Chapter 68 Destiny
Violet
Theo leans back in his seat and rubs his face with both hands. “I should probably say this,” he mutters. “It’s okay to tell her no, you know.”
I glance at him. He’s not looking at me, just staring out the windshield like he’s choosing his words carefully.
“She means well,” he adds. “But she can steamroll when she’s worried.”
I hestiate.
Then I exhale slowly.
“I know,” I say. “But… this helps.”
He turns to look at me then.
“Her being like this,” I continue, staring at my hands. “The coffee. The food. Dragging me around like I’m a runaway toddler. It makes it easier.”
Theo doesn’t interrupt.
“She doesn’t let me sit in my head,” I say quietly. “And if I sit there too long, I start unraveling. So I’m not fighting it. Not today.”
He nods once, understanding settling into his expression.
“I’ll pay Rowan back,” I add quickly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “For all of this. The driver. The security. The funeral arrangements. I don’t want him thinking—”
“That’s not what he’s worried about,” Theo says gently.
I look at him.
“He’s not keeping score,” Theo continues. “He’s… protecting.”
I swallow. “Still. I don’t like owing people.”
Theo gives a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I know. You and him actually have that in common.”
That makes something twist in my chest.
Before I can respond, the passenger door opens again.
Camille slides back into the car, victorious.
“They have openings,” she announces. “Couples massage rooms, but I told them that’s fine because we’ll just rotate. And no, Theo, don’t start, you’re getting one too.”
Theo sighs. “I didn’t agree—”
“You did when you got in the car,” she says cheerfully. “Come on. Everybody out.”
She looks at me then, eyes softening just a bit. “You ready?”
I nod.
Not because I am.
But because she’s right. Standing still is worse.
As we get out of the car, I realize something quietly, painfully true.
I don’t know how I would be surviving this without her.
The lobby smells like eucalyptus and citrus, the kind of clean that feels expensive and intentional. Soft music hums through hidden speakers, something instrumental and slow enough that my shoulders drop a fraction the moment we step inside.
A woman at the front desk barely glances up before smiling. “You must be the walk ins.”
Camille beams. “We are, and we’re emotionally fragile but very cooperative.”
Theo mutters, “I am neither of those things.”
The woman laughs like she’s heard worse. “We can take all three of you right now.”
Camille claps her hands once. “See. Destiny.”
We’re guided down a quiet hallway, past frosted doors and low lighting, until we reach a larger room with three massage tables already set up. Plush robes hang on hooks along the wall. Slippers are lined up neatly underneath.
“All right,” the attendant says warmly. “Go ahead and change into the robes and lie face down when you’re ready. Therapists will be in shortly.”
She leaves without another word, closing the door softly behind her.
For a moment, none of us move.
Theo looks around the room, then at the three tables, then at Camille. “So much for switching out.”
Camille grins unapologetically. “What. You scared of a little self care?”
“I am deeply uncomfortable,” he replies. “And also not emotionally prepared to be shirtless in a room with my girlfriend and my boss’s assistant.”
I snort before I can stop myself.
Camille laughs. “Oh my god, Vi. It’s working already. She laughed.”
“I did not laugh,” I say, already reaching for a robe. “I exhaled aggressively.”
Theo points at me. “That was a laugh.”
“Take your shirt off, drama king,” Camille says. “We’ve all seen worse.”
Theo sighs like a martyr but starts unbuttoning his shirt anyway. “I’m telling Rowan about this.”
Camille smirks. “Please do. I’d love to explain it to him.”
I turn my back politely as I change, slipping into the robe and tying it a little tighter than necessary. My body still feels tense, like it doesn’t trust this quiet yet.
When I turn around, Camille is already sprawled dramatically on one of the tables, face down, arms dangling. “I call this one,” she says into the padding. “It spoke to me.”
Theo hesitates by the remaining two. “Do I have to lie down now.”
“Yes,” Camille says. “Before you overthink it.”
He shoots me a look. “If I die, tell my story.”
I give him a small smile. “I’ll make it heroic.”
That gets another laugh out of him, quieter this time.
We all lie down eventually. The table is warm beneath me, the fabric soft against my cheek. For the first time since everything started unraveling, my brain doesn’t immediately spiral.
Camille sighs contentedly. “I swear, if this doesn’t fix you, I’m escalating to a facial.”
Theo groans. “Please don’t.”
The door opens again, soft and quiet, and three massage therapists step in like they’ve done this a thousand times.
Calm. Grounded. Completely unbothered by the fact that we’re a very mismatched trio clearly dragged here against at least one person’s will.
“Good afternoon,” one of them says gently. “My name’s Lena. I’ll be working with you,” she adds, resting a hand lightly near my shoulder so I know she’s there.
The other two introduce themselves just as quietly. Camille hums in approval. Theo lets out a sound that might be resignation.
Warm hands press into my shoulders before I can think too hard about it.
I flinch at first. Not because it hurts, but because my body hasn’t been touched gently in a long time without expecting something to go wrong afterward.
“Just breathe,” Lena murmurs. “You’re safe here.”
I don’t answer. I just exhale.
Her hands move with practiced confidence, easing tension out of muscles I didn’t realize were clenched. Shoulder blades. Neck. Down my spine. Each careful press feels like permission to let go of something I’ve been carrying for too long.
Camille sighs loudly from the table next to me. “Oh my god. I forgot what it feels like to exist without stress.”
Theo lets out a reluctant sound. “Okay. Fine. This is… fine.”
Camille snorts. “You’re melting.”
“I am not melting,” he says, but his voice is already slower, looser.
Lena works steadily, not rushing, not lingering in a way that feels uncomfortable. Just firm, grounding pressure. My thoughts try to scatter, try to jump ahead to funerals and paperwork and phone calls and Rowan and Calder and everything I don’t want to feel, but every time they do, her hands pull me back into my body.
Into the table.
Into this moment.