thank you.
thank you for this journey, for this year of immersion in the TIG universe. for all of your neverending support and your joy in this story.
i will miss every single one of you, my dearest viewers. i don't know when i will return to the archive, but i can promise i will not give up this fandom. when i have more ideas, i will return, and i hope they will be even better.
my deepest thanks to each and every viewer. i am honored to have given you even a little bit of joy with this story. thank you for spending your time with gray and avery, my otp and the true endgame ship of TIG. i hope this story has brought you just as much happiness as it has me.
this is the end, my friends. until we meet again.
peace out :)
our game is never over
—AVERY—
For better or for worse, life went on.
Max stayed in prison, voluntarily foregoing bail so she could see Xander more often. They called every Wednesday, and most of the conversations ended in tears. Avery had vowed to herself that, if the justice system wouldn't see reason, she would break them out if she had to.
Nash, Libby, and Jameson remained at Vantage, helping Ian repair the damage from the fire and making the isle a permanent home. Just two weeks after the trial, the news came that Nash and Libby were expecting a baby, and that both soothed and sharpened the pain.
Avery and Grayson lived in Hawthorne House for a few months, but they couldn't stay for long. Every room of the House carried memories that neither of them wanted to relive—the entrance hall and the library walls felt permanently streaked with blood. Avery couldn't even look at the wreckage of the broken bridge without spiraling into a panic.
So, as the sole tenants, they decided to put the House on the market—starting price: three hundred million dollars.
It took a long time for them to find a buyer, but on Avery's twentieth birthday, the offer—for three hundred and fifty million dollars, no less—came in. The buyers, an exceptionally wealthy, elderly couple called the Worthingtons, told Avery that they would need several months to get their things moved in, so they set the official date to turn over the keys for February—four months from then.
Packing up the Hawthornes' vast array of stuff was a Herculean effort, with much decluttering involved, especially in Xander's wing. Grayson was initially hesitant about shipping Xander's belongings to Vantage, but Avery convinced him that it wouldn't do for Xander to get out of prison—because she was certain he would—and have nothing waiting for him. His things were on the first plane to Scotland.
Xander's wing took four flights to ship, with the other three Hawthornes' wings only taking two or three planes each. Avery's things, the least numerous, were saved for last, along with those things that didn't quite belong to anyone but were nonetheless important.
Except for the beds, most of the furniture was left, as Vantage didn't have enough room to hold it all—and, besides, the House was worth more that way. Grayson insisted on bringing the piano, and Avery obliged him on the condition that she be allowed to bring the race car. Just those two things took up a whole other flight.
The worst part of the move was letting the staff go, particularly Oren and Alisa. A month before the official move-out date, tearful goodbyes were said, and every member of the staff was released with a bonus of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. For the last few weeks, Avery and Grayson did the housework themselves.
The House grew steadily more empty, with room after room becoming bare and unadorned. When the time came to ship the beds, they pumped up two air mattresses and slept in Grayson's room.
Every night, Avery watched Grayson, finally at peace in sleep, and worried about the scars the last year had given both of them. The wound in Grayson's side had healed perfectly, though it left a raised line slightly darker than his skin tone. Avery still limped sometimes—likely always would, according to her doctors. But the physical scars were nothing compared to the emotional ones.
More often than not, Avery still woke up screaming, Grayson crying, and when that happened they would cling to each other in the dead of night and listen to each other's heartbeats, reassuring themselves that yes, they were still here, together and alive and safe.
Don't let go, they'd say, and they wouldn't, not until the sun rose and the light came back.
"We'll go to therapy," Avery said one day, just before the move, when they were dusting off the chandeliers in the entrance hall. "When we get to Vantage, I mean. We probably should have gone a long time ago."
"No kidding." Grayson's laugh sounded hollow. "Can we go together?"
"Of course."
They started making plans—real plans, not the tentative, ephemeral ones they'd had to begin with. Plans for the new life they were about to build, for college and for children. When they were afraid to sleep, they would lay awake talking about the future, and Grayson's voice was the perfect lullaby.
The date of the move drew ever closer, and the last of the boxes were loaded onto a plane that, when it returned, would take Avery and Grayson back to Vantage—for good this time.
On the final day, it was pouring rain, and Grayson asked if they could go up to the chamber of strings one last time. Even though Avery didn't want to be anywhere near where Constance had died, Grayson looked so hopeful, so plaintive, that she agreed.
They took an alternative route up to the little reading nook, and for a long time they simply sat on the mossy branch, listening to the pattering of the rain and gazing at the strings of small beautiful things.
"Ave," said Grayson. "Remember the first time we came up here?"
Avery smiled. "I could never forget."
"That was the day I knew," Grayson whispered.
"Knew what?"
"That I couldn't just let you go. That I needed you to be whole." Grayson took her hand and squeezed. "That I loved you."
"Me too," Avery said. "That was one of the first times I saw you smile—really smile. And I remember thinking it looked like the sun after a storm, and it…it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. It still is."
She waited for him to smile like that again, but there was a question in his eyes.
"What is it?" Avery asked. "Is something wrong?"
"No, I just—I have to ask you something." Grayson swallowed so hard Avery could see it. "Before we go. I wanted to do it here."
"Do what?"
Grayson reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out a small black box. Avery's heart leaped into her throat.
"I know we're young," said Grayson quietly. "I know it feels like we're standing on the edge of a precipice. Everything is still uncertain, and it probably will be for a while. But one thing I am certain of is that I want to go into this unknown with you."
He flipped open the box, and nestled in black velvet was a silver ring, adorned with an opal glistening in the soft gray light.
"Avery Kylie Grambs," said Grayson. "Will you marry me?"
For a moment, there was only the rain and the pounding of Avery's heart.
"I once told you, Gray," she whispered, "that I was an expert at not wanting to want things."
She breathed, she looked at him, she beamed. "This one might be an exception."
"And I once told you that you had to be worthy of this life. Of us." Grayson's eyes were full of something that Avery now knew was called hope. "Isn't it strange that, after all of this, I'm the one that needs to be worthy of you?"
"You are," Avery said. "You always have been. So my answer will always be yes."
And then Grayson smiled like the sun after a storm, and he slid the opal ring onto her finger. "I love you, Avery Grambs."
Avery took his face in her hands and pulled him in, and his fingers wound gently into her hair, his grip tightening as she crushed her lips against his. He tasted like poppies and evergreen, like the home that waited for them across the sea.
She pulled back, just a little, and murmured, "Hawthorne."
"Hm?"
"Hawthorne," Avery said again. "Avery Hawthorne."
She wrapped her arms around Grayson, and he pulled her close and whispered into her hair, "Then I love you, Avery Hawthorne."
"And I love you, Gray," she said.
They took their final strings—the scarlet and the cobalt—and left the keys to Hawthorne House on the doorstep, then passed through the gates one last time.
And as they stepped into the great unknown, Avery took comfort in the fact that, no matter what it held, she would at least face it with Grayson.
As long as he was there, the storm would never break her.
—GRAYSON—
On July eighteenth, 2024, fourteen months after its closure, the Tobias Hawthorne murder case was reopened.
The court overturned the conviction and sentencing of Alexander Blackwood Hawthorne after a recording of the accused planning to frame himself for the crime was released on Instagram by Ian Johnstone-Jameson, the father of Alexander's half-brother, Jameson Hawthorne. The accused revoked his guilty plea and admitted to the authenticity of the recording, which was captured while the Hawthorne family was vacationing at the Johnstone-Jameson family home in Scotland.
When asked about the reasoning behind the false incrimination, Alexander refused to speak, invoking his right to remain silent. Police were forced to release him on August twentieth, as Alexander was eligible for bail for his new sentences of perjury and obstruction of justice.
Investigation is still underway, though many of the persons of interest in the case are unavailable for questioning. When an attempt to make contact with the Hawthornes was initiated, police were unable to determine their location or reach their phones.
It appears that the Hawthornes have departed Texas society entirely. Hawthorne House has been sold to the Worthingtons, another wealthy Texan family and owners of four major airlines. Has our state's most influential family finally left us?
If so—good riddance, we say.
"Good riddance to you as well," Grayson said under his breath. He closed the article and shut the laptop, staring into space as he tried to process everything he had just learned.
The ruling had been overturned.
Police had been forced to release Xander.
So Xander was…free?
"I'm not going to get excited," Grayson insisted out loud.
Brooks—Nash and Libby's son, six months old now—stared at him from where he sat on Grayson's hip. Of course, the baby wouldn't know what was going on, but even he looked skeptical.
"I cannot get excited," Grayson continued, "because nothing this good is ever true."
Brooks, of course, smiled, showing two tiny teeth.
"And you can't be excited either," Grayson scolded him. "Stop smiling."
His phone rang, and Grayson nearly dropped the baby as he scrambled to answer it. It was Wednesday, so this was just another one of Xander's calls from prison, surely that was it—
It was, in fact, Xander, and the first thing he said was "Did you bring the piano?"
"What?" asked Grayson, nonplussed. "Yes, we brought the piano. What's going on, Xan? I just saw the news—"
"We're on our way," said Xander. "Should be there in time for y'all's birthdays."
"Xan!" How could he be so nonchalant about this? "Explain!"
"I'm coming home." There was an audible smile in Xander's tone. "Get that through your thick skull, Gray. I thought maybe if we hadn't brought the piano, I might buy you a new one for your birthday, but I'll have to think of something else now. Although it might be late, since I'm already on the plane."
It was true, then.
Xander was coming back.
"Is this real?" Grayson whispered. "Tell me it's real."
"What do I have to say to make you believe me? Yes, it's real! I'll be there in two hours! Y'all better be ready!"
He promptly hung up.
Grayson didn't know whether to laugh or scream or cry. He stared at Brooks for inspiration, since those were generally his nephew's three modes.
Brooks blinked unhelpfully, then snuggled into Grayson's sweatshirt. Typical.
Everything seemed hazy and surreal as Grayson slid off his bar stool and walked dazedly upstairs to Avery's room. When he reached her door, he knocked and stood there until she opened it.
"Gray?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said, and then the smile came and he wasn't sure it would ever go away. "Something's right."
Avery must have read the news in his face, because she brought her hands to her mouth and said, "No. No way."
"Yes way," Grayson countered. "We have two hours until they arrive. I suppose Ian will have to pick them up, since the plane can't land here."
"You're kidding," said Avery. "There's no way! They said no bail!"
"Maybe they did. But they can't deny bail if there was never a sentence."
"How?" Avery whispered. "Why are they letting him go?"
"Apparently Ian released the recording of Xan planning to frame himself. I think we talked about it during the testimonials last year—Xan was under the impression that Ian had deleted the recording. He must not have."
"But that means the police will be on the case again," said Avery. "What are we going to do?"
"We're going to be fine," Grayson said. "We've got new numbers. We're legally citizens of Scotland now. There is nothing they can do to us anymore, Avery, I promise."
He pulled her in with his free arm and kissed her on the forehead. She pressed herself against his chest, reaching out to stroke Brooks' soft dark hair, and whispered, "It's really over?"
"As far as we're concerned, yes," Grayson assured her. "Our game is over."
"Then we'd better go tell the others."
Avery took Brooks, so she could return him to his parents and break the news to them. Grayson went to alert Ian, although it took him a while to find their host, who turned out to be in the wine cellar.
"Your deceit has apparently paid off," said Grayson. "I'd like to be angry with you, but I can't."
Ian turned around, his eyes wide and hopeful. "They let him go?"
"Yes. Thanks to you."
The bottle of wine in Ian's hand crashed to the ground, sending crimson liquid and glass across the floor, as he strode forward and gave Grayson a quick hug. "When will they be here?"
"Two hours. We'll have to get the house ready."
"I'll go prep the room," said Ian, and he disappeared up the stairs. His jubilant shout echoed down them, his distinctive crowing laughter following. Grayson followed him up, unable to wipe the smile off his face.
The main floor was a flurry of preparations, with Libby already whipping up several batches of scones and Jameson pouring champagne into glasses. Nash had intercepted Ian and tackled him into a bear hug, growling, "You are an exceptionally problematic man and a danger to society. You know that, right?"
"I know!" Ian shouted; he seemed unable to keep his voice down. "You can thank me later!" He tore himself away from Nash and dashed upstairs.
Grayson wasn't sure what to do with himself—everyone else seemed to be handling the preparations—so he went out to the cliffs to watch for the boat. He knew they still had a while until it came, but if he didn't get outside, he thought he might explode from anticipation.
The air was balmy and humid, with a soft breeze whistling through the long grass. The poppies had bloomed late this year, and though some were beginning to wilt, the cliffside was still lush and bright.
Grayson stood on the edge of the cliff, the wind in his hair, staring out at the tranquil turquoise sea, and spun his promise ring around on his finger—a recently developed nervous habit.
It still didn't feel real. Could his life actually be getting better? The very idea was so foreign, so inconceivable. Was it possible that Grayson could have everything he'd ever wanted?
And when he had it, would it be everything he'd hoped for?
"Hey."
Grayson didn't need to look to know it was Avery, but he did, and he put an arm around her shoulders, needing the tangible reminder of reality. In turn, she put her arm around his waist, her fingers tracing the scar on Grayson's side.
"You good?" Avery asked.
"Better than I've ever been," he assured her. "I just…I can't believe this is happening. I don't exactly have a history of good fortune. It doesn't feel real, Ave. Somehow I just can't believe that things are going right for once."
"Neither can I," Avery admitted. "But I know this is real, because sometimes it hurts, and it wouldn't hurt if we were dreaming."
She stood up on her tiptoes and whispered into Grayson's ear, "And if we were dreaming, you wouldn't be able to taste this."
Grayson let Avery pull him into a kiss, his hand cupping the back of her neck gently, and closed his eyes. She was the warm grass, the salty spray of the sea, and Grayson wondered what Avery tasted on his lips.
"You're right," he said as he drew back. "We're not dreaming."
"I'm always right." Avery slid her hand into Grayson's. "We still have a while before they get here. Why don't we take a walk?"
They descended the cliffside and walked across the beach, feet sinking in the sand, past the caves and the tide pools. Grayson was glad he was wearing flip-flops—his dress shoes would have been soaked. He still had to roll up his khakis so the ocean couldn't reach them.
"You know what I just realized?" Avery asked as they climbed the cliff again. "Xan will be here for the wedding."
"Just like Nash and Libby's," Grayson said. "He'll have to be the DJ again, I suppose, seeing as we don't have anyone else."
To tell the truth, Grayson and Avery had been putting said wedding off in the previously futile hope that they would somehow be able to get Xander and Max to Vantage in time. They'd set the tentative date for some time in early September, knowing that they would have to accept that their wedding party would be at least one, maybe two short—but now it would be complete.
When they reached the top of the cliff, they sat down on the steps and looked out again to the sea, squinting at the horizon as Ian set off for the mainland. There they waited, until the boat—the real boat, not a mirage, like those that kept appearing at random—came into view.
"There they are," whispered Grayson. "Ave, they're here."
"I know," she said. "I know."
They stood simultaneously, hand in hand, as Nash, Libby, and Jameson came out to wait with them. They all watched the boat as it carved a white wake through the sea, approaching steadily—much too quickly and not quickly enough.
The boat bumped up against the dock, and Xander and Max climbed out, followed by Ian, who was beaming more brightly than the sun on the water.
They all stood there for a moment, staring at each other, as if doubting that the others truly existed, and then Xander broke into a run, Max close behind him. Grayson glanced at Avery, and she nodded, her lips curving upward into a smile.
So Grayson let go of her hand and ran down the hill, ran to his little brother, and Nash and Jameson were right behind him. They met halfway down, and for the first time in fourteen months, Grayson threw his arms around Xander.
Being on a hill, they of course fell over—though that was usually the purpose of a tackle-hug like this. Grayson was sure his white shirt was streaked with grass stains now, but he found that he didn't care.
Jameson joined the hug rather violently, and then Nash did too, wrapping his arms around all three of them. At some point, the latter had started crying, and in under thirty seconds, they all were, because they had thought they would never have this again.
"You noble little idiot," said Nash huskily as they broke apart, and he took Xander's face in his hands. "I can't believe—I thought I'd never see you again."
"Hey, don't cry." Xander gave him a weak, watery smile. "I'm here."
"We all are," said Jameson.
Nash pulled them all back into his embrace, weeping unabashedly. Grayson buried his face in Nash's shoulder, clinging tightly to his brothers, and whispered, "Don't let go."
And they didn't, not for several minutes, until Ian said, "Alright, lads, break it up. We've got a recap to give our jailbirds."
"Yeah, you do!" Xander straightened up, wiping his eyes. "Why'd you release that recording? You promised not to!"
Ian didn't shrink, only gazed steadily at Xander. "I couldn't let you stay there. The newspaper really hit the slander hard, and I know what it's like in there—I know how people treat an eighteen-year-old kid. Face it, lad, I wanted you back."
Xander's lip trembled. "Of course you did."
"Besides," Ian continued, "there's nothing the police can do to you here. You've succeeded—" he spread his arms, beaming— "in getting away with murder!"
They had, Grayson realized. He'd prefer not to think of it as such, but they had, in fact, gotten away with murder. The old man was gone, gone to where he could never hurt them again, and they were gone too, gone to where they could finally live in peace.
"Y'all wanna go back up to the house?" Nash asked. "Xan's gotta meet his nephew."
Xander's whole face lit up. "Yeah! Why didn't we do that first thing?"
Nash laughed, clasping an arm around Xander's shoulders. "Come on, kiddo."
They all traipsed back up the hill, and Grayson found himself at the rear of the group. Avery hung back, brushing her hand questioningly against his, but he gave her a smile and whispered, "Just a moment. I'll catch up."
Avery smiled back, squeezed his hand, and disappeared into the entrance hall. Grayson turned around and walked to the edge of the cliff, sinking to his knees and pulling the silver cross from under his shirt.
"Thank you," he whispered to heaven.
He closed his eyes and breathed, felt the wind in his face, the sun on his skin, and let himself be happy, because now everything he'd ever wanted was in reach, and this time he would not let go.
The game was done.
The riddles, the secrets, the lies, they were all finished. No more deceit. No more pain. No more broken things, because the game had ended.
Still…
A new one was beginning.
The long game, where the prize was love and the glorious future he'd always been promised.
And Grayson Davenport Hawthorne was ready to play.
Because that game was never over.
finis