Epilogue

NIA

It's overwhelming how right everything feels. My heart is swollen, bursting out of my ribcage from the love in this room. This is my family, they've always been, even when I ran away because I couldn't fathom the idea of being broken to the Dames, they still took me back after all the heartache.

And in the end, I broke in front of them anyway.

I give Harvey a kiss before standing, and seeking out the one person I'm still undeserving of.

"You look..." Kade stops, giving me a once over and choosing their words carefully. "Alive."

"That's about as good as I can offer." I smile.

"That's enough." They nod; it feels like forgiveness, but I know it's not.

Because I haven't asked for it yet.

"I'm sorry." The words sound disingenuous, but I mean it with every fiber of my being.

I just can't muster the energy to perform right now.

"I am too. I should have done more." They tuck blue hair behind their ears, uneasy as always.

"No. Don't take responsibility for my mess. It wasn't your job to fix my shit. It certainly wasn't your job to tolerate it, and I'm sorry I broke your trust." It's the truth. "I should have been honest with you."

They nod. "Tolkien misses you."

"I miss him too," I admit with a soft smile. "I think I'm going to stay with Cat, though."

"Oh?" Kade raises an eyebrow, waiting for more juicy details.

Everyone around us is enveloped in conversation, small groups of skaters catching up and celebrating today's massive win. Deandra was so upset every time a text from DreadPool updated her on the situation yesterday, I knew there was no way she was going to stay out of it.

Having her here is everything.

It reminds me that Lonnie is still the glue, even though they're not here anymore. It reminds me that glue has the power to continue to hold even when it dries clear.

"Yeah. She just…" I'm trying to condense love into words that don't exist, and it fails me. "We just… make sense."

Kade nods, understanding perfectly somehow. They grab my shoulder. "Well, come over for coffee or something."

"I'd like that." I nod.

"What's your plan for today?" Kade asks, making me hopeful that there is genuine forgiveness there and a desire to stay friends.

It means more than I can explain.

"Meeting a new therapist." I grin awkwardly, like my physically broken head isn't enough, but the acknowledgement of my mind's fragility is too embarrassing to admit.

"Love that for you." They drape an arm over my shoulder and pull me in, dropping a kiss to the top of my head.

"Maybe tomorrow?" I ask, my voice full of optimism.

Kade answers far too seriously. "Only if you bring those cheese bread balls."

"Deal."

Four Months Later

I'm locking up my office for the day at the junior high when Christa runs into me from behind. "Miss Da Silva, are you done?"

She's thirteen, a first gen kid, just like me. Her family just moved from a big city, and she's struggling to fit into this school. She's one of the reasons I'm glad I chose this degree and grateful I was able to snag this job. At her age, I would have killed for someone like me to give me advice. Kids like her give me even more reason to fight harder for myself.

So I can fight for them too.

I have to show her we can make it.

I don't know if I would have listened, but I would have still killed for it.

Looking at my watch, I realize it's ten till one, and though I normally don't leave until two, I promised Harvey I'd get to the rink in time to help set up the new lights. "Do you need anything?" I ask her, key still in the door, very much ready to re-open so I can help her with whatever she's dealing with.

"Not today. My mom wanted me to give you this, though." She pulls out a Tupperware of homemade Argentinian treats from her backpack.

Catch me dead before you catch me turning down an Alfajore.

"Your mother is feeding my soul, Christa!" I moan with delight, clutching the container to my chest like it's gold.

It's becoming a common occurrence. She and the few other Latin American kids who frequent my office know food is my love language, and their gratitude always comes in the form of snacks. Quite possibly my favorite job perk.

She gives me an awkward side hug, and I add, "Maybe you can convince her to come to derby tryouts soon."

Christa laughs and shakes her head. "Mamá says she'll be skating on two broken legs if she tries. I'll probably be skating with you before she does. We'll be there to watch you tonight, though!"

"We appreciate the support. Stay out of that splash zone," I joke, like getting too close to the track would likely result in blood splatter stains.

My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I'm walking out of the school.

MEET ME AT HOME

The smile sets on my face while I shuffle through my playlist for the perfect song to drive home to. I scroll in the heat of the car, ignoring the sensation until the sweat trickles down my back, and I resort to choosing a song I've heard a million times.

Predictable is good right now.

Predictable is safe.

When I get home, her car is already there, but when I open the door, the lights are off. "Babe?" I shout into the living room. "Let's go!" Anytime she asks me to meet her at home before heading to Skateland is so that we don't have to deal with the chore of two separate cars.

I assume today is no different.

"Babe?" I call out again when I don't hear her.

Walking all the way in and shutting the door behind me, I head deeper into the apartment. I open the door to our room to find her dropping rose petals on the bed. With a sigh, I tell her, "You're so romantic."

She jumps only slightly from the surprise, and I realize she's got earbuds in. Harvey pulls one out of her ear and grins before pulling the other one out too.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Well, my girlfriend is like seventeen weeks sober today, so a celebration was in order." That cocky grin fills her face up like she's so proud she was able to pull off a surprise without me finding out.

It's not that I don't like surprises—it's that I'm always capable of figuring them out before she completes them.

"I don't think that's a milestone." I laugh as she brings me into her arms. "They don't make a chip for seventeen weeks."

"Well, good thing you're not in a program then." Her lips press into mine, and I melt.

A program wasn't for me. The entire nature of it was far too nonsecular for my taste, and I couldn't separate it. Couldn't put everything in the hands of a God I don't believe in. The first meeting I stepped into with Kade at my side, we both looked at each other in horror once they broke out in prayer. We snuck off before anyone noticed us, and from that moment on, I decided to find something that worked for me.

There isn't a manual, and what might have worked for someone is certainly not a guarantee to work at all for me. I ended up coming clean to the team, feeling a mixture of relief and shame balled up together, and in the end, I only felt silly for not relying on them sooner. I wasn't met with judgment or criticism, but with more support and love than I could have ever expected. I have friends—the family I chose—who I will fight for.

I don't need to give it up to some higher power to stay sober when I can give it up to this incredible woman instead.

The only one I get on my knees for.

"Thank you," I whisper anyway as our kiss breaks, grateful for a partner who is proud of every little accomplishment I bring home.

I think she'd hang me on a shelf if she could.

I've never been anyone's trophy.

Not until her.

The End

In loving memory of Jeffrey "JB" Hirst

1991-2011