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As it turns out, Charles Davenport never took me out of his will. He probably assumed he didn’t have to, since I’m pretty sure he thought I died after I ran from Alan’s bunker. But according to his will, I was entitled to half of his estate, and my mom made no objection to that. I think she felt like it was the least she could do.
We’ve been rebuilding our relationship, and it’s been weird but nice. New bits and pieces of my time in the bunker still pop up in my memories from time to time, but now that I have no need to sift through those memories looking for clues, I try to let them go. Sometimes I’ll paint them to get them out of my head—my way of purging my demons.
When my mom and I talk, we tend to focus on the time before I was snatched away from my old life or on the present. Thanks to our talks, I’ve remembered snippets of my childhood. And even though the memories are tainted by the knowledge of what my father would eventually do to me, I’m still glad to have them. They make me feel like more of a complete person. Like I’m no longer missing pieces.
Even if what’s inside me is a bit of a mess sometimes, at least I’m whole. Alan never managed to splinter me apart.
Cliff was charged as an accessory to Beth’s murder, since he helped his dad cover it up, along with a slew of other charges. He should rot in jail for the rest of his life, which is honestly better than he deserves.
And Reagan was released from prison shortly after the night Alan died. Her parents’ dealings with Alan were laid bare, and her whole messy history came out. I decided not to press charges for the kidnapping, and she went to live with her grandparents in Colorado.
It’s honestly the best outcome I could’ve hoped for. I’m glad she’s not stuck in prison, since she spent enough of her life locked up. But I’m also glad I don’t have to see her every day. We’ll never be besties, despite our shared trauma, and I’ll never really be able to forget that she tried to kill me. It’s not the kind of thing you just get over.
But I don’t wish her ill either. I know her grandparents insisted
on getting her into therapy, and I hope one day she’ll be able to find some kind of peace.
I finally have, thanks to my Sinners.
That’s part of the reason we’re out here today.
Now that the semester is over, things have finally calmed down a little bit, and this hike is one I’ve been talking about doing with the guys for a while now. Gray’s injury had him out for longer than he would have liked, and even though the school was more than accommodating, he was absolutely fucking stir crazy by the time summer break rolled around.
Things between Max and Aaron have gotten a lot more serious between since the summer started, and all six of us have been hanging out a lot. Despite the fact that the Sinners gave him serious side-eye for a long time, they've all grudgingly admitted to me that they like the guy. But since Max and he are in Boston visiting her family for the next several days, this seemed like as good a time as any for a hike into the foothills with my men, despite the fact that it’s hot as balls.
“How much farther, Sparrow?” Gray asks from behind me.
He’s slightly out of breath as he pulls up beside me, and one hand brushes over the spot where the bullet hit him, as if it aches a little. But his eyes are bright and his smile is broad, banishing the slight twinge of worry that creeps up in me.
“Not too far.” I grin at him, slipping my hand into his.
Declan and Elias are a few steps ahead of us, still giving each other shit and bantering about who could hike the trail faster if it were a competition.
“You’re both wrong,” I call out, raising my voice a little to catch their attention. “If I seriously put on the gas, you know I could kick your asses in a race.”
“She’s right,” Gray throws in, and I grin. Then he cocks his head as if considering something. “Unless I was in the race too. We all know I’m in better shape than all of you. I’d win.”
I gasp in mock outrage, smacking him on the arm. “I thought you were coming to my defense!”
“Hey, I took a bullet for you,” he protests, then tugs me closer and presses a hot kiss to my lips. When we break apart, his eyes gleam with love and amusement. “Besides, we all know you don’t need protecting. You’re a badass bitch and can fight like a fucking hyena.”
That’s definitely a compliment coming from him, so I just roll my eyes and accept the praise. “Thanks. I love you too.”
The words fall from my lips easily, and he seals them with a kiss.
I never used to be so open with my feelings. I kept everything wrapped up as tightly as I could, tamping emotions down until I could barely feel them.
Now? I tell the men I love them at least once a day. I never want to stop telling them. I never get sick of the way their faces soften when they hear the words, or the love I see reflected back at me in their expressions.
Elias turns around, hiking backward as he speaks to Gray. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got that meeting with Howard and Weisman all set up. We’re good to go for lunch with them on Wednesday.”
After struggling with it for years, Elias has finally accepted that a long-term football career probably won’t happen. We’ve had several long conversations about it, and I know how much he misses the game. But he’s never been the type to let shit keep him down for long. I’ve been catching bits and pieces of his conversations with Gray recently, and it sounds like they’re looking to start a company together after graduation. It’s given him a purpose that I’ve never seen in him before, and it suits him. Suits them both, really.
In fact, all of us are doing well. Declan’s music is doing better than any of us ever dreamed, least of all him, and I actually sold a bunch of my paintings—the final pieces of my past that were poisoning me.
If I think about it too much, it still bothers me that they exist out there in the world somewhere, but I’m not complaining about the paycheck. As it turns out, a lot of people remembered me from the art show that now seems like forever ago, and the pieces went quick once I put them up for sale. I couldn’t be more thankful to have someone take them off of my hands.
Looking back on it now, I suppose I could’ve just burned them, but there’s a certain karmic rightness in building my future out of the wreckage of my past.
