Page 130 of White Raven
Brent rested against the back of the seat and stared at her quietly. “I was thinking about Nell. About everything she left to you. I was thinking about the shitty ceiling at the therapist's office, and the fact that I don’t wanna live in my apartment anymore. About Sarah and Athan, and how he jumped ship to go live with her, when I wouldn’t even stay the night. My inheritance.”
It was starting to register where this was going, and she felt weak. Nervous. “Don’t you dare propose to me right now. I’ll fucking punch you in the face.”
Brent scoffed, chuckling under his breath. “I wasn’t gonna. But I did wanna ask you something.”
“I’m scared to ask what it is, bitch-boy.”
“If I—if I left Boston…would you consider coming with?”
Something in her stomach flipped over. Again, and again. She’d forgotten all about his notion to sell his place and hadn’t thought about leaving Boston since she’d got there. But…at the same time, she saw its appeal. The press. The hate. The bad memories, and the constant disappointment. But there was also a lot of good left in Boston. Sarah. Rhaena, and Brandon. The people they were close to. Starting over would mean…starting over. She could understand why he felt the hard need for it, but she couldn’t figure out if she was ready to do the same.
“You don’t have to answer now. I haven’t even listed my apartment yet. But would you think about it? I’ll take that money and build you a studio fit for a queen, Wren. We can showcase Nell’s collection. You can hire people to help you restore more stuff. Or have a whole space for you to paint and exist. We could buy a tattoo shop, and you wouldn’t have to answer to anybody. Wouldn’t have to be an apprentice anymore. We could build something better than Boston and its dumpster fire full of bullshit.”
“There could be a light at the end of this tunnel, or there could be a dumpster fire. Either way…just know you’re not alone in it. I’m not okay either.”
It was a future worthy of everything they’d been through to get here. Everything she’d put him through before it. She knew he just wanted her to be happy, and that he was dying to find that happiness with her. But she’d spent such a long time running from the idea of a serious relationship, and all themushy shit that went with it. This was something else altogether. A commitment. Alife.
“I’ll—I’ll think about it,” she said, taking a drink from the bottle, and passing it over to him. He smiled, and took it, sipping from the neck. “Where were you considering if you left?”
He handed the bottle back, and took the car out of gear, pulling back onto the street. “I honestly have no idea. Anywhere but here? We could close our eyes and throw darts at a map? Or a fucking globe? I don’t really care.”
The rest of the ride was quiet with both their rampant thoughts. Wren fidgeted with the corners of the envelope in her pocket. When they finally got to her place, Brent opted for a shower, and she declined his offer to join him in it, instead plopping down on the couch and pulling the envelope from her jacket. She sighed heavily, grief-stricken, and curious, and slid her thumb through the opening, breaking the seal.
Wren,
You’re probably trying to scrape your jaw off the floor by now, and I can’t blame you for it. Before those questions start firing off in that thick skull, let me just be forward. I’m an old woman, who’s lived a very long, very fulfilling life, and you don’t get to question my choices in it. I’ve earned those. And you’ve earned this. By the time I was the age you are now, I’d barely begun to experience the world. You’ve had it thrown at you and took every blow like a brick wall. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for someone so young. The day you walked into my shop with Athan, and that girl…I saw a fire light up inyou. I saw the fire I once had a long time ago. A fire that the world forgot.
History would be forgotten if not for the pieces of life in this shop. I needed someone who truly appreciates the value of what’s in all these trinkets…not just the value of the dollar they could sell for. Athan had always been my choice, for obvious reasons. But that was before you sat down with a brush and wanted to learn how to do what I do, Wren. That was before you started really becoming passionate about something after that piece of your soul was lost, and you started coming into that door with tea, and croissants, ready to learn something new. That was before I realized that you didn’t just care about what we were doing in here…you cared about a dried-up old lady with way too much stuff. And I realized, you’d care for this place and everything in it just as much when I’m gone.
Wren, chase that fire. Feed it. Let it grow wild and consume everything around you. Live a full life. Let yourself love. Let yourself enjoy it. Write your own page in the history books and take this opportunity to heal the broken parts. They’re not really broken. Only changed. History might forget my name, and everything I loved about the unusual circumstances in life…the unusual people that you meet in it. But it’ll remember yours. It’ll remember yours, and Athan’s and the adventures that you allexperience together. I’ll be watching and cheering you on.
Thank you for giving this old bat some peace in her life.
Live well, Wren.
~Nell
A tear splattered on the paper, smudging the ink on the page, and Wren wiped her eyes with her sleeve, sniffling into it. She folded the letter, tucking it back into the envelope, and sitting it up against her easel in the living room. Denver mewed from the couch, watching her and flicking his tail back and forth as she undressed the entire way to the bathroom. Brent was rinsing the shampoo from his hair, and flinched when she pressed herself against his back, squeezing both arms around him.
“I’ll go with you,” she croaked, trying not to continue crying. He turned around in her arms, winding his around her as water ran from his chin. “I’ll go wherever you go. There’s nothing left for us misfits here.”
Brent smiled, and if it weren’t for the water in his eyes, she could swear he was tearing up. “Misfits…fitting a piece as crooked as we are always required way too much fucking energy anyway.”
“I really hope you’re not implying that you’re gonna use that relaxation of energy to grow a relationship gut. I’ll take all your money and fucking dip, dude.”
Brent snorted, and pressed his mouth against hers, and suddenly…Wren forgot why romance smelled like shit.
The only thing available to rent had been expensive on such short notice. All the information she had to give would make her as obvious as a flashing beacon on top of the car, but…three hours. Three hours was all that was left between her and Athan’s freedom. The thought of having him back…telling him how sorry she was for the way they’d left things that night. Telling him how much she loved him…it outweighed whatever possible state he’d be in when she tore him out of that coffin. Sarah decided she’d do practically anything to get the Athan back that she knew, although, once he learned what she’d learned…neither of them would ever be the same.
And then there was John—Poe…Edgar Allan fucking Poe.
What the hell was this life? Who would ever believe this was reality? It started to make a little sense now, why Poe had hidden his identity from her all these years. Not only was it absolutely insane…but the world believed this master poet—this dark genius—to be dead. His words were forever cherished in that death, because the world never accepted him when he’d lived. No matter how much she might have admired him as one of the most brilliant writers in the world, she didn’t think she could ever forgive him for what he’d done. And there were still pieces that just didn’t fit. Questions that needed answers. Sarah looked over at Tony, who was cracking a window and lighting a cigarette.
“You wanna drive?” she smirked. He jerked his face toward her.
“Me? Oh, no. No, no…I’ve—I’ve never driven a car before.”
Sarah dropped her mouth open in a smile. “Never?”
