Blackbird

Tate |Epilogue

THROUGH MINGLING CROWDS ON THE BEACH, my gaze rested on Alex. He paused mid-conversation, threw a cursory glance over his shoulder, and mouthed, 'You're staring."

I grinned. Didn't I know it? After the first time I kissed Alex, I couldn't seem to stop. Without any distractions or parental conflicts, our attraction went from mind-blowing to other-wordly. Knowing someone that I could share anything with was indescribable, and it made everything else so much better.

In the weeks that followed the fire, Alex encouraged me to enroll in therapy. I hated to admit it; the boy had been right. There's solace in talking to a stranger about the trickier feelings I couldn't share with Dad. If my father was surprised by my choice to follow him into the family business, he didn't show it. Although, he insisted I attend college first.

Alex turned again and flashed me a wicked grin, pink popping on his cheeks. I'd been caught again. Seven billion smiles on Earth, and Alex's was the only one I wanted to see. His eyes sparkled with a hint of playfulness, and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach.

My memories of the fire were fragmented, like watching a movie that you fall asleep to, the words still filter through, influencing your dreams. Decisions about whether to prosecute Derek and Tyson were needed.

Alex and Rafael banded together, dusted themselves off, and made a pact to support my decision, whatever it would be. Dad had taken more convincing, a still sore point between us that we were working on. First, my mother and then almost me had come as a double blow for him.

The part that shook me the most—as much as I craved justice, I knew the personal cost of seeking it. What good would it do in stopping our repeating pattern? None, I'd eventually decided, and Derek seemed to be putting every effort into earning a seat back at the Benitez table.

My trauma was matched only by Derek's, creating a volatile dynamic. We craved an outlet to direct our anger, becoming each other's perfect targets. Instead of acknowledging a connection, we chose to engage in conflict, and it was a cycle I planned to stop.

In the end, the consequence Derek decided himself, taking a page out of my book and confessing everything. I'd managed to mitigate the damage down to accidental Arson. With my statement supporting him, nobody could do much about it. I intended it to be a gesture of hope for him, a reminder that even in the darkest times, there is still a chance for something new and better to come out of it. It was a sign that despite the destruction and despair we inflicted on each other, life could still go on.

According to Alex, Abuelita had bestowed final words of wisdom, and with that, Derek avoided me, crossing the street if he ever saw me coming. He'd dropped the chip on his shoulder, and I couldn't be happier.

Dean Parker was trying as hard as a man like him could. We had a new ritual; he'd make bacon each morning and ask me about the day before. Despite being uncomfortable at times, an odd comfort sprang up from our regular conversations.

True to his word, he rebranded the company, but not in the direction initially headed. Instead, Parker Realtors branched out and became the first sustainable housing company in Epinosa. Its primary focus became the environment and community. Something I'd said had given Dad a light bulb moment, which required a substantial cash injection from different sponsors that had only been possible with the help of his new accountant—Rafael Benitez.

College beckoned on the horizon, Tyson community, Alex, Flock, and I state. As a result of my public pot confession, the school made an example of me. After declaring never to be one, I was now the reluctant poster child for the California State Board of Education.

All I needed to do was consent to a likeness of my image being used in an ad campaign that targeted early teen drug dependency. It sounded noble enough, and as punishments go, this didn't seem too bad—until they planned to roll them out in my high school.