Page 75 of Rayne

We found a tattoo parlor not far from my new house, the two of us getting new tattoos. I went first to prove to her that it doesn't hurt—but being a seasoned pro, it wasn't all convincing to her.

The tattoo artist looks at us, gun in her hand. "Are you ready?" she asks Margot, wrinkling her nose to brush off an itch. Her septum piercing swings and I notice Margot look at her hair.

"I really love that color. Bright red looks good on you."

"You're delaying," I scold Margot playfully. "You're only getting an infinity symbol on your wrist. It will take ten minutes at most."

Margot snaps her gaze at me, eyes narrowing. "You didn't even flinch with yours but I just KNOW it hurt. Inner thighs would have to hurt like a bitch."

I look down at my legs, my black shorts almost rubbing on the two pieces of gauze. "It tickled a little," I remark, taunting her.

"We're not even going to get into the discussion about what you got tattooed," she groans. "Okay… I'm ready."

The gun buzzes to life and Margot squeezes my hand, clenching her eyes closed. I laugh to myself, knowing very well that the conversation about my thighs will come up later.

The little pinkish scars were starting to fade, and I decided it just seemed right to make them more permanent. The tattoo artist didn't flinch when she drew over the scarred initials with ink, probably seeing way worse.

I've been in California now for just over a year. As usual, Hawk was right—I did manage to pass my LSATs first try. I practiced non-stop, borrowing Jason's old prep books, and some notes that Dad found in the basement. It wasn't the greatest score, but for whatever reason, Stanford accepted my application to my surprise.

I handed in my resignation at the firm shortly after, saying goodbye to everyone as I moved states to start the next chapter of my life. Mom and Dad came with me to help with the move, getting me settled in before traveling on, making a vacation out of it. They were—of course—very supportive and happy, just a little sad that Saturday night dinners would need to be put on hold for a few years. Though, I try to travel back every few months to visit.

Realizing I needed an income out here, I also managed to get a new job after an excellent recommendation from Jason. Apparently, an old law school friend of his was a partner at a firm here, and they were happy to take me on part-time while I studied.

Margot and I spoke nearly everyday, but I made new friends too—getting out and socializing with other law students. Having a village really helped my transition and I feel surprisingly happy to be here.

Except for one thing.

I miss Hawk and Jett. More than I'd like to admit.

I tried to stay in contact with them after I left, but I found that it made things difficult. Every time we'd Facetime, I'd want to fly back to Arizona—and get scolded by them for it. Eventually, they put me on a ban, reducing our Facetimes to weekly, then monthly.

It took a lot of focus—and therapy—but I had to accept that I needed some distance so I could stay on track. I'd never move forward if I was stuck in the past. And as much as it hurt, I told myself that they'd be there waiting at the end of it.

This was my time to shine. And I couldn't just throw everything away now that I finally had the chance to do something great.

We still speak occasionally, and when something great happens, I text them. Which is exactly what I planned to do now.

Margot had kindly snapped a photo for me of the fresh ink, and as she squeezes my hand for dear life, I attach the photo to a text message, sending it to Hawk and Jett.

"I don't even want to know what that smile means," Margot groans, squinting at me through clenched eyes.

I look up at her, clicking my screen shut after it sends. "Probably best you don't."

"There. All done," the tattoo artist exclaims.

Margot opens her eyes in surprise, holding up her wrist. "Oh, that wasn't so bad."

I snort, shaking my head. "Told you."

We finish paying for our tattoos, grabbing some takeout before heading back to my house. It's only small—and I'm still renting—but it's something. I'm saving up to buy when I'm back in Arizona, which so far, is on target since somehow my tuition fees are always mysteriously paid. Stanford won't provide the details, but I already know—even if they deny it.

"The weather here is much nicer than back home," Margot mumbles, using her chopsticks to shove noodles in her mouth. "Are you coming home for Christmas?"

I nod, taking a sip of beer, noodle box in hand. "You'll see me again in a few weeks. Mom is doing some extravagant Christmas dinner to celebrate."

"And will Hawk and Jett be there?" she asks knowingly.

I shrug. "I'm not sure. I haven't asked."

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