Pressure Point (Point #2) by Olivia Luck Page A

nightmare will fade away.
    I wish.
    Wrapped in a calf-length terrycloth robe, I putter into the living-slash-kitchen-slash-dining room where Violet and Felix stand working a corkscrew in a bottle of Montepulciano. She has a key, and when Max and Felix aren’t working at the fire station together, my friend spends most of her time with the model-gorgeous dark blond. They’ve grown tight, probably because they come from similar rural Midwestern towns. The minute Violet shoots me a sympathetic smile, tears start leaking out of my eyes.
    “Stop being nice to me, please,” I whimper.
    Felix walks across the room and gives me a squeeze. Despite his hulking size, the guy holds me carefully as if I’m a delicate piece of glass. Violet understands my need to be handled without kid gloves. Her look of concern morphs into a gently mocking grin. “Toughen up, chickie, and have a glass of wine. When you’re good and drunk, you can tell us what on this glorious December evening has brought you to tears.” Then she extends a wine glass in my direction. I take a hearty chug then wipe the droplets of liquid resting on my upper lip with the sleeve of my robe.
    “That’s sort of better,” I admit.
    “Sort of?” Felix asks.
    “Let me get dressed,” I call over my shoulder, “then we can talk.” In a protective armor of baggy gray sweatpants and a red hoodie, I find my way back to where Violet and Felix sit on my overstuffed couch. She sprinkles red pepper on a square of pizza and he offers me a slice.
    “No malarkey about not being hungry. If your mom were here, she’d insist you eat. In her absence, I will fulfill that role. Get your pizza on,” Felix says.
    I fall onto the sofa next to Violet and take another swallow of the dark cherry liquid. “Wine is good, but not a liquid dinner.” She swipes the stem from my hand and places it on my coffee table.
    I eye her warily, still not ready to divulge what happened. Shame colors my thoughts. Don’t I value myself more than to be another fling to Blake Campbell?
    Felix shoves a plate into my hands and I numbly chew, the cheese tasting like hot, melted plastic in my mouth. The three of us sit there silently. My gaze fixes on the glass-topped coffee table. Behind me, I can practically feel the heavy eye contact Violet and Felix share. They have that silent conversation thing down to an art. Kind of like Zoe and I used to. What was left of my appetite shrivels, and I drop the plate on the table with a clatter.
    “Max and I want a small wedding.” Violet fills the emptiness of the living room with her words. “We were thinking just the family and maybe a rooftop in the summer. But nothing wild.”
    I find my voice because the decision surprises me immensely. “You’re a party planner and you want a small, nondescript wedding?”
    “Co-signed,” Felix chimes in.
    Violet offers a sheepish shrug. “There’s no family on my side to attend a wedding. Dad won’t walk me down the aisle; Mom won’t be there to help with dress shopping. I don’t want all of that pomp and circumstance. At the end of all the hoopla, it’s about Max and me. I want to make the day about the man I love, not the reminders of a past that doesn’t care about my future.”
    “Oh, V.” My worries fly out the window and I toss my arms around her slim shoulders, pulling her to me. “Your family may have unrealistic beliefs about who you should be, but the Baccinos don’t. Violet belongs in our clan. Always. ”
    “What about the big dude sitting to your left?” Felix asks incredulously. “I’m as much your family as you are mine. Last time I checked, you are the platonic yin to my yang. Forget those religious zealots. We love you without condition.”
    Violet gives me a squeeze of her own and settles back into the couch, shooting a loving expression at us both. “I know, believe me, I know. And I’m thankful for you all, more than you’ll ever know. But, really, truly, this is what Max and I