Page 88 of Busted Dreams

This whole time, Rhys had looked on with a smile that looked almost wholehearted. “We need to celebrate tonight.”

“Only if you can tell us some good news.” Thatcher took the TV off of mute.

“The doctors think I’ll make a fast recovery, given it was a fracture and not a full break like I thought when I was out of it. The police are investigating the attack, even though we know who did it.” His face pinkened, but he otherwise kept the anger from his voice. “They also called with my bloodwork. The reason I don’t remember the attack is because they slipped me a Xanax. It wasn’t a high dosage, but I guess given the circumstances, it was enough to cause memory loss. I barely remember being in the hospital.”

“What a bunch of assholes,” I seethed. “But that’s not news worth celebrating.”

“Actually, it is.” Rhys exchanged looks with Beck. “Angel tracked the guys down and paid them a visit. They went to the police department today and gave a full confession. And…” He grinned. “The scouts are sympathetic to my situation. If I can make a full recovery, they’ll still consider giving me a scholarship to attend their programs. We’ll still take a trip out to see the schools.”

Thatwascelebration worthy.

We all erupted into cheers, or in Beck’s case, vulgar congratulations.

“Astrid, anything for you?”

I shook my head, happy to be neutral for once. “Nothing yet, but maybe soon. The final showing of portfolios is just after Christmas.”

“A night like tonight calls for takeout Chinese and cheap wine,” Thatcher announced.

* * *

Two weeks later,Thatcher loaded everyone up, even Trinity, to go on a field trip. Rhys had graciously offered his SUV with two backseats, as long as Thatcher agreed to drive. With his cast still on, he didn’t want to chance it.

“So what’s this field trip all about?” Beck popped his gum as he climbed in the very back seat with Trinity.

“Remember that thing I was working on? I finished it. Incredibly fast actually. And I want you all to see it.” Twisting his hands on the steering wheel was the only sign he was nervous.

We pulled out of the cottage, and before long, we all recognized the route.

“Is there a reason why you are heading toward the Devil’s Hands compound?” Jonah asked with strong suspicion coloring his words.

“Yes.” Thatcher was only a little smug.

“Care to share?” Beck prodded.

“Nope.”

Trinity stayed silent, letting us have our banter. If she knew what he wanted to show us, she didn’t show it. In fact, she didn’t show a lot of emotion either way. After she found out Thatcher lost a great opportunity to take care of her, most of the fight had left her. Whether that meant she would be a normal human being now or continue down the beaten path of crime, only time would tell.

The surprise wasn’t secret for long. As soon as the compound came into view, we noticed it.

The drab, gray concrete was gone, replaced by colorful murals over every inch.

A few news vans were parked off to the side, and photographers were taking pictures of the outside. All of the members I’d met or seen at the cookout, and so many more, were there too, admiring the view and taking selfies with different parts of the wall.

“You did this?” I breathed, almost touching the windshield with my forehead, trying to get closer.

“I did.” He winked at me. “Most of this is for the Devil’s Hands, but I wanted to add a little something for all of us and they agreed. Since Beck and Jonah are their family and all.”

Silence reigned in the car, and I could feel their shock as if it were a physical thing.

He helped me out of the car, and we waited for the others to pile out before he walked us over to the compound. Colorful, whimsical portraits covered almost every inch of the wall. What Thatcher had done was beyond a masterpiece, because even with the mixture of delicate and bold strokes of the brush, he captured who they truly were. There was a grittiness that was undeniable to the viewer. The first breathtaking portrait I noticed was of Graves in his big leather chair, sprawled back and stroking his beard with a bit of mischief in his eyes. Angel’s was next, but he was on his motorcycle, his gorgeous hair flowing around his face as he rode toward a striking watercolor sunset. The portraits were separated by vibrant colors and bricks painted so lifelike, I was sure I could reach out and pluck one from the wall.

It was gorgeous. Stunning. Quite simply amazing.

But it was when Thatcher walked us to the back of the building when my eyes misted over. A large canvas was pinned to stretch over the entire wall. And there were the portraits of us. Every one of us.

“Trinity, come here.” He held out his other arm until he held both me and Trinity as we gazed at ourselves as Thatcher had interpreted us.

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