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That’s just hope, and I don’t have the energy for it.
A buzz again. Either you bring it, or I’ll have Hunter bring it.
Hunter? Why is Hunter involved in this? What’s he doing with Maggie?
Maybe it’s an intervention. They’ve got Sophie, Harper, heck, probably even Charlie, all ready in a circle to tell me how I should keep trying, keep going, blah blah blah…
The only way to get them to stop, so that I can try to figure out a way to move on from that dream I once had and focus on what’s important — building a new life with Hunter that doesn’t involve old fantasies — is to go through with their nonsense.
I answer. Fine.
I take a while to get to Maggie’s place. I’m in no rush and no mood, but at least there will be wine.
My mood changes to something like wary curiosity when I pull into Maggie’s driveway and see that there’s her car, a car I don’t recognize, and two motorcycles, one belonging to Hunter and the other to his friend, Diesel.
I knock on Maggie’s door, my knuckles barely making a sound against the thick wood. Before I can second guess coming here, the door swings open, revealing Maggie's bright smile and faintly flushed cheeks. She must have started on the wine already.
“Emily! Get in here!” She grabs my arm, pulling me inside with unexpected strength. The warmth of her living room hits me first, a stark contrast to the chilly evening. She then shoves a wine glass into my hands.
Inside, Hunter and Diesel are lounging on the couch, each with a wineglass in hand. Professor Curtis Barrigan stands awkwardly by the window, looking more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him. Hunter waves at me with a grin that's a little too wide, and Diesel nods in greeting before taking another sip of wine.
“What's going on?” I ask, glancing around at the half-empty bottles scattered on the coffee table and floor. It looks more like a party that’s winding down than my friend and my boyfriend preparing to give me a pep talk. “Maggie?”
Hunter is the one who answers. “We went to talk to Barrigan about your paper.” He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Had a friendly discussion. Things were going well... until they weren’t.”
“We tried to be reasonable,” Diesel says. “We went in prepared, with materials, even a video presentation, and then…”
“And then these criminals kidnapped me,” Barrigan interrupts indignantly.
“Oh shut up, Curtis,” Maggie snaps.
I blink at them all. “Kidnapped?”
“Borrowed,” Diesel corrects with a grin that somehow puts me at ease and on edge at the same time. “Just needed to get him out of that stuffy office environment.”
“We were being very calm and reasonable, he was being resistant and insulting and completely against any sort of discussion, and so we suggested we continue this discussion elsewhere.”
“I told you I’d think about what you asked and then you drew your guns on me and kidnapped me.”
“You were being a fucking asshole, Curtis,” Diesel says. “And I didn’t draw my gun on you. I just showed it to you and hinted that I’ve used it before to hurt people and didn’t want to have to use it that way again.”
“And who the fuck needs to ‘think about’ what I asked you?” Hunter snaps. “It’s a simple fucking question, and the answer is plain as fucking day. That you resisted doing what any decent person would do just reinforces the fact that you’re a fucking prick and that I should use my gun to blow you fucking feet off and make you run on your fucking stumps until you die from blood loss.”
“Shut the fuck up, all of you. Especially you, Curtis. You’re being a malicious instigator right now, and I am of half a mind to tell these two men to take you into my backyard and make you dig your own grave,” Maggie hollers. She then squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “We thought it best if we had you here to talk about your future.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that, after much reasonable discussion, Curtis has come to the right decision.”
“What decision?” I say. There’s something approaching hope in Maggie’s voice, and after everything I’ve been through, it feels wrong — I fight to keep it out of mine.
Professor Barrigan sighs, drains his glass, and then fills it to the brim with one of the wine bottles. “After much consideration and mortal fear, and out of respect for the trials and pain that you suffered, which would have persuaded me without any need for guns or knives or death threats or threats of torture—”
“You just keep trying to persuade me to follow through on these threats by being such a whiny bastard,” Hunter says.
“Or your friend’s threat to give me a horrific face tattoo,” Barrigan says.
“That’s not a threat. That’s a promise. Do you like anime, Curtis? Because you better learn to like it, since it’s going to be all over your face.”
