Epilogue

The morning that I arrive home from the psychiatric unit, my dad cooks the biggest stack of pancakes I've ever seen.My mouth waters at the smell of warm batter and maple syrup.

"I still can't believe someone sponsored your hospital bill," says my dad as he flips a pancake over the stove. "Do you have any idea who it might have been?"

"Nope."

A lie. The money I won in The Ring was enough to cover the cost of my stay after insurance and at least ten college application fees.

"You're sure you're not mad at me?" he asks. He plates the last pancake.

"No," I respond, truthfully. I had a lot of time in the hospital to think over my father's decision to keep me in the residential unit. He wanted to help. He didn't want to lose me like he lost my mother. That much I understood.

"I'm glad I went," I confess. "I spoke every day with Dr. Taylor. We came up with a ton of coping strategies. He still thinks I'm ready to apply for college."

He puts down the spatula. "Do you think you're ready?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure, but I think I at least have to try. Are you okay with that?"

"Yes," he replies. "If you're ready, I am." He points to the plate of pancakes. "But first I need your help with these."

There's no way that the two of us alone will ever finish the whole stack, which is why I'm relieved when the doorbell rings.

"He's here," I announce. "Please don't say anything about . . . well, you'll see."

My dad nods, confused, as I leave the kitchen.

Dressed in a light blue sweater and knit hat, Elliott smiles when I open the front door. One of his eyes is swollen shut, but he looks so much better than he did when I took him to the hospital. I throw myself against him, wrapping my arms across his body.

I haven't seen him since the night of the fight, two whole weeks ago. After leaving him inside of the hospital room, I slipped back through the window of my room in the psych ward. But going back to inpatient meant no contact with the outside world, so I spent the last fourteen days drawing pictures, talking through my problems with Dr. Taylor, and wondering what the hell happened to Elliott after I left.

I lift my chin. He bends his neck, pulling me in for a tender kiss that makes me forget we were ever apart.

"You look better," I mutter. "Horrendous, but better."

Elliott smirks. I keep my forehead pressed against his until the sound of my father in the doorway interrupts us.

"Hello," Elliott says, holding out his hand.

My father shakes it. He grins at Elliott, ignoring the sight of his beaten-up face and tattooed skin.

"I'm Elliott King. Thank you so much for having me."

"Any friend of Rose is welcome here. I hope you like pancakes."

Elliott's lips curl. "I love them."

Behind him, Gemma and Nishi are laughing. They interlock their fingers as they climb the steps to my porch. Elliott grabs my hand with his.

"Rose!" Gemma squeals.

She rushes forward, squeezing me so tightly that I can barely breathe.

"Hi," I exclaim, pulling Nishi into the hug. "I've missed you guys."

"We missed you too," Gemma says. "School has been so boring without you there. Mr. Ruse made everyone dress up like poets."

I laugh. The school agreed to let me work on my homework from the hospital so I wouldn't fall further behind. It was a nice break from the outside world, but I miss the small things, like eating in the cafeteria with Gemma and Nishi and Mr. Ruse's crazy outfits.

"Food is getting cold," Dad interrupts. "Let's eat."

The five of us manage to get through the entire plate of pancakes.

"That was great," Elliott announces.

A chorus of thank yous break out from around the table. My dad stands up and stacks our plates. I drag Elliott, Gemma, and Nishi upstairs to my bedroom. Elliott kicks the princess doll into the air and grabs it. He holds it in his lap on the bed. Nishi and Gemma sit down on the floor beside me.

"So?" I question Elliott. "What the hell happened?"

"Luke came to the hospital the morning after you left and took me home. My dad was with him. He had no idea how you got out. Neither do I, actually."

Nishi, Gemma, and I smirk mischievously. Apparently, Nishi made it twenty minutes running around the hospital before one of the nurses finally grabbed her. They kept her seated in a blood donation room, interrogation style, for two whole hours until I showed back up. Gemma told the staff I paid them to do it. They let them go with only warnings. I guess a poorly executed jailbreak was the least of their problems that night.

"I think Damon's actually quite impressed with you," Elliott adds.

"I thought you might say that," I respond. "So, I bought this."

I pull out the can of pepper spray from my backpack on the ground. Gemma chuckles, and Elliott's face softens.

He says, "My dad told me to thank you, all of you, for stepping in. I don't think he actually wanted me dead."

"Bullshit," I grumble.

Damon King is a wrecking ball. Even if he tries to be civilized, I know he'll find another way to ruin Elliott's life.

"What are you going to do about him?" Gemma asks Elliott.

"I'll be eighteen in a few months. I'll find a way out."

His birthday alone isn't enough to calm my worries, but it's a start. We both have futures that don't involve our parents deciding for us.

"I'm so glad you're both okay," Gemma whispers before turning to Nishi. "We should give them some time alone. Want to get coffee?"

"But we already had—"

Gemma hushes her. I listen as they sneak downstairs and chat with my father.

Elliott leans against my wooden headboard. He raises his uninjured arm, exposing the tattoo of the dagger on his inner bicep. The other arm is hidden inside of a light purple cast. I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe in the smell of him: tobacco and cedarwood.

"Your dad said they'd be angry since Major was supposed to win the fight. Are they? Are you in trouble?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. My dad got his ass kicked and swore it wouldn't happen again, so I think we're back to square one. Plus, most of the prize pot stayed intact since that asshole wouldn't give it all to you."

"Okay." I exhale. "Good. That's good."

He picks up the princess doll from next to him and makes her kiss my cheek. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too."

This conversation isn't over. I need details, a better explanation of how he'll quit without getting himself killed, but he's exhausted, and so am I. His fingers twist into my hair. After a few minutes, his breathing steadies. He mumbles a few unintelligible words in his sleep. I watch curiously, smiling every time he says my name.

I'm about to join him in sleep when my phone vibrates. I carry it into the bathroom.

"Hello?" I mutter.

A feminine, unfamiliar voice greets me. "Rosalyn Berman?"

"Um, yes?"

She pauses, then says, "I heard about your fight in Atlanta."

I freeze.

"My name is Kensington Strickland," the voice continues, "I'm in charge of the New York Ring. We plan events nationally and internationally. I'm calling because I think you'd make a great addition to our group here in the city."

New York?

I purse my lips, thumb hovering over the end-call button.

"You're mistaken," I stammer. "Atlanta was a one-time thing."

"Doesn't have to be," Kensington responds. "We pay well. People are begging to see you fight again. Crowds love an underdog. And I, for one, would be delighted to watch a girl rise to the top."

Elliott calls my name.

I lower my voice as I respond. "Please don't call me again."

"Consider my offer," she states. "For Elliott's safety. You know how to reach me."

A long beep implies she's hung up.

Elliott's safety. So he isn't in the clear. I swallow, anxiety tightening my chest.

"Who was that?" Elliott asks. Robotically, I leave the bathroom and stop at the foot of the bed.

"Nobody," I lie because he deserves a few more moments of peace. "Go back to sleep."

And he does. I curl up next to him, grateful to rest my head on a pillow that doesn't smell like sterilization. Downstairs, my father sings under his breath as he cleans dishes. Elliott snores, and I melt into him.

This is my new normal. It's not what I imagined, and it's not quite what I want. I want Elliott beside me, but I want him safe. Maybe that's through Kensington Strickland, or maybe it's as easy as getting him away from his father. I don't know the answer yet, but I relax knowing Elliott wants better for himself, too.

Sleep finds me easily.

In my dream, Elliott meets my mother. She holds us both and beams with pride as I tell her stories of everything that she missed while she was gone. Elliott's rugged smile fades from the picture until only Mom and I remain. We sit on the steps of our front porch, enjoying the feeling of the outside air. Sunlight paints her gold.

"You've learned a lot since I left," she says.

I shake my head no.

"I still don't know who I am. I thought I was you, but now that I know that isn't true, I'm more lost than before."

She takes my right hand and runs her fingers across the red scar on my knuckles.

"You're exactly who you're meant to be," she whispers. "You're my daughter. You're a strong, unstoppable woman with so much ahead of you."

I raise my head. We look so similar, but the differences between us are now perfectly clear to me. Our eyes are contrasting shades of brown and green. When we laugh, her nose twists up while mine twists down. The lines on our palms vary. Some of them are connected, while others are mismatched, showing that our fates are both intertwined and separated.

"You have something special," my mother states. "Something other people would kill for. I want you to treasure it."

I tilt my chin. "What?"

She holds my hand. The sun threatens to sink below the horizon, enveloping the sky in a beautiful array of orange, yellow, and pink.

"You're a fighter, Rosalyn. Don't ever let that go."

THE END