Jessica Sorensen - The Probability of Violet and Luke

I cry out in sheer pleasure, the sound of my voice unrecognizable as my fingers stab at his skin in desperation, needing to hold onto something. Luke keeps thrusting into me a few moments longer before he starts to slow, pressing one last time deep inside of me as his head collapses against my chest.

He remains still for a while, breathing heavily against my chest, like he’s afraid to move. I kind of don’t want him to either, because everything feels perfect right now, which is rare for me, if nonexistent. But eventually he shifts back down, slipping out of me, but bringing me with him and pulling me against him as we lie in the bed, face to face. As the lamp cast the light over his cheek, I realize there’s a massive lump there, on top of a preexisting bruise and a little bit of dried blood. I’d been so caught up in the intimate moment, I hadn’t realized it was there until now.

“What happened?” I ask, gently placing my hand over the injury. “Did you get in a fight?”

He shrugs, eyes on mine as he leans into my touch as if my hand is soothing him. “A little one, but nothing too major.”

“Did you get caught cheating?”

His breath falters from his lips. “Cole did, but it’s not that big of a deal. I don’t owe any money or anything.”

His voice is off pitch and all that peace we had moments ago shatters into a million pieces I so want to put it back together again. “They took the money, didn’t they?” I ask with a frown.

He doesn’t answer my question, only uttering, “I’ll figure something out.” He blows out a tired breath and then rubs his eyes, appearing worn out.

“”I want to help,” I tell him, tracing the lines of one of his tattoos on his rib cage. There are actually several tattoos on him and he told me once that he went through a phase where he’d get a tattoo every time he felt shitty, which meant he felt shitty a lot. “Let me help.”

“I’m not going to let you deal drugs to help me,” he says in a clipped tone, shaking his head. “I’d rather get the shit beat out of me than have you do that and owe him .” His expression softens a little as he puts a hand on my back and gently sketches his finger up and down my spine. “Let me sleep on it. I might have an idea, but I need to figure out how desperate I am.”

I don’t know what his idea is, but it worries me, because the last time I saw that look of pure helplessness on his face was the night he told me that his mother could possibly be my parent’s killer.

Luke

I watch her sleep for most of the night. Thinking. My head so cluttered I can barely breathe. By the time I’m actually finished the sun is coming up and I’ve had absolutely no sleep whatsoever. It’s been that way for the last couple of months and between that and the drinking, I’m starting to feel the effects of it on my body. Constantly tired, I wonder how I’m ever going to survive football season if I don’t get my act together.

My act together . It seems like I have so much to do before that can ever be possible, but as I lie here looking at Violet asleep in my arms, I want to do it more than anything.

As the sun rises higher and lights up the room, I decide to take the first step, even though I don’t want to at all. I begrudgingly get out of bed and grab my phone to make a call I never thought I could make in a million years. But the alternative, staying here until I can figure something else out, isn’t something I want to do anymore.

It’s still early in California, but my dad answers after three rings. “Luke, is everything okay?”

I swear to God it’s like he knows I need something. “Not really.” I pause, waiting for him to say something but he doesn’t as I stare out the window. “Look, I need a favor…. I need to borrow some money.” If he turns me down again, I don’t think I can ever ask him for anything.

“Okay.” He already sounds wary. “How much do you need?”

I glance over my shoulder as Violet stirs in the bed, then make my way over to the bathroom attached to the room and go inside so I don’t wake her up. “Nine grand.”

He lets out a slow, low whistle. “Shit, Luke. That’s a lot of money.”

“I know it is.” I shut the door, recline against it, and slide to the floor. “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t an emergency.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“You could say that.” I hesitate, not sure I want to tell him, not wanting to give him the right of knowing me yet, but then suddenly there’s all this pressure inside my chest and it explodes without warning. Everything comes pouring out of me. And not just the gambling part. I tell him how much I drink. What happened between Violet and I. Everything my mom did. Even what I found in Amy’s journal. And by the end I’m crying, like a scared little boy. It makes me feel so pathetic. So weak. So out of control, like when I lived with my mother, and part of me hates myself, but the other part feels relieved, like I can breathe again.

“Luke, we’re going to fix this,” my dad says after I finally stop sobbing long enough for him to speak again.

“You can’t fix it,” I say, sucking back the tears. “Not most of it anyway.”

“Well, I’m going to fix what I can,” he tells me so calmly. I don’t even know how he’s doing it. I just piled on twenty years of baggage onto him and he’s cool as can be. “And the rest we’ll figure out together.” He pauses as if he’s collecting himself. “The first thing I’m going to do is wire you the money. You can head back to Laramie and it should be there by the time you get there. Then you’ll pay back this Geraldson guy.”

I wipe the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. “And then what?”

“And then I want you to come visit me,” he says and before I can protest, he adds, “Just for a week, so we can talk and maybe get to know each other a little bit better... I’d like to get to know my son.”

“You think talking is going to help?” I question skeptically. “Because I’m not so sure.”

“I think it’s a step… and if you’ll let me, I’d like to take that step with you and hopefully more steps.” He sighs. “I know I haven’t been there for you and I can’t make up for the past.” Now he sounds like he’s choking up. “But I’d like to try my damn hardest. You just need to let me try.”

“I have football practice starting in a couple of weeks,” I say. “And classes. It’s hard for me to go somewhere right now.”

“Can you take some time off?” he asks, hopeful. “Just a week or so.”

“I hate taking time off. And I’ve already missed more than I’m comfortable with.” I’m being a pain in the ass, still uneasy about the whole thing. Well, more like frightened. When I was younger, it was all I thought about all those times during the needles, hugs, petting, madness. That he would come back and save me, but he never did and I nearly rotted to death in that house. And now, it’s hard to let that all go.

“Then I’ll come to you,” he insists determinedly. “If you say it’s okay, I’ll fly out there and see you.”

I run my hand over my head, letting out a stressed breath. “How long would you stay?”

“As long as you want me to,” he replies. “I’d take a few hours at this point.”

“That’s a far flight for a couple of hours.”

“No, it’s not.” The way he says it makes me want to cry again, but I suck the tears back before they spill out.

“Fine, you can come out if you want.” I push myself to my feet. “And you can stay for a few days.”

It takes him a second to respond and when he finally does, I can tell he’s crying but trying not to let me hear it. “Good. I’m so glad. I’m so, so glad.”