26. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
***eighteen months later***
"Are you sure about this?" Margot says nervously. "Honestly, I'm kind of doubting everything now."
"Don't be a baby," I tease, holding her hand tightly. "It's just a little sting."
She looks at me incredulously. "You're a psychopath."
"Ahh… but I'm on a path," I grin, quoting one of my favorite people.
After what seemed like an entity, Margot's schedule finally lined up with mine and she was able to come out to Stanford. In another eventful night of drinks as we made up for many missed Thirsty Thursdays, I somehow convinced her to get her first tattoo.
We found a tattoo parlor not far from my new house, the two of us getting new tattoos. I went first to prove to her that it doesn't hurt—but being a seasoned pro, it wasn't all convincing to her.
The tattoo artist looks at us, gun in her hand. "Are you ready?" she asks Margot, wrinkling her nose to brush off an itch. Her septum piercing swings and I notice Margot look at her hair.
"I really love that color. Bright red looks good on you."
"You're delaying," I scold Margot playfully. "You're only getting an infinity symbol on your wrist. It will take ten minutes at most."
Margot snaps her gaze at me, eyes narrowing. "You didn't even flinch with yours but I just KNOW it hurt. Inner thighs would have to hurt like a bitch."
I look down at my legs, my black shorts almost rubbing on the two pieces of gauze. "It tickled a little," I remark, taunting her.
"We're not even going to get into the discussion about what you got tattooed," she groans. "Okay… I'm ready."
The gun buzzes to life and Margot squeezes my hand, clenching her eyes closed. I laugh to myself, knowing very well that the conversation about my thighs will come up later.
The little pinkish scars were starting to fade, and I decided it just seemed right to make them more permanent. The tattoo artist didn't flinch when she drew over the scarred initials with ink, probably seeing way worse.
I've been in California now for just over a year. As usual, Hawk was right—I did manage to pass my LSATs first try. I practiced non-stop, borrowing Jason's old prep books, and some notes that Dad found in the basement. It wasn't the greatest score, but for whatever reason, Stanford accepted my application to my surprise.
I handed in my resignation at the firm shortly after, saying goodbye to everyone as I moved states to start the next chapter of my life. Mom and Dad came with me to help with the move, getting me settled in before traveling on, making a vacation out of it. They were—of course—very supportive and happy, just a little sad that Saturday night dinners would need to be put on hold for a few years. Though, I try to travel back every few months to visit.
Realizing I needed an income out here, I also managed to get a new job after an excellent recommendation from Jason. Apparently, an old law school friend of his was a partner at a firm here, and they were happy to take me on part-time while I studied.
Margot and I spoke nearly everyday, but I made new friends too—getting out and socializing with other law students. Having a village really helped my transition and I feel surprisingly happy to be here.
Except for one thing.
I miss Hawk and Jett. More than I'd like to admit.
I tried to stay in contact with them after I left, but I found that it made things difficult. Every time we'd Facetime, I'd want to fly back to Arizona—and get scolded by them for it. Eventually, they put me on a ban, reducing our Facetimes to weekly, then monthly.
It took a lot of focus—and therapy—but I had to accept that I needed some distance so I could stay on track. I'd never move forward if I was stuck in the past. And as much as it hurt, I told myself that they'd be there waiting at the end of it.
This was my time to shine. And I couldn't just throw everything away now that I finally had the chance to do something great.
We still speak occasionally, and when something great happens, I text them. Which is exactly what I planned to do now.
Margot had kindly snapped a photo for me of the fresh ink, and as she squeezes my hand for dear life, I attach the photo to a text message, sending it to Hawk and Jett.
"I don't even want to know what that smile means," Margot groans, squinting at me through clenched eyes.
I look up at her, clicking my screen shut after it sends. "Probably best you don't."
"There. All done," the tattoo artist exclaims.
Margot opens her eyes in surprise, holding up her wrist. "Oh, that wasn't so bad."
I snort, shaking my head. "Told you."
We finish paying for our tattoos, grabbing some takeout before heading back to my house. It's only small—and I'm still renting—but it's something. I'm saving up to buy when I'm back in Arizona, which so far, is on target since somehow my tuition fees are always mysteriously paid. Stanford won't provide the details, but I already know—even if they deny it.
"The weather here is much nicer than back home," Margot mumbles, using her chopsticks to shove noodles in her mouth. "Are you coming home for Christmas?"
I nod, taking a sip of beer, noodle box in hand. "You'll see me again in a few weeks. Mom is doing some extravagant Christmas dinner to celebrate."
"And will Hawk and Jett be there?" she asks knowingly.
I shrug. "I'm not sure. I haven't asked."
I still haven't told my parents about our relationship—though technically, there's no relationship at the moment. They helped me through the law school prep and the aftermath of Elijah, then we parted ways. While they didn't explicitly tell me I couldn't date out here, I found I didn't want to. I'm not sure what our future holds, but I'm content with the present. It hurts when I think that they are probably going to charity events and picking up gorgeous women, but it's not my business. I need to focus on my life in California.
"I bet they will be," Margot answers. "They miss you."
I freeze, glancing up at her. "How do you know that?"
She looks at me sheepishly. "I might have run into Jett a few weeks ago."
"Where?" I ask. "When?"
"Just at the mall," she replies. "They were buying suits I think. I don't know—men are weird. They always have belongings, but you never catch them actively buying things. I'm just guessing based on the garment bag."
I compose myself, nodding. "I miss them too," I admit softly. "As fucked up as it is."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," she says.
"Hard not to be in law school," I joke. Who am I kidding? I've always been hard on myself.
Margot waves me off. "Anyway, Jett mentioned that the court case had finally finished."
I nod again. "No jail time for Elijah, but he lost his attorney license and had to do community service."
After the incident, I had decided to press charges for the principle of it. While Elijah tried to fight the charges—probably the attorney in him—he never told anyone the extenuating details of that night. Thankfully, I never had to face him in the courtroom, but I'm told that he's missing four fingers. According to a friend of a friend of another friend, the rumor was he lost them in a drunken accident. And that's the story I'm sticking with too.
"Fucking asshole," Margot breathes.
"Yep," I answer, putting my noodle box down. "Anyway, ready for another drink?"
A few more weeks pass by and suddenly before I know it, it's nearly Christmas.
I fly home to Arizona, thrilled to see Mom and Dad at the airport when they pick me up.
"We're so happy to see you," Mom gushes from the front seat as Dad drives.
"Me too," I answer, pulling my gaze from the window to smile at her.
Dad pulls into their street and I look around fondly at the neighboring houses.
"Still the same," Dad comments warmly. "Oh, except Mason three doors down painted his house green for some reason."
"Really?" I ask intrigued, looking at the mint colored house as we drive by. "Holy shit."
Dad laughs. "I think it was a middle finger to his ex-house. She always wanted the house to stay beige."
The car pulls into the driveway and I let myself out of the car, looking up at their house. "So, are the guys coming for Christmas?" I ask casually.
They help me get my bags from the trunk, putting them on the ground. "They are going to let us know. They've been pretty busy with work. Hopefully they can," Mom says, reaching for one of the bags.
"I've got it," I tell her, grabbing it quickly. Dad takes my other one, the three of us heading up the pathway to the front door.
"We'll get you settled in then we have to head into town. Mom forgot to grab some ingredients," Dad grunts, pushing open the door.
"I didn't forget," Mom agrees. "My usual shop didn't have any. So we have to go elsewhere."
I laugh at her annoyance, knowing how loyal she is to her favorite shop. "That's fine. It's getting pretty late so I'll just take a shower while you are gone."
The sun is just starting to set around Phoenix, and even though it's not a long flight, I'm exhausted from traveling.
Dad helps me carry my bags to my room, and I head back downstairs to see them off. After they leave, I walk around the house, checking all the plants—they've grown in numbers since Mom adopted mine before the move, and I give a few a little spray.
Heading upstairs, I go to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to get the plane smell off me. When I'm done, I wrap the towel around me, heading out of the bathroom.
As I step into the hallway, I notice the house is shrouded in darkness. Deja vu hits me—and immediately the air around me changes. I look toward the staircase at the end of the hallway, waiting.
There's no fear this time, just anticipation and excitement.
Electricity hangs in the air, and I can sense them before I see them, shadows slowly hitting the wall opposite the landing as footsteps climb the stairs.
I fold my arms, a smile on my face. They round the corner, standing side by side at the other end from me. My eyes linger over their masks—their hoodies up—and I can't help but smile at seeing them.
"Hey," I murmur softly.
Slowly, they raise their masks, watching me with warm smiles and wild eyes.
Jett winks at me, pulling his mask down. "We couldn't resist popping over for this brief intermission. Welcome back, Sis."
"Start running, Tempest," Hawk says, giving me a smirk before pulling his mask back down.
I step toward them, eyes quickly darting to the bedroom door as I smirk knowingly.
It's not much, but at the same time it's everything .
It's the motivation I need to keep going to finish.
The air I need to breathe before walking away again to finish what I started.
It's their touch—the one that makes me feel alive.
And knowing that they still care and haven't forgotten about me, it's the winding feeling in my chest that makes my heart race.
"Game on," I mutter to them, legs taking off as I sprint to my open bedroom door. Their footsteps rush behind me as I step inside, and this time, I let them hunt me down.