Chapter 53
TWO MONTHS LATER
I end the call and collapse into Logan’s office chair, relishing the moment.
It’s over, it’s finally fucking over. I just got off the phone with the detective we’ve been in contact with for almost two months since the fire.
Endless meetings and follow-ups. It seemed like we gave statements a dozen times and handed over everything we had related to her: phone data, photos, even the note that was on the windshield in Bozeman.
Sitting up again, I glimpse down at the phone that’s still warm in my hands.
We’re closing the investigation. Four words I’ve been waiting to hear for months. No more suspicion, no more questions, no charges being filed.
No more nightmares.
For nearly two months, Piper Nygaard has been haunting us from beyond the grave, but this time she isn’t coming back from the dead. This is more than just an online obituary and deleted social media accounts. She’s gone.
That house was filled with evidence, not just the charred grounds of my place, but the crime scene at hers. It was never a rental, she lived there. The place didn’t look lived in because she didn’t have a life. Logan was her hobby—her obsession—and I was getting in the way.
Once they got her laptop, it was pretty much over.
She was good at keeping herself hidden but didn’t extend that same stealth to her browser history.
She had access to Logan’s email and calendar.
Always knew where he was going to be, knew what he was doing.
Even going so far as to hire and frame Jason, making the flowers trace back to him just to fuck with Logan—who has assured me Jason will no longer be a problem . . . I didn’t ask.
Most of the Instagram messages were sent while she was using the Wi-Fi at cafés and other public businesses.
Much of the security camera footage was gone after thirty days, but Piper also purchased coffees and other items during her visits, leaving a credit card footprint. She truly believed she was invincible.
I step out of Logan’s office feeling weightless for the first time in months.
I walk down the aisle, listening to the familiar buzz of tattooing that has always lived in these walls, and toward his station where he’s putting the final touches on a large eagle that spans across his client’s back.
The man lies on his stomach with headphones on.
Logan glances up at me standing in the entrance to his work area, and I smile—really smile.
“Grant just called,” I mutter, referencing the detective who has been managing this case. “We’re cleared. Nothing is being filed.”
His grin is as wide as mine.
He’s been so stressed out since all of this went down.
The cloud of suspicion hovered over us for weeks—a dead body inside a gasoline house fire was not a good look.
If they had found either of us culpable in the fire, we would have been facing manslaughter charges.
Logan admitted that until the investigation closed, Piper had enough power to destroy us.
“Celebrate with burritos later?” he asks.
I cup the back of his neck and squeeze three times. “You know my order.”
He inhales as if he can finally breathe again, then nods and returns to his work, still smiling.
He’s free of her. The years of her hovering over him are over.
She remained dormant while he stayed single, building up the narrative in her mind that he was still hung up on her, too distraught from grieving her loss—his unhappiness was enough to keep her pacified.
Until I started capturing his attention.
When she saw the email from the Gallatin County clerk regarding our marriage license—that was when she made herself known.
The only thing left is dealing with my insurance company.
Now that the investigation is closing, we’ll be able to wrap that up too.
Logan and I have already decided to not rebuild what was lost. Almost everything was destroyed with either fire, smoke, or water.
Much of Dad’s art had already been brought to the shop.
Logan took pictures of everything when he made the tarot cards, so we have the records.
We were able to salvage a few photos, sketchbooks, and small pieces of artwork that had been kept in lock boxes in the attic.
After hearing his words in my head that day, I realized I don’t need his things to feel close to him.
Fire is cleansing. It’s time to move on, and now we finally can.
I return to my station and inhale. It’s over.
After holding my breath for so long, I forgot what it felt like to fully fill my lungs with air.
I wipe down my worktable and wrap it in cellophane in preparation for my next appointment, taking a minute to look around the shop and relish the normalcy of it all. The beautifully mundane familiarity.
Thor’s quietly piecing together stencils on the other side of our shared wall as Logan finishes up with his client and ushers him to the front desk, like he’s done a thousand times before.
I’m finally able to take in the sounds and sights of this shop, the details around me, without my fear or intrusive thoughts interrupting me.
Across the aisle, Anna sits quietly in Casper’s chair, her arm propped up as he tattoos an intricate lotus flower. She’s motionless except for a small twitch when he wipes down after a pass of ink.
Casper tries to draw conversation out of her, but oftentimes it’s an exchange of nods before he’s left to work in silence.
He’s a social guy, makes friends everywhere he goes, but no matter how friendly he is, she’s the one he can’t quite get to open up.
He seems to have learned to interpret her silences, but he’s also not giving up either; he doesn’t know how.
Anna is Logan’s dream client—all tattoo and no conversation—but something tells me Casper wouldn’t let anyone else touch her.
I continue prepping for my client, tearing the blue shop towels from the roll, then stacking them in a pile and folding them just right. My tray is wiped down and organized with tools, the little ink cups in a neat row like soldiers. Everything is in its place.
I reach for my tablet, eager to show my client what I’ve designed for them, but realize I’ve left it in Logan’s office. I must have forgotten it when I took the phone call. I swear half my shit ends up in there now—sweatshirts, lip balm, hair ties, and every half-eaten snack that goes missing.
I slip out of my tattoo bay and hurry back to his office, finding it right where I left it. I pluck it off his desk and turn to leave, but Logan has my exit blocked. He quietly shuts the door behind him with a soft snick, staring at me like I’m his prey.
The quiet intensity in his gaze is a welcome one, because it’s no longer wrought with stress or fear, like he’s trying to memorize my face in case he never sees me again. This time, it’s filled with a sense of permanence. It’s home.
He doesn’t say anything, simply steps into my space, claims my jaw, and kisses me. I melt into him, into the way he feels like home and security, trailing my fingers up his chest, then fist his shirt, needing to hold on to this moment. The moment we finally were set free to live again.
He pulls back slightly, our eyes locking, appreciating each other more than ever before. Grateful for this.
“It’s finally over,” I whisper.
He nods. “And this is where we begin.” We didn’t rely on fate for our survival, we relied on each other—chose each other.
We exit his office, into a world that looks the same but feels brand new.
One we walked through fire for, a future we built from the ashes.
We’re not walking away from the wreckage unscathed, but we’re walking away.
Our love transformed into something permanent, dark, and born in the flames—forged of ink and alchemy.