Epilogue
Adriana
“Boise. Fucking Boise.”
Reaper’s words drift on the wind as we look at the shabby, weed-eaten park in front of us.
Those words are a common refrain, something I’ve heard from both locals and visitors alike for each of the three days we’ve been here so far.
Three days. It’s more than a lifetime’s worth as far as this city is concerned.
“Fucking Boise,” I echo.
Behind me, the words come three more times.
Once from Conrad, who since risking everything to help save our lives has stayed with us.
There’s a pain in his eyes, something that lurks beneath the goodness in his heart, something that’s drawn him into the brotherhood of the Twisted Devils MC and has led to him, in the time since Sacramento, pledging to the club.
Once from Tank, a gruff murmur. Once from Bianca Moretti, sister to the man who murdered my sister.
I don’t know how I feel about her being here, despite knowing everything she did to help rescue my sister, that she shares a name and a history with Victor Moretti grates on my spine despite my best efforts.
But she tried to save my sister’s life. And that means that, no matter what vile words what to rip themselves out of my throat, or how badly I might want to punch her in the face and hope that her piece of shit brother feels it in the afterlife, I won’t.
My sister trusted her, and that means I can tolerate her, too. Maybe even more, in time.
“We used to walk here often. Mostly when sobering up. We’d lay on that hill over there, look up at the sky, and I would promise her all this stuff…
” Reaper’s words end in a sigh that seems to take a lifetime from his chest. He takes a small vial from his pocket and starts toward the lump in the ground that might qualify as a hill. “Come on.”
I follow him up the gentle slope, my boots crunching against the brittle grass. Tank and Bianca stay back, giving us space for this moment that belongs to Vanessa, to Reaper, and somehow to me too.
The wind picks up as we reach the crest, carrying the scent of dust and distant rain.
Reaper uncorks the vial with trembling fingers, and I watch as he tilts it toward the sky.
Gray ash catches the breeze, dancing away from us in spirals that remind me of smoke, of endings, of things that can never come back.
"Goodbye, Vanessa," he whispers, his voice breaking on her name.
My throat closes up.
"Goodbye, little sister," I manage, the words barely audible.
Tears well in my eyes, blurring the landscape until Boise becomes nothing but smears of brown and gray.
I reach for Reaper, pulling him close, feeling the solid warmth against me as grief rolls through my chest like thunder.
His arms circle me, strong and steady, and he presses his lips to my temple — soft, reverent, like a prayer.
Something loosens in my ribcage. Not the pain, not entirely, but the sharp edges of it. Like I can finally breathe around the weight of losing her. Like I’ve finally said what I wanted to say all this time: goodbye.
And on the wind that tinkles my ears and flutters my hair, I hear something else — her voice. I love you, big sister.
A tear falls. I press myself even tighter into Reaper. He is my shelter. He is the man I love.
"How do you feel?" I say against his shoulder.
He's quiet for a long moment, his hand stroking my hair. "Like I finally said goodbye," he says, and when I pull back to look at him, there's the ghost of a smile touching his mouth.
I feel my own lips curve upward, fragile but real.
“Me too,” I say. For a minute or two or ten, we stand together, silent, but each of us talking with her in our own way. She hears us, I think. She hears us, and she’s happy for us.
I kiss him then, tasting salt and sorrow and something that might be hope.
Taking his hand, I turn back toward the sky where Vanessa's ashes have long since disappeared. "Goodbye, Vanessa. I love you."
“Goodbye,” he echoes.
The words settle into the wind, into the earth, into whatever comes next.
I squeeze Reaper's fingers and meet his eyes.
"I love you, Reaper. Do you want to go back to Ironwood Falls and maybe see what it's like to build a life together?"
His smile grows stronger, more certain.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."