Page 42 of Victorious: Part 2
One by one, the NOLA family offers their condolences, their support, their love. Lock makes his way over, doing the rounds, making sure everyone is okay, and handing out food and drinks.
Always the caregiver.
Standing here in this sterile hospice hallway, surrounded by people who drove through the night and stayed past their shift just to be here for me, I realize something.
Bella was right.
Family isn’t just about blood.
It’s about the people who show up when you need them most.
But I also realize something else, something that’s been eating at me all evening…
My heart is divided between two cities, two families.
Los Angeles, where I have brothers who are about to go to war.
And New Orleans, where Ingrid is surrounded by the children who love her like she’s their whole world.
We say our goodbyes to Lock, and he takes off into the maze of halls, hopefully heading home to get some rest, but knowing him, he’ll catch twenty minutes of shuteye and start a new shift.
The rest of us walk out into the morning sun, and Hurricane falls into step beside me. “South,” he says quietly, his voice unusually serious. “I know you’ve got your duty to LA, and I respect that. But brother, when this war’s over, when you’ve kept your promise to Bella, you think ’bout comin’ home.Reallythink about it.”
I look at him, then at Ingrid walking ahead of us with Louis, surrounded by Novah, Nash, and Bayou. She’s smiling at something Nash said, and for the first time since we got the call about Bella, she looks at peace.
“I will,” I promise Hurricane, and I mean it. “I’ll think about it.”
But even as I say the words, I feel the pull in two directions.
Behind me lies my sister’s body, the promise I made to her, and a war that needs fighting. Ahead of me walks the woman I love, surrounded by the family that makes her whole.
My heart belongs in two cities.
And somehow, I’m going to have to figure out how to honor both halves.
Chapter Nine
CLOVER
The tires crunch against gravel as we pull into Kelso Dunes, the sun slanting low across a horizon that gleams with liquid gold. We’ve already journeyed through the Mojave and past miles of Joshua trees stretching their twisted limbs like otherworldly dancers mid-twirl.
That whole stretch felt as though we’d stepped into a surreal dream, the trees casting long, skeletal shadows over sunbaked earth. But now, the dunes rise before us, monumental waves of sand frozen in time, sculpted by centuries of wind, shimmering with possibility.
Phoenix cuts the engine, and the truck rocks slightly before settling into stillness. He turns to glance at me, a longing question in his eyes he doesn’t need to speak aloud.
We’re alone out here, and we’re both fighting our desiresso fucking hard.
Dracula, our stowaway menace of a cat, lets out a long, dramatic meow from the back seat, breaking our lustful stare. He’s wedged himself in his makeshift carrier, which is a battered cardboard box lined with one of Phoenix’s T-shirts, and he’s clearly fed up with confinement. A loud hiss interrupts us as Dracula decides this is the perfect moment to escape his carrier and explore the desert. The psychotic cat bolts, his black fur a stark contrast against the pale sand as he rushes past Phoenix, straight out his window.
“Shit,” Phoenix mutters, pushing open his door, jogging after him. “Come here, you little demon.”
I can’t help laughing as I watch this tough biker chase a cat around in ankle-deep sand. Dracula seems to think it’s a game,always staying just out of reach, his yellow eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Maybe leave him,” I call out. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
“And let him become coyote food? Hell no!” Phoenix dives for the cat and misses spectacularly, face-planting in the sand while Dracula sits nearby, cleaning his paws like he’s judging Phoenix’s technique.
I try my hardest to hold in my laugh, but I’m failing, barely holding my camera steady. Though somehow, I manage to capture the moment. Phoenix sprawled in the sand, glaring at a completely unbothered cat.
