Chapter Fifty-Seven
Emily
You seem like you’re having a hard time. Come on over. Let’s talk about it over some wine.
Maggie’s text has been sitting on my phone for the last hour, ever since I got off work. Answering it seems risky. Maggie will want to talk, to tell me to keep my hopes up, that maybe I can apply to a different program, a different school, or maybe my university will even accept that I utterly failed the biggest courses of my academic career and give me a second chance.
But that’s all hope.
And I’m not in the mood for hope right now.
I send her a short answer. Not up for it. Maybe a raincheck?
My phone buzzes before I can even set it down. Not a request. Either come over here or I’ll bring the wine to you. Your choice.
I’m too low to argue, so I answer. Fine. Your place.
Another buzz. Bring your paper, too .
That nearly makes me cancel. The last thing I want to do is touch that paper, and Maggie probably wants to spend the evening reviewing it over wine and trying to tell me it’s good, that I should send it to other professors, or even talk to Professor Barrigan and see if I can get that notorious hardass to do the one thing he swore he’d never do — bend the rules.
That’s just hope, and I don’t have the energy for it.
A buzz again. Either you bring it, or I’ll have Hunter bring it.
Hunter? Why is Hunter involved in this? What’s he doing with Maggie?
Maybe it’s an intervention. They’ve got Sophie, Harper, heck, probably even Charlie, all ready in a circle to tell me how I should keep trying, keep going, blah blah blah…
The only way to get them to stop, so that I can try to figure out a way to move on from that dream I once had and focus on what’s important — building a new life with Hunter that doesn’t involve old fantasies — is to go through with their nonsense.
I answer. Fine.
I take a while to get to Maggie’s place. I’m in no rush and no mood, but at least there will be wine.
My mood changes to something like wary curiosity when I pull into Maggie’s driveway and see that there’s her car, a car I don’t recognize, and two motorcycles, one belonging to Hunter and the other to his friend, Diesel.
I knock on Maggie’s door, my knuckles barely making a sound against the thick wood. Before I can second guess coming here, the door swings open, revealing Maggie's bright smile and faintly flushed cheeks. She must have started on the wine already.
“Emily! Get in here!” She grabs my arm, pulling me inside with unexpected strength. The warmth of her living room hits me first, a stark contrast to the chilly evening. She then shoves a wine glass into my hands.
Inside, Hunter and Diesel are lounging on the couch, each with a wineglass in hand. Professor Curtis Barrigan stands awkwardly by the window, looking more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him. Hunter waves at me with a grin that's a little too wide, and Diesel nods in greeting before taking another sip of wine.
“What's going on?” I ask, glancing around at the half-empty bottles scattered on the coffee table and floor. It looks more like a party that’s winding down than my friend and my boyfriend preparing to give me a pep talk. “Maggie?”
Hunter is the one who answers. “We went to talk to Barrigan about your paper.” He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Had a friendly discussion. Things were going well... until they weren’t.”
“We tried to be reasonable,” Diesel says. “We went in prepared, with materials, even a video presentation, and then…”
“And then these criminals kidnapped me,” Barrigan interrupts indignantly.
“Oh shut up, Curtis,” Maggie snaps.
I blink at them all. “Kidnapped?”
“Borrowed,” Diesel corrects with a grin that somehow puts me at ease and on edge at the same time. “Just needed to get him out of that stuffy office environment.”
“We were being very calm and reasonable, he was being resistant and insulting and completely against any sort of discussion, and so we suggested we continue this discussion elsewhere.”
“I told you I’d think about what you asked and then you drew your guns on me and kidnapped me.”
“You were being a fucking asshole, Curtis,” Diesel says. “And I didn’t draw my gun on you. I just showed it to you and hinted that I’ve used it before to hurt people and didn’t want to have to use it that way again.”
“And who the fuck needs to ‘think about’ what I asked you?” Hunter snaps. “It’s a simple fucking question, and the answer is plain as fucking day. That you resisted doing what any decent person would do just reinforces the fact that you’re a fucking prick and that I should use my gun to blow you fucking feet off and make you run on your fucking stumps until you die from blood loss.”
“Shut the fuck up, all of you. Especially you, Curtis. You’re being a malicious instigator right now, and I am of half a mind to tell these two men to take you into my backyard and make you dig your own grave,” Maggie hollers. She then squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “We thought it best if we had you here to talk about your future.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that, after much reasonable discussion, Curtis has come to the right decision.”
“What decision?” I say. There’s something approaching hope in Maggie’s voice, and after everything I’ve been through, it feels wrong — I fight to keep it out of mine.
Professor Barrigan sighs, drains his glass, and then fills it to the brim with one of the wine bottles. “After much consideration and mortal fear, and out of respect for the trials and pain that you suffered, which would have persuaded me without any need for guns or knives or death threats or threats of torture—”
“You just keep trying to persuade me to follow through on these threats by being such a whiny bastard,” Hunter says.
“Or your friend’s threat to give me a horrific face tattoo,” Barrigan says.
“That’s not a threat. That’s a promise. Do you like anime, Curtis? Because you better learn to like it, since it’s going to be all over your face.”
“Provided your friends don’t tattoo my face or torture me to death, I am extending the deadline for your paper until you feel prepared to turn it in,” Barrigan finishes.
Something like hope swells in my chest. Even though I’ve tried to fight it, it overwhelms me, pushes past my doubt, my hard-learned lessons, my fear, and lifts the corners of my lips and makes a laugh well in my throat and burst from my mouth.
“You’ll accept my paper?” I say. Then I fetch it from my purse and hold it out. “This paper? I can turn it in?”
Professor Barrigan looks at the paper in my hands, his eyes narrowing slightly as if it might explode. He takes a deep breath and steps forward, the drink in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“Yes,” he finally says, reaching out to take it from me. His hand trembles as he does. “But understand this, Emily. The quality of your work is what matters. Not the dire circumstances under which it was submitted, or the terrifying threats leveled against the person who will grade your paper.”
I nod, not entirely trusting myself to speak without letting out another disbelieving laugh. This is happening. This nightmare of a day is turning into something more. Something almost bearable.
Maggie beams at me, her grip on my shoulder tightening in solidarity, while Hunter and Diesel look on with expressions of satisfaction and a hint of menace — they’re like me, holding onto some bit of doubt that this good luck can be taken away at any moment.
“Emily,” Maggie says softly, bringing me back to the moment. “This is your chance. A real chance.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I’m thanking her, Barrigan, Hunter, or some random cosmic force that bent things my way for once.
“You’ve earned this,” Hunter says, his tone softer than I’ve ever heard it. “You made it through so much. This is the least of what you deserve.”
“I love you, Hunter,” I say, and the words come out as a laugh as all the held-back joy breaks free and I run across the room to wrap my arms around the man I love, the man who would do anything for me, including kidnapping my professor and allowing his biker friend to tattoo animated characters on my professor’s face.
Professor Barrigan clears his throat, drawing all eyes back to him. “I will take this with me now and read it thoroughly. You will hear from me within the week regarding my feedback and your grade.”
“See?” Diesel says with an exaggerated shrug. “No need for holes in anyone’s feet, bamboo skewers under your fingernails, or tattoos of anime characters on people's faces.”
Professor Barrigan glares at him but says nothing further. He just clutches my paper and takes a long, long, long drink from his glass.
“I’m going to leave now. I’m going to leave, and I’m going to do a good job grading this paper, and I’m going to pray that I never see you two cretins ever again.”
“Love you, too, Professor,” Diesel says.
Hunter waves as my professor stumbles to the door.
I watch the door shut behind Professor Barrigan and then turn to Hunter. “Shouldn’t someone go after him? Is he even safe to drive?”
“He didn’t drink much. He’s just shaken up, that’s all,” Hunter says.
“He’s in his car right now. Looks like he’s crying. He just needs a few minutes to get it out and then he’ll be fine,” Diesel says, his eyes out the window. “And… he just wiped his tears, and he’s on his way. Would you like me to follow him, make sure he gets home OK?”
“No. You’ve tormented him enough, Diesel,” Maggie says.
“He was being such a prick about Emily’s paper. There was more waffling in our little conversation with him than in a diner on Sunday after church service,” Diesel says. “Seriously, it doesn’t take fucking rocket science to figure out that you give a little leeway to someone who went through the shit Emily did, yet that cockmuncher got his back up about his rules.”
“Thank you. All of you,” I say, then I kiss Hunter, and it feels like I’m kissing him for the first time all over again as all the stress and fear from all the crap I lived through melts away; I feel like I’m myself again, and it’s been too long since I could say that. “But especially you. Thank you, and I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
My eyes leave the man I love and I survey the room for a moment, taking count of the bottles — the empties, the half-empties, the full ones. Surrounded by some of the people I care about the most, people who would do anything for me, an idea takes hold; there’s enough here, but just enough. I have my future again. The dream that I thought was dead is suddenly mine again. I grab a bottle and a glass and fill it to the brim with red wine that smells like berries, plums, and spice.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, and I won’t accept any debate on this, OK? First, I’m going to call Harper, and Sophie, and you guys can call anyone you want, provided they aren’t crazy or creepy, and then we are going to empty every single bottle in this place, because I can think of no better way to finally celebrate having my life back than to spend time with the people who made that possible.”
I bring the glass to my smiling lips and take a long drink. It tastes so decadently sweet. Like hope.