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EPILOGUE

“So!” Miss Connors exclaimed brightly.

I cringed against the harsh sound and sunlight that filtered through her office windows. I curled inside myself on her chair and rolled my eyes in annoyed resignation.

“Sheldon!” She barked.

“What?” I cried out, annoyed. “I graduated yesterday. I’m hungover—sue me.”

“You’re annoying, you know that?” She griped.

“You’re supposed to be my counselor. What happened to all the sympathy and condolences?”

“The ‘sympathy and condolences’ went out the window when you used the phrase, ‘fuck off.’” Miss Connors smiled tightly. She twirled her finger in the air and exclaimed, “So you can ‘fuck off’ when you ask for that.”

“Miss Connors—”

“Stephanie.” She interrupted.

I shifted on my seat and said nothing more.

‘Stephanie’ sighed, folded her arms, and asked, “So how’s it going with your parents?”

“What parents?”

“You know—the dad that left the country? The mom that’s suddenly trying to be a mother with all this government attention? Those parents.”

Oh.

I shrugged. “They’re fine.”

“They’re a disappointment.” Stephanie said for me because I couldn’t. Not anymore. And she knew that—we’d worked through that in a few sessions—okay—six sessions. Six months of therapy and my counselor finally realized that I couldn’t ever say those words, but I liked hearing them. Hell, I needed to hear them.

I shrugged again.

And she sighed. She shifted and sat on her hands, prim and proper, and fast studiously, “You know, Sheldon, you have a right to feel anger at your parents.”

“What for?” I asked. It was the first time I’d asked a question or talked a statement on the topic.

Stephanie noted that, but didn’t note it.

She nodded, solemn, and encouraged with a nod, “What do you mean?”

“Mom’s a fraud. My dad’s gone. What am I supposed to feel angry about? I can’t do anything about it and I’m just wasting energy.”

“You still call them ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ and yet you talk about them like they’re not your ‘mom’ and ‘dad.’”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? Being your counselor? Or ‘giving a shit?’”

“Quoting me is annoying me.” I informed her.

Stephanie returned just as swiftly, “Quoting you is enjoyment to me.”

“You’re annoying.” I glanced out the window.

“But I care.” Miss Connors said softly and watched me intently. “And that’s why you put up with me—because I care and I’m here and I’m listening. And I want to listen to more.”

“Gag me.”

“Maybe later.”

I grinned. I couldn’t help it and Miss Connors didn’t hold it against me.

My grin turned into a smile.

“So!” Stephanie said abruptly with a bright smile and a hand clap to her lap. “Are you going to ask me the question why you came in for a session that wasn’t mandatory today? We’ve been seeing each other for six months, ever since it all went down, and there’s one question that I know you haven’t asked and I know you want to ask…so just ask it, Sheldon.”
I took a breath and asked the million-dollar question that wasn’t worth a million dollars, “Why the handcuffs?”

Stephanie rolled her eyes and chuckled lightly. She leaned back, threw a leg over her other and sighed, “Because I wanted to annoy you as much as you annoy everyone else.”

“Seriously.” I muttered.

“Seriously.” She laughed. “Okay, not seriously, but seriously—the three of you were too tight. You hated each other when you were forced to be around each other and don’t think I knew that you got out of those handcuffs. I knew you would, but I wanted that little seed of doubt to take root in your mind. I wanted you to look at them a little differently.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanted your freedom when you were handcuffed to them. That’s all I wanted for you—that’s all I could realistically hope for—I just wanted you to want some space from them. The rest would transpire all on it’s own, I knew that, because I knew you—even when you refused to talk to me.”

I shifted on the seat.

“And I know you’re uncomfortable right now because you don’t like being read. You think, deep down, that people are going to take advantage of you and leave you, but it’s not the case…” My hear beat in the silence before she added, softly, “Is it?”

Bryce hadn’t left.

Corrigan was alive.

And Logan was even a good friend.

Mena was gone—to New York, but Grace Barton had become a permanent fixture in my home. Grace kept up with Mena and told me all the updates whether I asked for them or not.

No. Being read, being known, having everyone know what had happened hadn’t ended with everyone leaving, like my irrational brain had thought once upon a time.

It pissed me off how right Miss Connors always was.

Instead, I remarked, “You should get laid.”

“I did. Last night. Twice.” She clipped out and leaned forward. “It’s scary isn’t it? Sitting back. Letting people in. And not controlling everything. It’s downright terrifying and you don’t want me to press the point, but I’ve got a response for all your taunts that you throw up as distraction.”

“God! You piss me off!” I snapped out.

And Miss Connors smiled, triumphantly.

What counselor would enjoy making their client squirm in fury?

Mine.

“I know.” Stephanie proclaimed. “And that’s how I have to ‘fucking’ communicate with you.”

I glared, but she was right.

Miss Connors had pointed out to me that I had ruled for my language. I only respected certain tones of voice, about certain items, and with certain words. It was weird—I know—but when she explained why I only respected those certain items, it actually made sense.

I respected firmness.

I respected a harsh outlook on life because that’s how I viewed the world.

And I only talked about certain topics because that’s what I knew. Conversations about the world, peace, religion—all of that was off-limits, but give me sex, mockery, and taunts—I could communicate to my contented heart’s end.

And say it with curses and I nearly preened.

I hadn’t realized it until my counselor pointed out, but that was her job.

“Okay.” Stephanie reigned in my drifting thoughts. “Are we going to talk about the missing money from your father’s account?”

I sighed dramatically and burrowed further in her chair.

“Buck up and be a grown up.” She snapped, fed up.

I whirled my eyes to hers, shocked.

She bared her teeth and cried out, exasperated, “You’re not a child. You know that and I know that and I’m not going to indulge you anymore. Your father lost 12 million. You told your mother that you were going to college in Europe, where Bryce is going to be, and that she doesn’t have to worry about the tuition…you and I both know how you’re paying for that.”

I sat up straight and opened my mouth—

“And don’t give me the pathetic lie that Bryce is paying for you. He’s not. He’s got his own educational finances to pay since he’s only playing part-time.”

Bryce’s mother had lied to him. Jefferson Scout really was going to pay for everything, and he did after AnnaBelle Scout sucked the most viperous lawyer on his ass in an alimony suit.

But Bryce had started to like the idea of going pro, even if it had been a last ditch effort for AnnaBelle Scout to not only break the relationship between us two, but to also control her son in a very shallow, superficial, and last-ditch way….Bryce had decided to go pro anyway, but he wanted to take two college classes a semester at the same time.

I was going with. That’s all I cared about.

And Corrigan was going to live in the same city. He wanted to try life in another country and his parents had approved one year abroad, but he’d have to return or do the college thing like Bryce and myself.

Corrigan hadn't mentioned where Logan fit in with his plans. Bryce and I never asked either.

Stephanie sighed and answered for me, “You told the police that you didn’t know anything about that missing money. You trashed all of your parent’s belongings. That tells me that you wanted to hurt them—and you did, but you got it in the way that would actually hurt them. And then—surprise, surprise, a little MIT student who runs counterfeit scams and viruses for Hoodum confesses to the police that he knew you before he got pulled in to help out with all those video feeds in your house.” She waited a beat… “The police have those feeds. They were set up after your house was broken into…Officer Patterson told me that there is a video of you walking into your father’s office and leaving with his computer tower in your hands. That was the last time that tower was seen.”

It was circumstantial evidence. That’s all they had and it amounted to nothing.

Bryce had erased the moments before I shot Marcus, but he hadn’t erased all of it. It was a lovely feeling knowing the police had their own porn entertainment, but Officer Sheila had promised that I could sue if that ever happened.

I smiled easily and shrugged it off, “Kevin was arrested on weak charges. He was set-up for Sheila’s partner—because he’s a dirty cop and he’s obsessed with taking Hoodum down. The police have nothing on Kevin and any confession he might’ve said was under duress—it’ll never hold up in any court trial and we both know it.”

Stephanie smiled and shook her head, ruefully. “So you’re admitting to stealing your father’s twelve million.”

I wasn’t admitting to anything, but I still walked out of there with a faint grin of victory.

As I walked down the hallway, Corrigan was teasing Logan with whispered promises of—I’m sure—sexual positions. Logan blushed like she always did. She hadn’t grown out of that, no matter how in-your-face I was at times.

She put up with me, but she stayed at Corrigan’s bedside every day he was in the hospital.

That earned some spine of steel points in my book.

Whatever. She was a friend now, but she still let Bryce and Corrigan keep me in check.

And Grace—that was the shocker heard throughout the school’s social hierarchy.

Grace Barton, former loser and social defect, was now friends with the royal crowd that ruled the school.

Bryce and Corrigan didn’t understand it, but I saw it with my own eyes. She was sickeningly sweet at times, but she had strength that amazed me. I didn’t understand her and somehow—we became to be best friends.

And what was more surprising is that Grace and Logan didn’t like each other. That was completely irrational in my books. They were the most alike and they nearly hated the other, but Grace was nice at every chance and she never had anything rotten to say.

I dug.

I wanted to dig because I wanted some crack to show in her seemingly perfect shell. No—Grace had a different strength that outlasted mine, at least, in that regard.

She held firm, but I knew she didn’t like Logan. It was just an innate sense a best friend gets about the other.

And Bryce and Corrigan—they hadn’t changed. They were just wanted more by every female in the school.

Bryce was already hailed as an up-and-coming star in the professional leagues. Girls were starting to arrive in our town, but I had more than enough venom to send them packing.

Corrigan lifted his head as I approached.

Bryce grinned and raked a hand through his Mohawk as he leaned beside my locker.

“How’s Miss Connors?” Bryce asked.

“Still pisses me off.”

Corrigan barked a laugh. “You’re just saying that because you like her.”

I glared.

Logan kissed him and I rolled my eyes.

Grace dodged a group of laughing seniors and drew abreast our group. Her smile tightened at the sight of Corrigan and Logan’s locked lips, but she said brightly, “Everything’s set. Next year will pale in comparison, but as the senior class President—I can conquer uncharted seas and bring unity to our school once again.”

My lips thinned and Bryce waited for my response.

Corrigan grinned, waiting, as he lifted his head from Logan’s lips.

And I remarked, “I’m about to vomit.”

Grace was undisturbed and she raised a hand in the air, “Vomit all you want, One with Negative Sarcasm, but you’re gone and I’m still here next year. This school will rebound after Sheldon Jeneve.”

“More like this school is still standing after feeling my wrath this year.” I grinned, sadistically.

Grace rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and asked brightly, “Wanna go to church right now?”

“Wanna suck Bryce’s dick right now?”

Logan blushed, but Grace merely smiled—this was why we were friends—and said sweetly, “That’s your job, not mine.”

“And yours would be…?”

“Keeping your conscience in tact.”

It was a weird friendship. I couldn’t explain it, but Grace had a spine to withstand the darkness of my own. We held each other up and anchored each other down. It worked and I knew that I’d miss her from Europe in the next month.

Later, curled in bed with Bryce, I rolled out from underneath him and asked, “Do you remember when we were going to Leisha’s candlelight vigil?”

Bryce shifted to his side, smoothed a hand down my flushed cheek, and asked huskily, “Why?” He bent and pressed a tender kiss to my cheek and worked his way to my neck.

I fell on my back and Bryce settled half on top of me. He continued his caresses as I stroked a hand in his hair and asked the ceiling, “When I told your mom that if I had a daughter and she had your eyes…”

Bryce finished for me as he lifted his head again, “If my mom would want her to cry?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He said faintly. “I remember.”

“What if…” I raked my hand through his hair and grinned wolfishly.

“What if what? If we have kids?”

I shuddered at the thought. “God no, that’s like…years away and we’ll probably have broken up by then or killed each other, but…”

He ignored that, “I think that if we had a child, she’d have my good looks and your fighting tongue.”

I thought so too, but I murmured, “I’m pretty ‘hot’ too.”

Bryce kissed me and the warmth sparked again.

He shifted and rolled me underneath him.

I murmured as my speech was quickly evaporating underneath Bryce’s exploring caresses, “I want to go to Leisha and Bailey’s candelight vigil next year.”

Bryce paused again and stared down at me, lustfully and intently.

I sighed a relaxing breath and whispered, hoarsely, “I want to go with you and Corrigan. Just you and Corrigan.”

Bryce nodded and I saw the love in his eyes.

I felt it’s reflection inside of me.

And then I reversed our positions and straddled Bryce instead.

He grinned, just as wolfishly as I had earlier, and said, “I have Miss Connors’ handcuffs, you know….”

I grasped both his hands and lifted them above his head. While he let me hold him captive, my other hand slid down his body to grasp him.

At his sudden intake of breath, I smiled and whispered, “Fuck that.”

THE END

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