Epilogue
Ingrid
Iwould probably never get used to the smell of testosterone and men that filled the gym, especially on weekend mornings before fights, but oddly enough it was beginning to feel like home, like somewhere I was finally accepted and protected in.
I set my containers down on the bench and started separating.
Cookies first, then the muffins I’d wrapped individually because the guys had mentioned wanting their names on their wrappers after a fight almost broke out over the last batch…
I’d become known as the certified baker girl.
In exchange for sweets, I now had a new group of friends and bodyguards, much to Tristian’s dismay.
He was currently practicing in the ring, moving with that controlled violence that still made my breath catch. He hadn’t seen me come in yet. I liked these moments where I could see him fully in his element.
“Hey, Cookie,” a voice came from behind. I turned to see Marco approaching, already sweaty from practice. “You got my stash?” he murmured, looking around to see if any of the other guys had noticed he came to me first.
I pulled out his plastic container with his name squiggled in perfect cursive, and he flashed a smile. I handed him his “stash,” and he slipped a bill into my hand before I could protest and walked away.
Looking down at the hundred-dollar bill, I sighed, putting it in my bag along with the other cash they’d forced me to take. At this point I was basically a dealer. Different product, same loyalty system whether I signed up for it or not.
I was reaching for the next container when movement near the locker room caught my eye.
A duffel bag. Overstuffed, zipper straining. Brandon was hauling it, head down, moving quickly. My heart raced.
Then the door swung open behind him.
Heels on a gym floor and a voice I knew all too well.
Amber.
“Brandon! Where are you going?” The corner they’d ended up in sat just beyond the equipment racks, half tucked behind the lockers. Far enough from the ring that the noise swallowed them. Close enough that I could hear every word. “You can’t just—”
Brandon’s voice cut through her whining, opening his locker as he pulled its contents out. “Watch me.”
“The police came to my apartment this morning.” She grabbed his arm but he shook her off. “They’re asking questions about… that night. About you. About me. You don’t get to just disappear—”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He adjusted the strap on his bag, not even looking at her fully. “I’m skipping town. Tonight.”
“You’re serious.” Her voice cracked. “You’re just going to leave me here to deal with this alone?”
“I told you this shit would catch up to us. You said it would be easy.”
“Yeah, exactly. She’s five foot and afraid of her shadow. You were supposed to scare her,” Amber scoffed. “Not try to rape her, you idiot.”
The air was ripped from my lungs. A cold feeling of dread washed over me as the memory hit me before I could stop it. My body went still.
Brandon’s voice dropped. “You think that makes it sound better?”
“I think if you kept your dick in your pants, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“You know what else came with this situation? Tristian Locke. The man told me if he ever saw my face again he’d put me in the ground.”
“And you believe him?”
He laughed, hollow and humorless. “As a matter of fact, I fucking do, yes.”
Amber let out a mocking scoff. “So then that’s it? You’re really done? I’m on my own?”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re pathetic.”
He slammed the locker closed. “Better that than dead,” he responded, and then he walked out without looking back.
Amber stood there for a moment, chest heaving, my composure fracturing. Then she turned.
And found me.
The color drained from her face.
I looked at her for a long moment.
My hands were shaking. I didn’t know when that had started. I pressed them flat against the bench and breathed through it, the memory of that alley, the cold brick, the way I’d had to fight my way out of something I never should have been in. All of it suddenly very present and very loud.
She opened her mouth and closed it, the excuse of what she did dying on her tongue as we stood there.
In response, I turned back to my containers, pulling them out and organizing them once more. And then I heard her heels clicking against the floor.
Coming toward me.
My heart raced in my chest as she stopped beside me. “Uh,” she began, “hey, Ingrid.” I didn’t answer as my eyes slowly drifted over, barely reaching her gaze.
There was an awkward beat of silence and I watched as she pushed her hair back in a familiar irritated gesture.
“Look.” Her voice shifted into something softer. “I’m sorry for what happened. With you and Brandon. He wasn’t supposed to… I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”
At her words, my brows furrowed. That was her apology? No remorse or explanation? I’d heard Amber’s version of apologizing before.
It was always like this, vague, dismissive, never thinking she was in the wrong. If anything, she treated apologizing like it was an inconvenience.
I knew now, though… it was the best I was going to get.
I didn’t reply, not at first. So after a beat, Amber turned to leave. She was done. All tied up in a neat little bow, as far as she was concerned.
Before, I would have let her go.
Not now, though.
“That’s it?”
Amber paused, her jaw tightening as she looked back over to me. “I don’t know what else you want from me, Ingrid.”
Everything I had been holding in came rushing out. “You were supposed to be my friend, Amber. And because of you… I had to fight my way out of an alley?”
“Brandon wasn’t supposed to take it that far.” She doubled down. “He was only supposed to—”
“I’m not talking about Brandon.” I cut her off, my voice sounding more steady than I was on the inside. “I’m talking about you. I trusted you, Amber.”
“Then you know I wouldn’t have sent him if I thought you’d actually get hurt. You know me, Ingrid.”
The way she looked into my eyes told me a different story. Made a small chill run up my spine as I replayed her words.
Even if she didn’t give him the green light to attack me, she gave him the chance and opportunity to do something awful. She knew what he was capable of, and I knew right then that if he’d done it and gotten away with it… she would’ve just looked the other way.
“I thought I knew you…” I said, and shook my head. “Turns out I don’t.”
“Ingrid. Look I’m sorry, okay?” She spoke quieter, something almost desperate creeping in as her voice shook.
“The police came to my apartment this morning.” I looked away, holding back a flinch as she stepped closer, trying to meet my gaze.
“If you could just… tell them it was a misunderstanding. Drop the charges, we can fix things, work something out—”
“My father asked me to throw him a rope when he was arrested.” I didn’t look up as I cut her off.
“He thought he knew me, thought I would give in like I always do—but he’s still going to prison.
” Finally, I gave her one last glance, seeing the mix of emotions behind her eyes.
“I’m not the same girl I was a few months ago…
and it seems like you didn’t get the memo. ”
The awkward silence lingered for what seemed like hours, but I snapped out of my trance, continuing to arrange the containers for the guys as she watched me silently.
She stayed quiet for a short while, and then I heard her heels against the floor, walking toward the exit before I couldn’t hear them anymore.
I let out a slow breath, calming my nerves as I tried not to replay the last five minutes in my mind. Neither she nor Brandon could hurt me any more than they already had. Never again.
Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, warm and solid, pulling me back against a broad chest. Lips pressed to my temple and I looked up, searching for him to do the same to my lips.
When he finally pressed his lips to mine, my thighs tightened as I sighed into him. After a moment we pulled away, Tristian’s eyes glancing over the “stash.”
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a real underground business, doll.”
“Darragh had one too, and look where he ended up,” I murmured, wincing as the words left my mouth. “Too soon?” I asked, my face going red.
He shook his head, placing a kiss in my hair. “…We have to get you some other friends with better filters than the idiots here, baby.”
A month or so had passed. Tristian’s mother was healing. Darragh was dead. My father awaited trial. Noah, with no more strings to pull, had finally relented. Brandon and Amber were gone. Camila was finally free.
The only thing still tugging at me was Abuelita.
Even though we talked every day, I’d been worried since her move to the senior facility. I’d offered to move in and play nurse, but she wouldn’t hear it. She wanted me focused on figuring out who I was, now that I was out of my father’s grip. But I was still figuring out what that looked like.
Tristian carried the bouquet I’d picked out—daisies, yellow roses, white lilies—as we walked through the facility. It was expensive, quiet, and clean. The kind of place my abuela deserved to stay in.
We reached her room and I knocked.
“Mi nieta.“ Her eyes crinkled the moment she saw the flowers. “You brought my favorites.”
I leaned down to kiss her cheek before arranging them in the vase by the window. Tristian said hello before he hung back in the hall, giving us space. But I could feel Abuelita’s eyes sliding past me to him anyway.
“Senior living is treating you well,” I said.
She patted the cushion beside her and I sat.
“Well, I can say the same about you.” Her voice softened. “Look at my girl. All grown up and glowing.”
Then her gaze sharpened, landing on Tristian with that distinct look in her eyes. “It’s about time too. I need to see my great-grandchildren before my time is up, so tell him to get a move on it.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Abuelita…”