Page 25 of A Violet Obsession

“So? Friend or foe?”

I scrub a hand over my face. “I don’t fucking know. On one hand, I think she’s telling the truth about the robbery. On the other⁠—”

“She’s got secrets.” Vincent nods. “But everyone does. Things they don’t want getting out.”

I don’t love the look he’s giving me. My shoulders sag. “I don’t need this kind of problem in my life.”

The word problem tastes wrong before it’s finished leaving my mouth.

She’s not a problem. She has a problem. But admitting that—even to myself—takes away the mental distance I am desperately trying to maintain.

Vincent’s lips tip up on one side. “Are you going to help her?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

It’s a lie, and the look Vincent gives me, says he wants to call me out on it.

A series of images flash through my mind—Emma and Lily running through the sprinkler, a mop of frizzy red hair across the dinner table—until it morphs into the adult version. The quiet devastation on her face when she said she’d stay away from Emma. The fear in her eyes reliving last night.

That violet butterfly inked above her breast.

I let out a long, frustrated groan. Vincent nods, knowing exactly what it means, and walks away. I stand staring sightlessly at my monitors for several minutes before dragging a hand down my jaw.

When I step back into the main room, Lily is curled on her side, legs pulled up, her coat bunched around her. Her face is slack, lips slightly parted. She looks young and completely unguarded.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to wake her.” Vincent’s voice is quiet beside me.

I look at the bruise-colored skin beneath her eyes.

“No, let her sleep while I figure out my next move.”

Going to my computer, I search her name, but my gaze keeps drifting to the doorway. From this angle, I can’t see her. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I reposition myself so I have a clear line of sight across the main room to the sofa.

I’m not watching her sleep.

And it’s not creepy if I’m just making sure she’s okay.

Right?

I lean against the doorframe and dial Emma.

She picks up on the second ring. “Finally! Oh my god, Finn, how did it go? Is Lily okay? What’s going on? I’ve been calling, and she’s not answering her phone or my texts, and I’m starting to freak out. Is she mad at me? I mean, some of my messages may have been over the top, but—anyway, my meeting’s over, which, by the way, went amazing, the casting director loved me, so I think I got the commercial—but now I’m done and I think I should just go over to her apartment because⁠—”

“She’s fine.” I keep my voice low. On the sofa, Lily sighs in her sleep and brings her palm up to cradle her cheek as she shifts. I’m in the middle of imagining how soft that cheek is when Emma’s words penetrate.

“—she sounded weird earlier, and I know she doesn’t want me to worry, but I am! I’ve just got this feeling, so I’m going over⁠—”

“You can’t do that.” I interupt her.

“What?”

“Don’t go to her apartment. She’s sleeping.”

Emma snorts. “Doubtful.”

I frown. “Why is that doubtful? She told me she’d been up all night with the police. She needs her sleep.”

“Because Lily doesn’t sleep. Like, she can’t.” Emma’s voice shifts into something more serious. “She has issues with it. I don’t know all the specifics, but she told me she can only fall asleep under like really specific conditions. She has special sleeping headphones and listens to some meditation thing. She literally cannot sleep without it. Trust me, whatever she’s doing right now, she’s not sleeping.”