go over your sight words for your test today.”
His smile fades, and he immediately shoves a spoonful in his mouth. Ignoring the mood switch, which I know has everything to do with how anxious tests make him, I flip over the first flash card and wait for him to respond. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a theatrical face to show me how good his food is.
“Bray,” I say with a soft laugh. I always do my best to relieve whatever stress seems to take over his psyche. “Can you try for me?”
Big green eyes blink back at me, telling me he hears me just fine, but he’s too preoccupied to respond. Already knowing that he’ll shove another spoonful down his throat to distract himself from answering my questions, I set the flash cards down.
“Alright, you win. Finish your breakfast, and then we’ll run through your words on the way to school. How about that?”
This time he nods, and I can practically see the tension dissolving from his body.
Brayden is such a sweet and sensitive soul. The last thing he needs is more pressure than he already feels. His father is constantly making him feel like his struggles are a weakness when all he truly needs is a little bit of patience to get there at his own pace.
“Are you picking me up today, or Daddy?”
We’re waiting in the drop-off line at school when Brayden asks the dreaded question. Usually I pick him up from school and drop him off to Trevor on Thursdays to give me some extra time, but Malik needs me to work a double today, and I couldn’t refuse. Luckily, Trevor didn’t give me any shit.
I make sure to pick up my tone to show my excitement. “Your dad’s going to get you today. Don’t forget to give him his birthday present when you see him, okay?”
Brayden’s eyes go wide at the reminder. “Oh yeah! It’s Daddy’s birthday today. I hope he likes my present.”
I reach into the back seat to squeeze Brayden’s little hand. “He’s going to love your present, Bray-man. You know why?”
He blinks back at me, and I can practically feel the worry in his heart. “Why?”
“Because you made it with your own two hands. That’s the best present your daddy could ever ask for. That means it comes from your heart.”
Last night, I brought out all the art supplies and let Brayden decorate an old picture frame. Then I printed out a recent photo I found of Brayden and Trevor on social media to stick inside. Brayden even wrapped it himself in Christmas paper, since it was all the wrapping paper I could find.