Page 27 of Jolt's Vengeance

As Aurora zigzags past, I spot Widow near the bar.

He's got a wrapped gift in one hand and the other's pressed against his mouth as he coughs violently.

Poor bugger's probably inhaled half the bubble mixture by now.

I call out, trying not to laugh at his misery. "Ye all right there, Widow?"

He waves me off, his eyes watering.

"Just peachy," he wheezes, voice rough as gravel. "Remind me to thank whoever bought her that damn thing personally."

I snicker, watching as he takes a swig of beer, likely trying to wash away the taste of chemicals.

The scene before me tugs at something deep in my chest.

It's mad, aye, but it's also... it reminds me of back home.

I feel a pang of homesickness so sharp it nearly takes my breath away.

Christ, I miss this.

The sense of belonging.

Sure, I've got my sorority sisters and my classes, but it's not quite the same.

Jolt's voice cuts through my musings. "Oi, Ghost!"

He's lounging on one of the worn leather sofas, feet propped up on the coffee table. "You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna join the party?"

I roll my eyes at him, but there's no heat behind it. "Keep yer knickers on, I'm coming."

As I make my way deeper into the clubhouse, dodging errant bubbles and laughing children, I can't help but think about home.

It's only a few more weeks till winter break.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to take a winter course, but now I know I’m not.

I need the damn break.

Just a little longer and I'll be back in Montana, surrounded by snow, my annoying little sisters, and my father’s watchful eye.

But for now, I've got this.

This beautiful, chaotic mess of a family right here in Vegas.

And as Aurora runs by again, shrieking with laughter as she's chased by a bubble-covered prospect, I know I wouldn't have it any other way.

Suddenly, a blur of dark hair and colorful fabric rushes past me, nearly knocking me off balance.

It's Camila, Booger's ol' lady, her eyes wild with frustration as she chases after a group of sugar-fueled toddlers.

Camila shouts, her Mexican accent thickening with frustration. "¡Cálmense!Calm down!"

The little ones slow for a moment, looking back at her with mischievous grins, before darting off to another corner of the clubhouse.

"Christ," I mutter, running a hand through my bleached blonde hair.

I catch my reflection in a nearby mirror and smirk.

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