Chapter 35
chapter thirty-five
Christine sat on the counter at Birkenbrew, fingers loosely tangled with Oakland’s, her knee knocking against hers like she couldn’t help but touch her.
Oakland looked wrecked in the best way—soft, dreamy, absolutely smitten—but beneath it, something else lingered. The exhaustion of knowing her father would be on that stage tomorrow, standing beside Tate and the others, helping to tear down everything people like Christine and Eden fought to build.
She hopped off the counter, reached for a glass, and poured herself a beer from the tap. The motion was casual, almost absentminded. When she took a sip, it was gingerly, cautiously, but not hesitantly.
Christine noticed. Oakland didn’t drink, or at least, she didn’t before. But now?
Christine smirked, watching from the corner of her eye as Oakland took another careful sip. Maybe last night’s very thorough, very mind-blowing fucking shook something loose—making her feel bold, curious, and ready to explore more than just Christine.
She said nothing, though: no teasing, no comment. She just let it happen. Oakland wasn’t fragile. She knew what she wanted now more than ever.
Eden, who was glued to her laptop, leaned forward. The sunlight caught her tattoos, making them glow as it glazed over her skin. Her elbows rested on the table, her expression sharp.
“So. We’re protesting this rally, yeah?”
Christine nodded. “Absolutely.”
Spencer ran a hand through her hair. “If it’s this public, security will be tight.”
Dax drummed his fingers against the table. “They’ll be expecting protests, which means?—”
“They’ll try to keep us out,” Christine finished.
Eden smirked, attention turning back to her laptop. “Cute.” She cracked her knuckles. “We’ll see about that.”
“What are you thinking?” Christine asked, stretching her neck to glance at Eden’s screen.
“I’m thinking their website could use a little update.”
Christine’s lips curled into a slow smile. “You gonna break in?”
“Please.” Eden gave her an incredulous look. “Breaking in implies there’s actual security. I’ll be in and out before they realize they got fucked.”
Oakland shook her head, a flicker of amusement breaking through the tension. “You scare me.”
“Why, thank you.” Eden cracked her knuckles again, already pulling up the site. “Alright, so what do we want this thing to say?”
Then she hesitated.
Just for a second.
Christine caught the shift—the way Eden’s fingers hovered slightly over the keys, her usual easy confidence dimming.
Eden leaned back slightly, arms crossing. “By the way,” she said, voice even. “You guys should know they’re watching us.”
Silver snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”
“No. I mean, I saw her—the devil herself.” Eden’s gaze flicked up. “Selene Carlisle was at Birkenbrew the other night. Sitting at the bar. Watching me.”
Silence.
Christine blinked. “Wait, what? Are you sure?”
Eden let out a short, humorless laugh. “I locked eyes with her. Trust me. You don’t forget a face like that.”
Dax let out a low whistle. “Well. That’s fucking terrifying.”
Spencer shook her head, skeptical. “Why would she be here?”
“Spying. Gathering intel. Maybe just reminding herself what people look like before having their rights ripped away.” Eden took a sip of her beer and started typing again.
Silver, who was uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly smirked. “Or… hear me out—maybe she’s a dyke.”
Spencer groaned, rubbing her temples. “Oh my God.”
“I’m just saying! All that pent-up energy? The dramatics? The power suits?” Silver clicked her tongue. “Classic repressed lesbian behavior.”
Eden snorted. “Yeah, well, she looked at me like she wanted to either torture me or chain me to a wall, so the jury’s out.”
Silver’s grin widened. “And neither of those options are very straight.”
Spencer shot Silver a look. “For the love of God, stop talking.”
“Fine, fine. But when she comes out in, like, ten years after ruining everyone’s lives, I will be saying, ‘I told you so.’”
Eden ignored them, her brain doing that thing it did when she was locked in—spinning too fast, jumping three steps ahead, already weaving the pieces together. “Alright. Let’s make this count. First, we flip it. Use their own PR against them. They want a spectacle? Fine. We’ll give them one.”
Dax leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw. “How do we assemble? We can’t just show up in one big group. We’ll get flagged before we even get close.”
Eden didn’t even look up. “We stagger it. Small groups, different entry points, different times. We mobilize here first, get people ready, then send them out in waves.”
Christine tapped a finger against the counter, thinking. “We need to make sure the people who are actually impacted are highlighted. The couples. The families. Make this personal.”
Oakland nodded. “We could have them hold signs with their marriage dates, wedding pictures—let them see the people they’re erasing.”
“We can protest digitally, too.” Eden hummed. “I’ll tap into the broadcast and make sure the cameras don’t conveniently ‘cut out’ when things get real. We need people on the ground to film so I can tap into their feeds and upload them.”
Christine leaned over to look at Eden’s screen.
The official rally page was transformed. Instead of the government’s neatly curated propaganda, it now displayed a massive, bold banner:
THEY ERASED YOUR RIGHTS. CLAIM YOUR VOICE. SHOW THEM WHO YOU ARE!
Underneath, the rally details remained untouched—but the call to action was theirs now.
A space for people to list their names and years of marriage and upload photos—a living testament to what was being erased.
With every submission, the original content was buried beneath layers of resistance, each upload sticking like a protest sticker slapped over a billboard, obscuring the propaganda beneath it until their truth was the only thing left visible.
Dax leaned against the counter, smirking. “I love this plan.”
Christine looked at Oakland. “You in?”
Oakland hesitated—just a second. But Christine caught it. There was a slight tension in her fingers, and her shoulders wouldn’t fully relax.
She took another slow sip of her drink, her thumb brushing against Christine’s knuckles.
“You don’t think it’ll get violent, right?” Her voice was quieter now. Then, after a pause, “My dad…”
Christine squeezed her hand. “We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to go.”
Spencer, hesitant but earnest, finally spoke. “Look, I get it. But you being there, Oakland? Standing in front of him, against him? That’s the strongest thing you could do.”
Christine jabbed Spencer hard in the ribs with her elbow.
Spencer grunted, rubbing her side. “Ow. What was that for? Encouraging personal growth? Being too inspiring?”
Oakland nodded, her voice steadier now, more certain. “I belong with you guys. I’m going.”
Christine studied her for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”
Eden leaned back, stretching her arms above her head. “Alright, then. We meet here tomorrow, and we move in waves. And we control the narrative. We’re not the problem—we’re the response. Got it?”
A collective murmur of agreement ran through the room.
Silver clapped her hands. “So, do we toast to this? Or do we just ride this tension all evening?”
Christine smirked, stealing Spencer’s beer and lifting it. “To making them see us.”
Oakland hesitated for just a second before lifting hers, too. “To making them see us.”
The glasses clinked together.
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