Five things, p.1
Five Things, page 1
Five Things
Violet Paine
Five Things
Copyright © 2023 by Violet Paine
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the prior written permission from the author, except for the brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Editing: Dee’s Notes
Formatting: KB. Row
Cover Design: 3Crows Cover Design
Author.violetpaine@gmail.com
Contents
Foreword
Dedication
Playlist
Prologue Beatrice
Chapter One Beatrice
Chapter Two Maverick
Chapter Three Beatrice
Chapter Four Beatrice
Chapter Five Beatrice
Chapter Six Beatrice
Chapter Seven Beatrice
Chapter Eight Beatrice
Chapter Nine Beatrice
Chapter Ten Beatrice
Chapter Eleven Beatrice
Chapter Twelve Beatrice
Chapter Thirteen Beatrice
Chapter Fourteen Maverick
Chapter Fifteen Beatrice
Chapter Sixteen Maverick
Chapter Seventeen Beatrice
Chapter Eighteen Beatrice
Chapter Nineteen Beatrice
Chapter Twenty Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-One Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-Two Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-Three Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-Four Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-Five Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-Six Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-Seven Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-Eight Beatrice
Chapter Twenty-Nine Beatrice
Chapter Thirty Beatrice
Chapter Thirty-One Beatrice
Chapter Thirty-Two Maverick
Chapter Thirty-Three Beatrice
Chapter Thirty-Four Maverick
Chapter Thirty-Five Maverick
Chapter Thirty-Six Beatrice
Chapter Thirty-Seven Beatrice
Epilogue One Beatrice
Epilogue Two Maverick
Acknowledgments
Stalk Violet
Other titles by Violet
About the Author
Foreword
While Five Things is the lightest book I’ve written in terms of romance, it is also the heaviest due to the topics mentioned. This story deals with mental health and the effects of domestic violence after the fact. The characters in this book, and their struggles, are very real and this may be triggering to some people. There are scenes that depict violence and mental illness on the page. All I ask is that you please think of your own well-being before taking this journey if either of those topics are something you may struggle with. Your mental health is important.
To the ones who struggle to get out of bed in the morning; just remember, you’ve survived all the worst days of your life so far. While you may be trapped in darkness at this moment, you will find the sun again … it does get better.
Playlist
The Mess I Made - Parachute
I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For – U2
Friends – Ella Henderson
Hate Me – Miley Cyrus
Fly – Nicki Minaj, Rihanna
Breathin – Ariana Grande
Bad Blood – Taylor Swift
What Hurts The Most – Rascal Flatts
Don’t Start Now – Dua Lipa
Better Days – Hedley
All I do Is Win – DJ Khaled
Unanswered – Hanniou
Memories – Maroon 5
Wide Awake – Katie Perry
Breakeven – The Script
Need You Now – Lady A
Remember Who I was – James Arthur
Everything Has Changed – Taylor swift, Ed Sheeran
Pillowtalk – Zayn
Good Riddance (Time of Your life) – Green Day
Let It Go – James Bay
Wildest Dreams – Taylor swift
Stay – Rihanna
Easy On Me – Adele
What About Us – Davina Michelle
Last First Kiss – One Direction
Can’t Help Falling In Love – Elvis Presley
Everything – Michael Bublé
Best Day Of My Life – American Authors
Too Good At Goodbyes – Sam Smith
Let Her Go – Passenger
Hold Me While You Wait – Lewis Capaldi
Leave Me In The Dark – Alexander Stewart
Impossible – James Arthur
Chasing Cars – Tommee Profitt, Fleurie
Fight Song – Rachel Platten
If You Love Her – Forest Blakk, Meghan Trainor
A New Day Has Come – Céline Dion
This I Promise You – *NSYNC
If you want to listen along:
Spotify Playlist — Five Things
Prologue
Beatrice
Stifling heat stirs under the weight of my blazer, the black polyester suffocating me as it clings to my body. Paired with the formal black trousers my mom insisted I wear, this outfit is a far cry from my usual look. Appropriate though, given the day.
Lawyers argue back and forth, going over character statements, trying to find witnesses from that night, but there were none. It was only the three of us, and yet everyone has an opinion, or a statement to make about what kind of person we each are.
My mom grips my hand as I bounce it on my thigh, unable to sit still under the bright lights of the courtroom. Leaning over, she whispers, “Hey, it’s okay. He’s totally got this.”
I nod, knowing I can’t echo her sentiments. He doesn’t have this. I made sure of that when I walked into the lawyer’s office this morning with an affidavit in my hands.
As though he can hear my thoughts, his head jerks toward me, and his stormy-gray eyes lock on mine. He smiles at me and winks, and in that moment, my heart cracks.
Even under the scrutiny of every eye in the room, he seeks me out, ensuring I’m okay. But I can’t do the same today. Swiftly turning my head, I break away from his gaze, and in my peripheral, his shoulders deflate and his brows wrinkle, his mouth gaping as his stare pricks me.
Never in my life have I turned away from Maverick Brady, but today, I have no other choice.
A silence goes over the room when the lawyers stand, moving toward the judge’s bench. They whisper, and the viewers strain to hear their words, to know what’s happening.
Maverick’s lawyer turns away first, his gaze snagging on mine, and his clenched jaw tells me he’s lost his case . . . because of me. Sebastian’s lawyer, though, he smirks in glee, rubbing his hands together as he saunters over to the table where my ex-boyfriend is sitting.
When the lawyers are done speaking with their clients, Maverick’s eyes snap to mine, but before our gazes can clash, I look down. His anger is a palpable essence in the room, aimed at me and only me.
“Beatrice,” Mom hisses as the judge speaks, updating the court on the new development. “Beatrice, what did you do?”
Shaking my head, my mouth opens, but no words come out. The walls in the room become smaller, caving in as the jury is sent to deliberate, this new information changing the verdict before they even make it. Blood rushes to my ears, and my skin grows clammy.
Mom continues speaking at my side, but I don’t hear her. I hear nothing as my heart beats erratically, my vision growing hazy as dark spots dance in my periphery. I don't know how long we wait. Time stands still in this room.
Hands grip my wrists, hauling me up to standing, but it’s like a weight has been attached to me, pulling me deeper and deeper into a void of nothingness. Voices sound around me, their words meaningless when I zero in on a pair of gray eyes, eyes I know as well as my own.
His pupils dilate, the irises becoming almost black as a muscle in his jaw twitches. When his hands clench into fists at his sides, his shoulders growing taut with tension, I want to break my silence . . . but I don’t.
Not even when metal cuffs are slapped around his wrists and his eyes never leave mine. A sharp pain lances my tongue as warm liquid fills my mouth, the metallic tang of copper overwhelming my tastebuds.
Maverick’s parents face me, disappointment and rage stark on their expressions. My mom and dad swear under their breaths, looking away from me when I refuse to answer their questions: “Why Beatrice? Why did you do this? How could you do this?” I can’t—no one would understand.
When Maverick finally turns away from me, following the guards that lead him to an open door at the corner of the room, tears flow freely down my cheeks, streaking the foundation slapped on my face, but I don’t wipe them away. I did this to us. To me . . . to him.
The one person who, no matter what, has been a constant at my side. And today, instead of protecting him the way he always has me, I sealed his fate and sent him to prison.
Chapter One
Beatrice
Two years later . . .
My mom leans against the doorframe, smiling softly as I haul the last of my bags over my shoulder. “Hey, honey, are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Flicking my eyes over the room, I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my sweater, fiddling with my fingers as I pu ll in a breath.
“You can stay home a few more days if you want. Your classes don’t start until next week, and I’m sure your dad would love to see you before you go.” She shrugs, her eyes glazing over as I pick at the skin around my nails.
“You know, most parents are probably itching to send their kid off to school after having them home for two years.” Grabbing my phone from the desk, I shove it into the back pocket of my jeans and grab my jacket off the bed before heading for the door.
“Yes, well.” Mom pauses when I pass, reaching for the heavy braid that runs down my back. She tugs at the end lightly, a wistful sigh escaping her before she drops her hand and steps out of the doorway. “You’ll call me, right? If you need anything? And Dad says he’ll pop in from time to time when he’s near you.”
Nodding, I tip my lips up at her. The smile is fake, but she nods to herself, accepting my lies. I doubt she believes me, but she wants to, so she’ll convince herself it’s true for as long as she can.
“We love you, Beatrice,” she breathes, her eyes dipping to the floor as emotions swirl in the depths. She pats me on the back as I pass, and I make my way down the stairs to where my keys sit on the entrance table, my college information in a folder next to it. Grabbing them, my heart pounds as I twist the door handle, turning to Mom once more.
Her eyes shimmer with all the words she won’t say as she lifts a hand in the air, her back pressed to the stair rail.
“See ya, Mom.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it as I pull the door open and step outside with a final wave to her.
My baby-blue Nissan Sentra sits in the driveway, already packed with all the essentials to move into my college dorm. The backseat is covered in bags and boxes. My whole life is there, thrown in haphazardly—reminding me of my own mind.
Mom watches from the window as I toss my bag on the passenger seat and bring the engine to life. The smile on her face is long gone, replaced by a frown and worry lines etched into her forehead.
I’m sure it’s common for parents to worry when their kids leave for college, but I’m not going too far. Braylee University is only a couple hours away from home, and she’s not worried I’ll go to parties, or try drugs, or drink too much alcohol. Those are simple worries; the ones most parents would have when waving their kids off to start college.
My parents’ concerns . . . they’re more complicated.
They worry I won’t make it back home when the semester ends.
Their concerns are valid, but I’ve worked too hard over the last two years to not at least give this a good shot. My future beckons, and I’m ready to get my life back on track. To live again.
Though the thought alone isn’t enough to stop the tornado of butterflies that take flight in my stomach as I peel out of the driveway and leave my protective bubble behind.
The campus is quiet when I pull into the parking lot, the early morning sun beaming through the window, promising a warm California day. A few students linger around the parked cars, unpacking and heading toward the dorms dotted around the grounds, otherwise it’s quiet and peaceful. A nice welcome.
Turning the engine off, my fingers curl around the steering wheel as I blow out a slow breath. Coming here is a good thing. It has to be.
I close my eyes, peeling one finger away at a time before grabbing the folder from my passenger seat and pulling my keys free.
A couple of people smile at me as I pass them, the folder tight in my clammy hands and my purse hanging over my shoulder. The atmosphere is carefree, the weather making for a nice move-in day for those arriving today.
Pushing through the doors of Havers—my home for the next four years—I hold my breath, my eyes dancing over the wide lobby.
“You need any help?”
Startled by the intrusion, a squeak escapes my throat, and my body jolts, sending me backward. I trip over my feet, my bag falling from my hand as I stumble to keep myself upright.
My breath shallows, and I almost feel sorry for the guy when he grimaces, his arm held awkwardly midair. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you. I’m Grayson.”
He holds out a hand, but I’m too lost in the anxious energy pouring through me to do anything but stare at him. The longer I stand there, the more uncomfortable the air around us becomes.
Dropping my gaze quickly, I blow out a breath at the sight of my belongings scattered across the floor. I bend down, heat flooding my cheeks as I focus my attention on grabbing the papers that have fallen from the packet and stuffing them back in before hugging them tight to my chest.
As I’m about to stand, a loud voice rings from behind me, halting me midlift.
“Yo, Gray. Stop flirting with the fresh meat and get your ass outside.”
That voice. I know that voice.
Forcing myself upright, I spin slowly, my eyes locking on Nash Mason. The folder bends under my grip, my throat drying as he stares at me, his eyes wide like he’s seeing a ghost.
I guess to him I am.
His mouth gapes when I back up a step, his feet cautiously moving him closer. “Bea—”
Spinning around, I run for the stairs and refuse to look back. There’s an elevator to my right, but I bypass it, taking every other step in my rushed panic to escape.
Nash calls my name, but I don’t stop, instead flying up to the third floor.
My dorm sits at the end of the hallway, beckoning me to come inside and hide. The door closes with a deafening click behind me, blissful silence following as I slump to the floor, my breaths coming out in heavy pants.
Nash is—was—one of my oldest friends. He’d always hang at the Brady household with Maverick while Willow, Maverick’s sister and my best friend, and I were around. Somehow, instead of the boys being annoyed by our presence, we became an unlikely foursome, always together—until we weren’t.
My ass starts vibrating, the shrill ringtone mumbled as I lift off the ground, grabbing it from my pocket. I don’t bother glancing at the caller ID, only a handful of people in the world have this number, and the only ones who ever actually use it are my parents and my therapist.
“Hey, Mom.” She sighs down the line, and though I can’t see her, I know her shoulders are sagging in relief at the sound of my voice. “Your timing is impeccable, I just walked into my dorm.”
“I may or may not have been watching your live location,” she says sheepishly.
“Mom!”
“Now, young lady, don’t begrudge a mother for wanting to make sure her daughter is safe,” she admonishes, the line falling silent for a moment as her words sink in. Guilt settles in my stomach like a lead pipe. “Oh, honey, I didn’t . . .”
“It’s fine, Mom. You’re right. I appreciate you looking out for me.”
She sighs, and I push myself off the floor, walking slowly around the dorm while she asks me about the drive down before telling me about all the fun things to do locally when I get the chance to head into town.
The space is small, but I’ve lucked out in having my own dorm with a small kitchenette and bathroom. While it costs a little extra to not be stuck rooming with someone else, or having to share commodities, it’s worth it for the privacy. The ability to lock myself away when things become too hard is something my parents would never put a price on.
