My head hits the floor but not before Violet’s sweet face from years past floats through my mind.
It’s her.
Chapter One
VIOLET
The crunch of gravel beneath my car’s tires might as well be the soundtrack to my churning heart as it moves through a grinder. At least that’s how I feel when approaching the two-story house secluded among pine-filled woods. Though house seems like such a simple description for what sits on prime real estate with stunning views of the San Juan Channel.
Up until a year ago, I called this place my home. My sanctuary. My dream. That was before the first harsh dose of reality hit me square in the jaw, turning my dream into a nightmare.
Now, my presence here is strictly obligatory. Not even the endless miles of privacy, brilliant ocean views, and impressive house can make me want to call this place my permanent residence once again. Those dreams are gone, replaced solely with a prayer for a good, happy life.
Many deep breaths later, after my silver sedan is parked, I remove my white-knuckled grip from the wheel and unbuckle my seat belt.
Tear-filled eyes gaze back at me the moment I build up the nerve to face my sweet little boy in the rearview mirror. Brayden’s freckled cheeks match the color of his bright-red hair, a sign of his emotions circulating his heart and mind. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to fix it.
My entire body aches just thinking about what comes next. Thursdays are hard, but somehow, this one feels harder than the last.
“Bray,” I start softly.
By the hard shake of his head and the flood of fresh tears that fill his sockets, I can tell he’s in no state to listen.
“Why can’t I stay with you, Mommy?”
My heart squeezes. “Because it’s Daddy’s turn to spend time with you.” I reach for his cheeks, swiping away a pool of sadness.
Brayden shakes his head. “He probably has to work. Daddy always has to work.”
An image of Trevor holed up in his home office, chuckling on the phone one minute, laser focused while typing away the next, and oblivious to everyone else in the house, is too clear a picture in my mind. I was there. I lived through it. I got ignored too. Unfortunately for Brayden, he doesn’t get to walk away.
I bite back every negative thought that tramples through my mind. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in sharing custody after divorce, it’s how damaging a single wrong move or word can be. “Your father is a busy man, but I’m sure if you talk to him, he’ll make some time.”
Brayden fixes his arms across his chest and huffs. “He won’t. I want to go home with you. I hate this house.”
For a five-year-old, Brayden is far too wise beyond his years. I force back every instinct that yells for me to do as Brayden says and drive back through the exit. Instead, I adopt an expression to show my surprise. “What? You’ve always loved this house. There’s so much to do here.”
“Like what?” he snaps back.
I rack my brain quickly, wishing I’d prepared myself a bit better. I can only lend out so much optimism when I rarely feel any myself. “Didn’t he convert the guesthouse into a bunkhouse just for you? That’s so cool.”
His scowl slips a little as he turns to stare out the window in the direction of the woods. “My bunkhouse is pretty cool.” His eyes widen a little. “Want to see it?”
I force a smile. The last thing I want to is get out of this car, but no way am I saying no to my son now. “I would love that.”
Once I’m out of the car, I take a deep inhale of the crisp air and bask in the natural quiet of this time of year. January on the island might be my favorite time of year, when the chaos of holidays morph into a serene state of calm.
I walk around to get Brayden out of his car seat. When he hops onto the driveway with a giant grin on his face, I think he might have forgotten all about his resistance to being here. “Lead the way, Bray.”
He giggles at my rhyme as we venture down the main drive then onto a trail that leads into the woods. The bunkhouse isn’t too much farther. Brayden shows me his full trunk of action figures, a bookshelf stacked with comic books, and the mini kitchen stocked with snacks and drinks. We’re snuggled up on the couch looking through a book about gemstones when Trevor’s body takes up the opening to the bunkhouse.
Brayden is a carbon copy of his father in every possible way. From his bright-red hair to his stark green eyes to the enormous dimples that pop in his cheeks when he smiles. I just know that he’ll grow to have the same lean and tall build as his father too.
“Hi, Daddy,” Brayden says easily.
“Hey Bray-man. Whatcha doing?”
“Just showing Mommy the bunkhouse before she has to go.”
Trevor nods, a forced smile plastered on his face. “It’s a work in progress, but we’ve been having fun with it. Haven’t we?”
Brayden is slow to nod, like he’s unsure of his answer but wants to agree with his dad anyway.
“I can’t wait to check out all the updates as you go,” I say while rustling Brayden’s hair, earning me a toothy smile.
I look up to find Trevor’s gaze land on me, chilling me in my spot. “Vi, can we talk before you take off?”
Blinking, I sort through all the reasons I don’t have time for one of Trevor’s talks. It’s always something. Whether he doesn’t approve of my job, or my work hours, or my friends. He just can’t stand that we’re not together and I’m no longer his to control.
I kiss Brayden’s cheek and whisper, “I’ll see you Monday after school. We can do anything you want to do. You get to pick.”
Brayden’s face crumbles slightly, but like the resilient kid he is, he nods and morphs directly into play mode. “Okay.”
I frown and give him one last kiss on top of his head. “I love you. Have fun, okay?”
This time, Brayden doesn’t acknowledge my request. He keeps playing, and I’m forced to follow Trevor into the woods. He’s already walking back toward the house, probably to stay out of our son’s earshot. I can’t imagine what would be so important, but I can feel my defensive shields preparing for battle.
We’re all the way back at my car when Trevor stops and turns to me. “Bray’s falling behind in school.”
My defenses kick in immediately. “He’s only in kindergarten.”
“It doesn’t matter, Vi. His counselor is leaving me messages about him having trouble focusing.”
I frown. “Did you talk to her on the phone?”
He huffs out a breath of annoyance. “I haven’t had time. That’s what I’m telling you.”
Stifling my anger at Trevor for once again not having time for our son, I decide to drop the fact that Brayden’s counselor is having one-way conversations with Trevor. “This year has been really tough on him. We anticipated it would be, with all the changes in our lives.” I hesitate to say more, but I’m not sure what good it will do when I have very little control over the situation. “He’ll bounce back.”
Trevor’s hard stare narrows. “And if he doesn’t?” His tone is hardly concerning and all accusatory.