The single pop echoed across the street, sharp and distinct, causing Trinity's head to snap up. Her gaze darted towards the dense trees lining the opposite side. The sound was unsettlingly familiar, yet she couldn't quite place it. Not fireworks, not exactly.
A sudden wave of anxiety washed over her, a primal instinct screaming of unseen eyes, of becoming prey. An inexplicable urge to flee took root, a deep-seated feeling that lingered just beneath the surface of her awareness, whispering of danger lurking in the open air.
Whether it was mere paranoia, a trick of her heightened senses, or something more tangible, Trinity didn't know. But she obeyed the impulse, breaking into a run as if pursued by an invisible force. Though this particular area wasn't a frequent haunt, fragments of childhood memories surfaced, recalling a time when these streets were more familiar.
The sky above pulsed with jagged flashes of lightning, and a light rain began to fall, quickly enveloping the surroundings in a damp sheen.
Her pace quickened, driven by the unsettling premonition. She reached the small plaza, the neon glow of a bar/restaurant offering a stark contrast to the darkening sky. It was one of the few establishments still open, and she instinctively headed towards its welcoming light.
A low curse escaped her lips, irritation bubbling up at the sudden downpour. The rain plastered strands of her black hair to her face, each clinging tendril a reminder of a drowned ghost bride, pulled from a murky lake.
Scanning the interior, her gaze locked onto the sanctuary of the washroom. A desperate need to salvage her appearance, to look less like a drowned rat and more like a functioning human being, propelled her forward. The only silver lining to the rain was that it masked the clammy sheen of sweat that had broken out across her skin. The earlier fear at the bus stop had triggered a visceral response, an instinctual demand to escape.
She made a beeline for the hand dryers, awkwardly attempting to dry her saturated clothes and dripping hair. Anyone who walked in would likely peg her as either unhinged or homeless, the line blurring precariously. Catching her reflection in the mirror across from the dryers, her hunched-over form elicited a wry, self-deprecating smile. She truly was a pathetic sight at this moment.
Emerging from the washroom, feeling marginally less waterlogged, she headed to the bar and perched on an empty stool. This was hardly the celebratory scene she had envisioned for her twenty-second birthday. Not that birthdays held any particular significance for her. In fact, it was her least favorite time of year, a stark reminder of her unsettled existence, a catalyst for unwanted introspection. Her life had been a constant state of flux, leaving a trail of memories she preferred to keep buried.
"What can I get yuh?" The bartender, a blonde woman with a pixie cut and a smattering of sunspots, asked. Her voice held a pleasant rasp, and a kind smile softened the lines around her eyes. Tattoos snaked up her exposed arms, hinting at a life Trinity could only imagine – one filled with excitement, or at least, that's how it seemed from the outside.
"Gin and soda!"
Trinity frowned, turning her head sharply to her left, a flicker of confusion creasing her brow. Who had ordered for her? And how did they know her drink?
A mixture of bewilderment and burgeoning excitement bloomed within her as her eyes landed on two familiar figures she hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity.
Before she could utter a word, strong arms encircled her, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace. Trinity instinctively clung back, burying her face in his chest. He smelt like home to her
Ryan. In their younger years, he had been her anchor, her lifeline. Their bond had formed quickly and deeply after the shared trauma of his parents' passing. She had missed him fiercely. He looked much the same as she remembered, his dark brown hair still falling in those artfully disheveled layers, a defining middle part framing his face.
But somewhere along the way, their connection had frayed, the easy flow of conversation ceasing. One day, he had simply vanished, leaving a void she hadn't realized the depth of until he was gone.
"I can't believe you're still in town," he said, his smile tinged with a subtle tension. He knew he owed her an explanation, a reason for his abrupt departure, but the words remained elusive. How could he explain the complexities of his world, the wolf blood that ran through his veins, to someone whose life was so fundamentally different? Knowing wasn't always a blessing, and he hadn't felt it was his right to shatter her reality.
"And where would I go?" she countered, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. This place was as good as any. She had no family ties anchoring her anywhere. Ryan, despite their shared experience of loss, possessed something she lacked – a brother, a familial bond that transcended their parents' absence. He wasn't truly alone.
As she returned his smile, a familiar figure standing just behind him didn't escape her notice. Grayson. The two brothers, still an inseparable unit.
Pulling away from Ryan's embrace, Trinity's feet touched the ground once more, a nervous anticipation fluttering in her chest. Grayson. The only boy, the only young man, she had ever truly believed she loved. And like his brother, he had disappeared without a word, though perhaps he owed her nothing. Their connection had never extended beyond her being his younger brother's best friend.
Looking over Ryan's shoulder, she offered Grayson a warm smile. He merely nodded in response, a curt acknowledgment that seemed to cost him effort. His once vibrant brown eyes appeared dull, and his usually well-maintained hair was cropped extremely short, a style she had never seen him sport. Something was undeniably off about him. He was still tall and handsome, a hint of stubble shadowing his jawline, his build still leanly muscular. But it was the light in his eyes that was missing.
It was jarring. The Grayson of her memories was brimming with sweetness and an infectious zest for life, qualities that had fueled her teenage infatuation. But that was years ago, a childish crush that should have long since faded.
Ryan, genuinely overjoyed to see his friend again, couldn't contain his enthusiasm. He looped an arm around Trinity's shoulders, gently steering her towards the table where Grayson was standing.
"I really can't believe it's you," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper that conveyed the depth of his surprise.
"Are you just passing by?" she asked, a note of caution lacing her voice. She didn't want to allow hope to take root only to be disappointed. Four years was a significant stretch of time, and while a fondness lingered in her heart, the threads of their friendship had undeniably weakened. His abrupt departure had left a lingering unease.
At her question, Ryan's gaze flickered towards his brother, a moment of hesitation before he spoke. He had left with Grayson because he had to. His brother wasn't like him; Grayson needed the stability of a pack, a connection Ryan himself struggled to comprehend. He and Trinity were alike in that regard, defectives in exile. And because of Ryan's nature, their entire family had made the difficult decision to leave the pack in secret, embracing the life of rogues. Because of that Ryan's loyalty lay with his family.
Their return was solely for Grayson's sake. He couldn't endure life in the exile outpost any longer, though the specifics of his brother's distress remained largely unspoken, even to Ryan.
The prolonged silence that followed Ryan's hesitation provided Trinity with her answer. This reunion was fleeting. A wave of disappointment washed over her, but she quickly suppressed it. She was still grateful for this moment. Lifting her drink, she offered a small, polite smile.
"So, who are you now?" Ryan asked, his smile widening, a familiar question he had posed countless times in the past. He had always sensed a certain lost quality in Trinity, as if she hadn't yet fully embraced the freedom to define her own life.
He was desperate to hear her story, to fill in the years of silence. He had worried about her. She had no family, an orphan her entire life. Countless holidays – Christmases, Thanksgivings, her birthdays – had been spent with him and Grayson.
A sudden realization dawned on him. Today was her birthday. Perhaps their unexpected return was more than just coincidence.
Pulling her into a brief, tender embrace, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She had always been family to him. "Happy birthday."
The words seemed to jolt Grayson slightly. July 8th. It truly was her birthday.
Despite the dull ache that permeated his being, the crushing weight on his chest, he straightened and moved to stand beside her. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, his voice a low whisper.
"Happy birthday," he murmured to the sweet girl who had once been such a bright presence.
He wanted to feel the joy of seeing her again. He had come to regard Trinity as an integral part of their makeshift family. But the raw edges of his grief, both physical and emotional, made even the simplest act of lifting his head a monumental effort, let alone expressing genuine happiness.
In that moment, the sight of her black hair, the startling clarity of her blue eyes, the almost ethereal paleness of her skin – a trait that stubbornly resisted the sun – all combined to twist the knife in his already wounded heart. They were all echoes of Olivia, a constant, painful reminder. He desperately tried to push the memories away.
Trinity's cheeks flushed a deep crimson at the brothers' unexpected display of affection. Platonic intimacy was a foreign concept to her now. Not anymore. Not since they had left. She had no one who worried about her, no one who cared if she came home, no one to nurse her through illness. Only these two had ever offered that kind of unwavering care.
And so, this once-common gesture, this simple act of familial affection, felt strangely distant, a poignant reminder of what she had lost. It wasn't that she lacked other friends, but the unique bond she shared with the brothers, a bond that had once offered unconditional love, felt irrevocably altered.