Page 115 of Victorious: Part 3
“Any word yet?” Phoenix asks, his voice low as he comes back from checking on the circus outside.
Before Montana can answer, the courtroom doors swing open, and Valerie’s attorney emerges. She’s a small woman dressed in a sharp black suit whose smile tells us everything we need to know.
She throws her hands to the side, as if she’s a miracle worker, and the smile that lights up her face instantly makes my insides sing. “She got twenty years,” she states. “With time served and good behavior, she could be out in fifteen.”
The sound that comes from Montana isn’t quite a laugh and isn’t quite a sob. It’s pure relief made audible, the kind of sound that comes from somewhere deep in your chest when a weight you’ve been carrying for a lifetime finally lifts.
He sinks into one of the wooden benches lining the hallway, his head falling into his hands, and Rhyan softly cries, sitting beside him.
“Montana? Are you okay?” I ask, sitting on the other side of him, placing my hand on his back.
“I just…” He looks up, and tears trickle down his cheeks, the sight instantly squeezing my heart as Rhyan takes his hand in hers. “I haven’t been able to breathe properly for months, you know? And now…”
“Now you can,” Phoenix finishes quietly.
The attorney excuses herself, and moments later, the courtroom doors open again. And it’s like a billion camera flashes go off, almost blinding me. I squint as the media come barraging in, surrounding us, screaming, demanding, and yelling questions as the bailiff escorts Valerie out. She’s wearing the standard blue jumpsuit, but there’s something different about her posture, the way she holds her head. Like she’s remembering what hope feels like.
When she sees Montana, her face transforms. The careful mask of prison survival falls away, replaced by the soft expression of a mother seeing her son. He stands, running to her, and they embrace through the constraints of her shackles, and I have to look away because the intimacy of their relief feels too private for spectators.
Even though it feels like the entire world is going to see their moment, even if it’s through the lens of paparazzi cameras.
“Thank you,” Valerie says when they finally pull apart, looking at each of us in turn. “All of you. I know what you risked—”
“Family doesn’t thank family,” Montana interrupts, his voice thick. “We just show up.”
Camera flashes go off like the damn Fourth of July as Valerie’s attorney appears again, ready for the media interview.
Phoenix pulls me back out of the way, and I hold him while pulling out my cell to begin the social media coverage.
***
After a crazy few hours spending time with Valerie, the media, and the circus that followed, the ride back to the clubhouse is quiet, but it’s a different kind of quiet than we’ve had in the past couple of weeks. This silence feels lighter, like we’re all finally able to breathe without the constant weight of dread pressing down on our chests.
Phoenix drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns against the fabric of my dress. Rhyan and Montana sit in the back, cuddling each other. Montana stares out the window with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Twisting around to look at him, I smile. “You realize this means you’re stuck with us now, right?” I tell him, “No more moping around like the world’s ending.”
Montana laughs, and it’s the first real laugh I’ve heard from him since before all this shit started with Atlas. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you and Phoenix in line.”
“Good luck with that,” Phoenix mutters, earning himself a playful smack on the arm from me.
When we pull into the clubhouse parking lot, it’s like arriving at a homecoming. Brothers start pouring out before we’ve even killed the engine, their faces bright with expectation. Alpha appears first, followed by Haven, then Rip, Loki, Dutch, Ink, and the entire club family gathering to celebrate what feels like the firstreal victorythat wasn’t preceded by a war that we’ve had in a long time.
“How’d it go?” Alpha calls out.
“Twenty years, possibly fifteen on good behavior,” Montana shouts back, and the cheer that goes up could probably be heard three blocks away.
The next few hours pass in a blur of backslaps,congratulations, and the kind of easy laughter that only comes when you’ve been through hell together and somehow made it out the other side. Someone breaks out the good whiskey, the stuff Alpha keeps hidden behind the bar for special occasions. Rip starts telling embarrassing stories about Montana when he first prospected. Something about throwing beer cans down the side of the Hollywood Hill sign and then falling down the hill to pick them up. Even Dracula seems to sense the celebratory mood, purring loudly from his perch on Ink’s lap.
But as the afternoon wears on, I notice Ingrid and South standing apart from the group, having what looks like an intense conversation near the pool table. There’s something in their posture, the way they’re holding themselves, that makes my stomach start to tighten with familiar anxiety.
Phoenix must notice, too, because his hand finds mine and squeezes. “You okay?”
I nod, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is about to shift again. We’ve had so much change, so much upheaval, that I’ve started to recognize the signs. The way conversations get quieter, the way people start gathering in small groups, the way the air itself seems to hold its breath.
Alpha calls for everyone’s attention, and the clubhouse gradually quiets. “Before we get too deep into celebrating, South and Ingrid have something they need to share.”
My heart drops into my stomach.
