Chapter 25
sometimes, people get what they deserve
Saige, about five years later
Ileave the bookstore, pulling my hood over my head before stepping out into another dreary, west coast night, but the rainy season has never bothered me.
Besides, I love someone whose existence is more comfortable when the days grow shorter and colder—someone whose eyes are like the cold, dark water I feared for as long as I could remember.
But when I fell into them, I didn't shatter into a million pieces.
I just kept falling forever.
For some, maybe that isn't a good feeling; I mean, I guess it wasn't for me at first. But when it didn't break me, it changed me—sharp edges and all—and now I need it to breathe.
I check the time while waiting to cross the street toward the West End high rise we call home. It'll still be hours before Elias gets back, but he sent a text.
ELIAS You got lucky this time, Saige. We won. Scored a goal in the final minute, or you would have been in trouble. It wasn't my best game.
As if I wasn't checking the score all night. I think I would have won either way, but I won't tell him that to his face…this time.
It turned out that Elias didn't need to leave West Pine to go pro.
In the age of information, notoriety is a powerful thing.
After going from West Pine Batman to British Columbia's Most Wanted list and then back to hero, the West Pine hockey team sold out every game for the rest of their first winning season in three years, and subsequently attracted more talent.
In his fourth and final year on the team, the Wolverines won their conference with Elias as captain.
Now, he plays for Vancouver. We all moved to the city, where I work with other trauma survivors, and I can order a greasy grilled cheese sandwich from that place where I got dumped whenever I want.
And it's still fucking delicious.
I got my degree in psychology, and even though I could've written an entire dissertation on Elias alone, I didn't. I wrote about something else, and since there was still a lot more to the story, that something else became a book.
But there are still some parts that only the four of us will ever know—like what really happened after Miles trashed Elias's house that night.
And if anyone ever asks, I tell them Elias used to leave love notes in my locker and never left a dead squirrel in my bed.
Even though Isla agreed to be in the book, I haven't seen her face-to-face since. And when I asked if Elias could contact her to apologize, she said no.
A part of her still blames him for what happened.
Once inside the building, I take the elevator to the thirty-second floor, where Arcadia greets me at the door. Dax sits near the back windows painting, with the NHL post-game show on in the background.
Notoriety has been kind to Dax, too—as always.
He still works for his dad, but I don't think that will last much longer.
He sells his art online, and he even landed a couple of gallery exhibits this year.
His parents don't threaten to cut him off anymore, and they're supportive of our relationship.
After all, the notoriety hasn't been bad for them, either. I've even started growing on Jules.
I'm not sure I can say the same of Nolan. She still brings up the bird head from time to time, which he isn't willing to confirm nor deny. It really pisses her off.
Elias's dad and my mom, on the other hand…that was harder. They almost split up. But she knows I'm happy, and she accepts our relationship—our family—for what it is now, even though I can tell it still makes her uncomfortable at times, especially when she's around all four of us.
"Hey, Ripley," he says as I slip off my shoes and jacket. "Good news—they won."
"Yeah, I heard. Is Nolan home yet?"
He still has some med school left, but he'll be a surgeon soon. He spends most of his time at the hospital now.
"Nope. But I just checked his location about five minutes ago, and it looked like he was on his way back. How was the signing?"
"It was busy. A lot busier than I expected; it's been out for a while, you know?"
"True, but…it's hockey season. And you're a local treasure."
"Yeah, more like a local tragedy."
"You know what they say—one guy's tragedy is three other guys' treasure."
I roll my eyes. "They don't say that."
"I do. Why don't you grab a stool, strip down, and help me with my painting?"
"Still not funny. That's about a week of my life I'll never get back."
"So, what you're saying is we made a memory that'll last a lifetime. That's very sweet, Ripley; I cherish it as well."
Stifling a laugh, I drop down onto the sofa. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying."
The front door opens, and Nolan steps inside.
"Speak of the devil," Dax says.
"He's not the devil; he's an angel."
Nolan tries to hide it—but I see it. He smiles before shaking his head and running his fingers through his damp, dark hair. "Thanks, baby."
He sits beside me, hooking his pinky with mine.
Love doesn't heal all wounds. I can still count on my fingers the number of times I've seen Nolan's scars. Sometimes, what it does instead is love them the way they ask to be loved. It isn't patient because it isn't waiting for them to become a better version of themselves. It just is.
And the dark days are fewer, because he knows that here—in this house with our family—the way he exists now is enough.
"Always so sweet to him, and all I get is snark."
"That's not true."
"Fine. You're nice to me after I make you come and when you're sleeping." Dax sighs, setting his paints aside. "Well, good job, guys. You're too cute, and now I can't work anymore." He squeezes in beside me, propping his feet on the coffee table. "Hold me."
I wrap my free arm around him. "It's okay; I won't tell anyone that you're just a big baby."
"You can tell everyone that I'm your big baby. I don't care."
We argue about what to order for dinner for a while. With our crazy schedules, breakfast is still the only meal we all eat together, but I don't have to sit on Dax's lap.
Not every day, anyway—only when the mornings are a little slower. Then, I'll let him feed me while Nolan pulls my feet into his lap and Elias complains about how they baby me too much—that it's the reason I'm such a brat, and then it becomes his fucking problem.
But I don't care. Because I like being his fucking problem, too. Some things may have changed, but I'll never be his peace.
We eat, and then we fuck and shower—Dax and I together, Nolan separately—before lying down in Dax's room.
He got a bed that's big enough for the three of us, so none of us have to sleep alone unless we want to.
Dax lies in the middle with his fingers in Nolan's hair, and I write poetry in my journal before setting my alarm to Elias's ETA and closing my eyes.
Waiting for him to get home is still a rush.
Hours later, the alarm wakes me, and I move to Elias's bedroom, stripping down before dropping to my knees on the hardwood floor. I probably stay there, waiting with my mouth open, for fifteen minutes before the front door finally opens and closes.
But I don't move. I don't check the time or send a text.
He has a camera, and he likes to watch me wait for him.
He's been gone most of the week, and it wouldn't surprise me if he told me the wrong time on purpose, just so he could watch me wait like this.
Sometimes, I like to push him, but today… I want to be a good sister.
Elias steps into the room, sets his bags down on the floor, and then pulls his shirt over his head and steps out of his pants.
"There's my little slut." He slowly moves toward me, and when he stops in front of me, he shoves his fingers into my mouth before I can wrap it around his dick.
"You've been waiting a long time, haven't you? "
"Mmhmm."
"And so patiently, too. Not like last time when I caught you with your fingers in your pussy on the camera." With his free hand, he pumps his cock in front of my face. "Learned your lesson, didn't you, little sister?"
I nod, and he pulls his fingers out with a pop. "Good," he says, pushing the tip past my lips. I open wide, taking him into the back of my throat, and he holds it there while my eyes water with his hand on the back of my head. "Maybe I'll fuck your pussy instead of coming on your face this time."
He releases me, and I stumble a little before wrapping my hand around the base of his cock, pumping him while I suck, looking up at him through watery eyes for approval.
"That's it, baby. Show me how much you missed me. Lick every fucking inch of it."
I swirl my tongue around the tip, watching his abs flex while feral green eyes meet mine in the dark room.
He thrusts into my throat again, causing me to gag, but this time, he doesn't hold it there.
He finds a slow but steady pace, fucking my face, his breath coming hard and heavy while he grits his teeth.
Knees aching, I barely manage not to take my free hand and move it to my clit—just to take the edge off a little bit. Instead, I keep it on his thigh—the one with the burn scars—and squeeze my legs together, but it only makes me more desperate.
He pulls out of my mouth, and I gasp for air, watching his dick drip with saliva and precum.
"Face down on the bed, Saige," he growls.
Wincing at the pain in my knees, I pull myself to my feet and move to the bed, lying flat on my stomach with my legs spread wide. Seconds later, his hand closes around the back of my neck, holding my face against the mattress as he pushes through my wetness.
"Oh…fuck…" I moan.
He pumps his hips into me, stretching me, fucking me in steady, powerful bursts that make my legs kick up and my toes curl. At this angle, his size is still overwhelming; my eyes roll back in my head, a mix of pleasure and pain running up my spine each time he pounds into my backside.
"Listen to you," he groans. "So fucking wet. Do you ever get embarrassed of how fucking desperate you are for my dick, Saige?"
"I can't help it," I whimper. "I need it. Please…don't stop. Please…just like that."
"I love it when you say please. Fuck, baby…" he groans. "God, I missed your pussy. So fucking tight; you fit me like a fucking glove."
His thick cock hits my g-spot over and over again, and my back arches off the bed.
"Elias! Oh, god! Fuck me!"
"Are you going to come, baby?"
"Fuck…yes."
"Tell me how badly you need it again," he says, squeezing my neck while thrusting into me harder. "Tell me how much you love your big brother's dick."
"I love it," I cry out as the tension in my core snaps, and my body writhes beneath him on the mattress while I come on his cock. "I need it so bad, it hurts. I love your dick. Fuck!"
"That's it, baby girl. Squeeze the cum from my cock with your tight little pussy. Fuck…my good fucking girl…" he groans, and I feel his dick pulsing inside me while he fills me. "Every fucking drop of my cum."
After he pulls out, he kneels beside me on the bed. "You really made a mess this time," he says.
I take him in my mouth, thoroughly licking him clean while he hisses through his teeth. "I'm sorry."
He lies down beside me, taking my chin between his thumb and first finger. "That's all right; you can't help it, can you?"
I shake my head, and then he kisses my lips. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you, too."
"I'm going to get us some water. You need anything else?"
"No. I'm okay."
When he leaves the room, I crawl under the covers, pulling them up to my shoulders.
"You know what I was thinking?" he asks when he returns, handing me a glass of water before climbing into bed beside me.
"What?"
"We should all go back to Banff for Christmas. You remember when we went for spring break? Back when we were freshly infamous?"
"I prefer the term notorious, but yes. It's funny that you'd bring it up; I had a dream about it last night, actually."
"See? We're on the same fucking wavelength, baby. What'd you dream about?"
"The hot tub. It was a very good dream."
"I think we could do better in real life."
I shrug. "I'll be the judge of that."
He narrows his eyes. "Okay, Saige. We'll see."
I set my glass aside and rest against his chest. "Tell me that story again."
"Which one?" he asks.
"You know which one."
"The night we met? You were there."
"Yeah, but I like the way you tell it." His version of the story has been one of my favorites ever since the first time I heard him tell it…which was on that trip to Banff. And I couldn't believe we'd never told Dax and Nolan about it before that.
"All right. Well, I was walking around town in the middle of the night with my dog—wasted, feeling sorry for myself like a giant fucking jackass. My fucking cast was wet, and it smelled bad, and that pissed me off…"
I laugh. "Everything pisses you off."
"Yeah, especially you," he says. "Anyway, I was glad you couldn't smell the cast, and…"
I let my heavy eyes flutter closed, but I listen until the end.
Then, I fall asleep with my back to his chest, his arms wrapped around me. And I know it'll always be like this for us—for the four of us. Because how could we possibly exist anywhere else?
Sometimes, people get what they deserve.