Page 119 of X's and O's

Levi got the chain free and stood, passing me my helmet. “That guy is nothing like Whip. Nothing, Violet. If you want to go on dates with Whip and let him feel you up in restaurants, then I won’t stop you.”

“You already did!”

“That was before I knew he wouldn’t hurt you.” He gazed over at Dickson, still staring at us from inside the restaurant. “That piece of shit is a different story altogether.”

“He seems nice.”

“Nice?” Levi practically barked. “Violet, he’s not fucking nice. He’s dangerous. He’s straight out of prison.”

“So are you! I never judged you for that. But clearly you have some hangups about prisoners, and they aren’t all just directed at yourself.” I glared at him. “You wantedme to give you a chance, but you’re not willing to give anyone else the same courtesy?”

Levi reared back. “Are you fucking defending that guy? You don’t even know him!”

I didn’t know why I was defending him either. But my gut said it had nothing to do with the man inside and everything to do with the one standing right in front of me. I’d spent over twelve months defending him. To Toby. To Levi. To myself.

It was always me, standing up for him.

And it was fucking exhausting. I snatched my bike out of his hands. “I’m going back to Psychos. I won’t be needing your help cleaning this afternoon.”

I swung my leg over the bike, settling my ass on the seat.

“Vi…”

I shook my head. “You need fucking help, Levi. Therapy or something. Because all the hate you’re spewing right now is actually the hate you feel for yourself.”

I pushed my foot down on the pedal, but he caught the handlebars. “Vi, please. That guy in there—”

“It’s not about that guy, Levi! It’s not about Whip either! Or X. Or anyone else! It’s about you and me and how we clearly do not work outside of being pen pals.”

Pain twisted his expression. “Don’t say that.”

I shrugged a shoulder. It was callous and didn’t portray the absolute turmoil swirling in my gut. I didn’t want to believe the words. But I couldn’t keep doing this with him. He had shit he needed to deal with. And I clearly wasn’t the person who could help him through it.

We were just hurting each other. Over and over.

“Please Vi,” he whispered brokenly. “At least let me write you letters again. I know I’ve fucked up with you, and you don’t owe me anything. But I can’t walk away from this.” His eyes were desperate. “Can you?”

My stomach twisted in knots. I tried forcing my lips to say the word yes. To tell him this didn’t mean as much to me as it did to him.

But no sound would come out.

I brushed his hands away from my bike. “I can’t stop you writing me letters.”

Hope lit up his face once more.

But I couldn’t bear to look at it, when in my heart, I knew this was a vicious cycle. No matter how bad I wanted it to work, it wouldn’t.

I pushed down on the pedals and rode away from the man who I knew, deep within my soul, I loved.

But that he wasn’t ready to love me back.

30

X

“Ican’t believe we’re hunting down targets in a goddamn ice cream truck.”

I stared over at Whip in the passenger seat. “But it’s the perfect disguise! Nobody ever suspects your friendly, neighborhood sugar dealer.” I winked at him. “And I don’t even mean the kind you snort up your nose.”