25. The Dirty Shirley

twenty-five

Cam

Grief is weird.

Some people lock themselves into a room for years, completely isolating themselves for the rest of their lives. Others, like me, latch onto everything they have left and refuse to let go. Then, of course, there's Violet.

I can't judge how she reacted when she thought Reese was going to die. Nobody can. When the person you love most is jeopardized, there isn't any room for comparison on how you respond. I just can't help but feel like I failed by complying.

It was amazing, don't get me wrong. I can't find it in myself to regret it. But it wasn't supposed to happen. The contract was supposed to end.

I don't usually beat around the bush. I'm pretty forward with what I want. But it was different with this. I couldn't look Violet in the eye and tell her I didn't want to do this anymore because she would know, in an instant, that it was a lie.

And when she looked at me how she did that night, desperate for a distraction from the tragedies around her, it felt like a sin not to comply. She didn't make me feel that way. Violet would never make someone feel like they had to do something they didn't want to. But she's done a lot for me, whether she knows it or not. Guiding me through things and agreeing to a schedule. I wanted to repay her for that. I wanted to help her how I could.

Hayden had a shit-eating grin when I told him.

Dr. Burton said that he thinks I was moving on and that, just because I had been experiencing the effects of a trauma bond after seeing Cody, doesn't mean I want to go back.

"In fact," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It means you don't. There wouldn't be so much internal conflict if it was something you actually wanted."

Then, he asked if I was making sure I was sticking to my original boundaries.

I lied and said yes.

The thing is, I'm not not sticking to the boundaries. Not exactly. I've set an alarm every Tuesday to remind me about Criminal Dinner, and the non-disclosure part still stands. But the schedule part, well... that's taken a bit of a hit.

After that night in the shower, I realized Violet was right in the beginning. Not about it being a booty call, but that you can't predict when you'll need one another. You can't schedule your need for a distraction. So, I scratched that part out, with a thick black sharpie. Violet grinned as I did it, and even gave me a high five, which I thought was her mocking me at first. Then, I realized she was being serious.

"Do you ever just lie there and smell his paws?" Violet asks.

My head snaps up to look at her, her shiny chestnut hair strewn across the pillow. Reese's head rests on the quilt covering my lap, his loose jowls squished against my bare thigh. Shaved patches cover the majority of his bruised skin, but small scabs are beginning to form over the punctures. Next to me, Dawson is cradled in Violet's arms, like he's a fifty-pound baby. His toes spread as he stretches his arms out, the pad of his paw grazing my cheek. I giggle.

"It would be a crime not to," I say, grabbing Dawson's foot and shoving it into my nose. I take a deep inhale, the earthy scent of dirt and the salty smell of corn chips wafting into my nose. Violet laughs.

"My sister thinks it's the grossest thing ever." I roll my eyes.

"People smell newborn babies fresh out of the vag. If I want to smell my dog's feet, I'm gonna."

We lay there for a moment, silently staring at one another, before breaking into laughter.

"He really likes you," Violet says after a moment. I look at her, her gaze fixated on Reese who has completely melted into me. So much love fills her eyes when she looks at him, like he's the only one in the world.

"I love him," I respond, dragging my thumb gently across his ear. "I'm really glad he's okay."

Violet nods, running her fingertips gently across his skin, avoiding any bruises and punctures. "You have no idea."

I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check the time. Have I really been here for six hours?

"It's Saturday," I remind her. Violet quirks an eyebrow at me, before realization pools in her eyes.

"Oh right, Adrian's art show," she says. I nod. "Well, I'm super excited for them."

I chew on the inside of my cheek, thinking about the words dancing around my tongue. I shouldn't say them. I know I shouldn't. But they're right there, forcing their way out.

"Are you gonna come?"

It isn't an absurd question, even though it feels like one. Adrian invited the entire staff, and even told them to bring friends and family. Greenrock only has one art show a year, hosted in the very tiny Greenrock Valley Gallery of Fine Arts. Violet scans my face, a hint of confusion behind her eyes.

"Do you want me to?" she asks.

Instinctively, I shake my head.

"No," I blurt out, though I immediately know it's a lie. "Well, no, not that I don't want you to, but I don't not want you to." I correct myself. "I just know it will mean a lot to Adrian if more people come."

Violet nods slowly but doesn't say anything.

Then, after a moment, her lips part.

"I wasn't planning on it," she says. "Because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

I swallow, knowing that is a completely valid reason for her not to go. Still, it doesn't stop the strange twisting inside my stomach.

"Well," I say, not really understanding why the words are coming out. "Maybe it would be better if you did. I mean." I gesture to her. "Maybe it will come off stranger if you're the only one who doesn't go, you know?"

A smile tugs at the corners of Violet's lips, her pierced brow rising.

"Are you asking me to come, Sparky?" she asks. I roll my eyes and look back down at Reese. My fingers glide gently over the shaved spots along his body. On his ear, his cheek, his neck, his ribcage. The one on his leg is the worst though. It tore, rather than punctured, most likely from the other dog not letting go. Black stitches poke through the raw skin, holding him together.

"I'm asking you to come for Adrian," I say firmly, still not meeting Violet's eye. I slide out from under Reese and gently lower his head onto the mattress. "I couldn't care less, personally."

Adrian looks stunning. Of course, they always do.

With their glowing skin and shiny black curls, Adrian couldn't look bad even if they tried. But they look especially dapper tonight, in a dark blue tux and masculine bun. I lean forward to tighten their patterned tie.

"You," I say, my eyes meeting theirs. Adrian has brown eyes in the way I wish I did. "Are going to be great."

Adrian taps their feet side to side like a penguin.

They aren't usually nervous about these things. They aren't usually nervous at all, unless it's about me. But tonight is huge. Anassia Walker, the owner of the biggest art gallery in the Pacific Northwest, will be there, looking to add to the Pacific Mountain Gallery of Fine Arts.

These opportunities don't come by frequently to Adrian, not unless they travel to Seattle. And the past few years, they've been saving that money for Rise. So this, well, this could change everything for them.

"I know," they say, exhaling a stream of air through their pursed lips. "It's going to be great. I am great."

"You sure are," Hayden says, pressing a quick kiss to their temple. He's wearing a gray suit, the handkerchief in his pocket almost the same captivating color as his eyes. Major boasts a matching gray harness, all the patches accented with the same blue. Hayden Ayers is a man of style. Avery nods in agreement, his hands fidgeting in the pockets of his own boxy tux. I stick my thumb in my mouth to wet it and scrub at the stain on my infamous emerald dress, knowing it isn't going to come out.

I got that stain on my way home from a date with Cody. Luigi had broken down, of course, and I was messing with the engine, at least attempting to do something, while Cody pouted in the passenger seat, muttering about what a piece of shit my car was. He had no car of his own, which was another topic in itself. I sat back down, wiping my greased hands on my dress as I asked him to not say that. It was thrifted but new to me. It was my favorite dress then and still is. I refuse to let Cody ruin that.

"I can't wait to finally see it," Hayden says excitedly, bouncing on the tips of his toes. I nod, looking around at all the easels spread throughout the gallery. A large white sheet covers Adrian's canvas.

"Yeah, Ry! I've been dying to know what it is."

Adrian's been working on this piece for months now, but they refuse to let any of us see it. Avery wiggles his brows, letting a sly smile creep across his face.

"I know what it is," he taunts. Adrian smacks him lightly with the back of their hand, and Hayden and I shoot him a jealous glare.

"What?!"

Adrian smiles sheepishly.

"Sorry," they say, now taking their turn to shoot Avery a glare. He shrugs, like he has no idea what he did wrong. "He saw it when I was loading it into the car."

I wrinkle my nose, staring at Avery. But out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of something.

17No—sorry. Not something. Someone. A group, actually, of Furry Friends employees. Brooke looks beautiful, in a light blue, cowl-necked dress. Martha boasts a red skirt, a white button-up tucked inside. Malcolm must have missed the memo, as he trudges next to them in ripped jeans and a tattered "I Heart MILFS" T-shirt, which entices a chuckle out of me.

And at the center of the group, in a pair of black high-waisted slacks and a matching, asymmetrical cropped blazer, is Violet. The top is just long enough to cover the strip of skin on her stomach, but it's classy, and chic. If she were to lift her arms, that skin would peek through. Her piercings are still there, shimmering in the overhead lights, but looking at her now, you would never guess she was covered in tattoos. For a moment, I forget there is anyone else in the room.

No. I forget there is anyone else on the planet.

A sharp elbow pokes my ribs, and my head snaps up, shooting its owner a scowl. But it's Hayden, his brows raised slightly in a cautionary glance. My cheeks flush, knowing exactly what he's saying without saying it: I am standing here, jaw-dropped, eyes fixated on Violet Wolfe.

"Thanks," I mutter, and Hayden gives my arm a brief squeeze.

"You made it!" Adrian squeals, running toward the group with their arms stretched wide. They practically throw themselves into everyone, and the team all wraps together in a big group huddle. Violet's eyes flick up to me, and she shoots me a sparkling grin.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"One Vodka Cranberry," I say to the bartender. She nods, reaching for the unopened bottle of Grey Goose. After filling a short plastic cup with ice, she pours in the thick clear liquid, mixes in a dark red juice, and garnishes it with a lemon wedge, which hangs off the rim of the cup. She sets the drink in front of me.

"Eleven dollars please."

I nod, reaching down into my purse to retrieve my wallet.

"I've got it," a voice behind me says, and I don't have to turn around to recognize the angelic rasp. My cheeks flush, and I wait a moment for it to go away before looking up at Violet.

"I can buy my own drink, boss," I say, reaching back into my bag. Violet slaps her card against the bar, nodding to the bartender.

"And one Dirty Shirley please," she asks sweetly. The bartender takes her card and swipes it on the machine before making her drink. I look at Violet, unimpressed.

"A Dirty Shirley?" I ask, my eyebrow cocked in a taunting way. Violet crosses her arms.

"What, not sophisticated enough for the woman in the oil-stained dress?" she asks, gesturing to me. "It's pretty much the fun version of a Vodka Cranberry."

I shake my head.

"It's really not," I say, fighting a smile. I take a long sip of the drink in my hand. My eye twitches when the vodka hits my tongue.

Damn that's strong.

I must not be hiding my disgust as well as I thought I was because Violet's lips tug into a smirk.

"Here's that drink, miss," the bartender says, interrupting our eye contact. Violet smiles at her, then swoops her drink off the bar, and walks away without another word.*

I take an even longer sip of my drink this time, staring at her as she saunters away. The bartender shoots me an amused look. I give her an awkward laugh.

"Bosses, am I right?"

She nods, like I'm completely insane, and I shuffle away quickly to find Adrian.

"Can I have that?" they ask, pointing to the cup in my hand. If I'm going to get through this night without sneaking Violet into the bathroom, I'm gonna need help. But Adrian's eyes are desperate, their brows pressed together in a stressed plea. I nod and hand them the cup. They suck half of it down without even blinking.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," a woman announces, standing on a make-shift stage in the front of the gallery. Adrian clears their throat, stretching their arms out, and gestures to their body from the tops of their head down to their toes. The woman glances over, her head tilting as she looks at the silent spectacle they are making. Her face flushes. "And others. We are so excited to begin our night here at the Annual Greenrock Valley Art Walk!"

Everyone in the room claps, Malcolm letting out a loud cheer. His cheeks turn red when he realizes this isn't quite that type of event. Violet chuckles, and Hayden sneaks him a fist-bump.

"Love the enthusiasm."

"As I'm sure you are aware, Anassia Walker, the founder of the Pacific Mountain Gallery of Fine Arts will be joining us tonight, searching for a new addition for her institution."

Anassia Walker is a tall woman, and by that, I mean she is probably five-foot-ten, but the black strappy heels she wears boost her to be closer to six feet. A coral top beneath her gray suit jacket makes her skin glow, the matching gray pants below tailored to her height perfectly. She steps forward, waves, then steps back.

"She's hot," Avery whispers, and we all shoot him a glare. His face turns red, and he adjusts his posture to sit up straighter.

The speaker continues.

"Other than that, there is a bar in the corner." She points in the direction of the bar, and Malcolm gives another whoop. This time, everyone laughs. "And have fun!"

Everyone claps again, a bit louder this time, and Anassia turns, walking toward the easels on the other side of the gym.

We all turn to Adrian and watch their hand grip the white sheet draped over their piece. They take a deep breath, then pull it down to reveal a huge, colorful, textured canvas. I step back to see it in its entirety, my eyes adjusting to the popping colors, and variating textures.

"Is that… us?" Hayden asks quietly. Thick oil paint sculpts out recognizable faces on a recognizable tawny couch, in a recognizable living room. I can see it now, so clearly, Adrian's soft brown skin and Avery's thick hair. A tuft of white fur clinging to my scrub pants. Shining blue eyes looking down at me. The uneaten gyro sitting on a painted plate on the coffee table in front of us.

Adrian beams.

"It wasn't what the original painting was supposed to be," they admit. "But I started this one, and I liked it so much more."

Tears prick my eyes as I stare at the piece in front of me. Every detail, every curve, perfectly painted in colors so bright my eyes have to adjust. I blink, a singular tear trickling down my cheek. My eyes dart to Violet, and her brows press together in a concerned gaze. The sleeve of a gray suit jacket presses to my cheek, Hayden patting the tear dry.

"Cam," he whispers. I shake my head and clear my throat.

"I'm fine," I say, sniffling. I square my shoulders and look at Adrian in a loving gaze.

"You know how much I love you?" I ask. They pull me in, squeezing me tightly.

"About as much as I love you."

After the rest of the group gets a chance to "ooh" and "ahh" at Adrian's painting, they wave their hands in the air dismissively.

"You don't have to stay here," Adrian says, turning to our group. "Go look around!"

Avery and I share a concerned glance, and Adrian rolls their eyes, pushing us away.

"Space," they say firmly, but giggling. "Give me some space for when Anassia comes." Then, their hand grips the sleeve of Avery's suit jacket, their eyes darting up to him. "But come back."

We nod and start to spread out, taking different routes to different pieces that caught our eyes earlier in the night. I approach a sculpture, sitting on top of a sleek black display table. The sculpture isn't of anything, at least nothing discernible to the naked eye. Still, something about it has me tilting my head, intrigued.

"You gonna make it?" Violet says behind me. My eyes roll as I turn to face her.

"Are you going to creep up on me all night, or can you find a different hobby?"

Violet sticks her hands up defensively, her almost empty Dirty Shirley waving in the air.

"Cool it, Sparks," she says. "I was just checking on you. You seemed kind of upset back there."

My cheeks turn pink, heat rushing to them at the thought of Violet watching me cry.

Crying isn't embarrassing. At least I tell myself that, since I seem to do it frequently. I never think to myself when someone else is crying that they should be embarrassed. But knowing Violet watched me tear up at something so simple as a painting makes my stomach crawl.

It wasn't simple though. That's the thing. That painting is my family. Even the parts of it I'm not so fond of. I shake my head.

"I'm fine," I say, looking back at the twisting yellow sculpture. Violet steps beside me, either analyzing it or pretending to. I glance at her briefly. I don't know why I do. I don't mean to, and I don't want to. I don't want anyone who might be watching us to think anything is going on. But she looks so beautiful in this suit, her hair slicked back, her hazel eyes beaming. I look back in front of me.

"I like your outfit," I whisper, continuing to stare forward. Violet looks forward too, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see a smile.

"Thank you," she says, tilting her head at the art in front of us. "I like yours too. Although…" She takes a sip of her drink. "I do feel like it's missing something."

My head turns to look at her, my brows furrowing. "What?"

She taps her index finger to the spot on her arm, the one that used to be empty. The hammerhead shark. Then, she bites back a smile as she turns and walks away.

Later in the night, after Anassia told Adrian their painting had "truly captured the modern-day family" and Avery left because he got overwhelmed by the constant flow of people, I see Violet, leaning against the bar, a full glass in her hand. But this drink is different, something blue that looks like it would for sure make me throw up. My eye is drawn to the person in front of her, the person she's talking to, who's holding the same blue drink in her delicate hands.

Anassia Walker.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I walk over to them. Not to them. To the bar, of course, that's all. If they happen to be there, that's none of my business. I clear my throat, stepping between them to order.

"Can I have another Vodka Cranberry please?"

I watch the bartender as she makes my drink, but a hand tugs on my bare bicep.

"Cam!" Violet says my name louder than I would like in a public setting, but quieter than I would like in a private one. "This is Anassia. Anassia," She gestures to me. "This is one of my employees, Cam."

Heat fills my cheeks as I look up at the woman towering over me, her tall slender build not unlike a feminine version of Hayden's. I know it shouldn't, because that's exactly what I am, but the word "employee" sticks to the sides of my brain, like a degradation. I frown.

"It's nice to meet you," Anassia says, reaching out a thin pale hand. She has coral acrylics, ones that match her button-up. They're ugly, to be quite frank. I stick my hand out, shaking hers firmly. As firmly as I can, actually. I don't know why; the intention wasn't to hurt her. But I don't like being looked down at like I'm just an "employee."

"Your boss is really something, isn't she? She's not too hard on you I hope."

"Here's that Vodka Cranberry," the bartender says, looking at me with almost-pity behind her eyes. "On the house."

I grab it, taking a dramatically long sip and assure all the muscles in my face stay tight and unmoving. I set it back down, a tiny splash landing on the counter.

"Nope."

I cut the word in half, turning it into two syllables instead of one, popping my lips on the "p." A valley forms between Violet's eyebrows as she presses them together. Anassia looks back up at her with a perfectly straight smile.

Are those veneers? I bet they're veneers.

"So, Violet, what brings you to the show? Are you an artist yourself?"

Violet chuckles, shaking her head, and I let out an abrupt, loud laugh. Anassia eyes me, dissatisfied, then looks back up at Violet over my head. I mean, I'm literally standing right here?

"No," Violet says. "I'm actually here for an employee of mine. You may have met them. Adrian Barlowe?"

Anassia nods her head, a smile forming on her face.

"Oh yes," she says, and I swear to God she bats her eyelashes. "What was their painting called? Handmade?"

"Homemade," I cut in, because I just can't help myself. "Like a Homemade Family."

My eyes dart to Violet, something washing over her face. Understanding or realization, her eyes focusing onto me with a sort of shine.

"That's right," Anassia says. "Homemade. It's quite lovely, isn't it, Violet?"

Violet nods, and I can't listen to this woman's sophisticated accent anymore.

"Yup! They're the best," I say, pointing to Adrian who is starting to pack up their things. "You should talk to them, over there."

Anassia quirks a brow at me, and I have a sneaking suspicion she is looking down at me, not just due to her height. Violet chuckles, shaking her head but not saying anything.

"I think I might," she says, matter-of-factly. "It was very nice to meet you, Violet." She reaches her hand out again, and Violet shakes it firmly with a smile. When she releases it, Anassia's hand points down toward me. "And you too…" Her dark blue eyes click with mine. "Pam."

Violet waits for Anassia to walk away before bursting into a fit of laughter. I don't hesitate, however, to let steam pour through my ears.

"Pam?" I scoff, propping my hand on my waist. I throw the rest of my Vodka Cranberry down the back of my throat. "I mean, that was clearly a dig. What a rude woman."

Violet scoffs, a wide smile sewn into her glowing cheeks.

"She's rude?" she asks, twirling the red straw inside of her disgustingly blue drink. "Says the one who quite literally interrupted our conversation by standing between us."

I frown, glaring up at her. "Well, what were you doing anyway?"

Violet smirks, taking a sip of that taunting drink. "You told me to find a new hobby," she shrugs. "Was I not supposed to do that?"

Heat fills my cheeks, and I shoot her a menacing scowl.

"I don't care what you do, Violet." My eyes dart to the drink, then back up at her. "This is just a mutually beneficial sexual arrangement, remember?"

The bartender chokes behind the counter, like she's getting front row tickets to some weird American soap opera.

"It kinda seems like you do care, Cameron," Violet says, my name coming from her lips like sweet, thick honey. She leans against the bar, looking at me through her lashes.

"I don't," I say. "But if that's the case then—" I cross my arms. "We have to start using protection."

Violet chuckles, shaking her head.

"It's not the case," she says. "You think I want to go around hooking up with people I meet at art shows?"

I shrug.

"I don't know. Isn't that what divorcees do?"

"Maybe," she says. "But not me. Don't worry, Cam. You're my only hobby."

She tucks the red straw between her lips, the blue line of the drink sinking downward.

"What is that?" I ask, eyeing it suspiciously.

Violet shrugs.

"I don't remember what it's called. Anassia bought it for me." A little crescent forms on the corner of her mouth as she gives me another sly smirk. "Wanna taste?"

I frown, crossing my arms.

"No, actually." I look across the room at Adrian and Hayden. Adrian is chatting with, ugh, Anassia, but Hayden's eyes are glued to me, a blonde brow raised. "I have to go." I wave a hand in the air dismissively. "Bye."

Violet chuckles, muttering under her breath, "Night, Sparky."