Epilogue
Keeping my body sideways, I slowly make my way down the steep incline, one hand up and behind me, tightly gripping Ever’s as she follows my every step.
We’ve been on the move ever since we arrived in Mexico. After landing in Morelia, Michoacán, we’ve driven—in a car that wasn’t much bigger than that damn Mini Cooper I stole my bride in—rode horses—that were way bigger than the Mini Cooper—and are now hiking.
All for butterflies.
All for my butterfly.
We’ve already spotted hundreds of monarchs during our travel to the preserve, swarms of them fluttering around our car, then on bushes we passed on horseback, but the forest we’re in now currently holds over a hundred million monarchs keeping warm until the spring when they can start the first leg of their big migration.
The entire hike has been littered with dead orange-and-black bodies of butterflies. Everywhere you look basically are monarchs that didn’t survive after the flight down here.
It’s sad to think about—spending so much energy on reaching a destination, just to die when you get there. That’s essentially what happened to Ever. Or almost happened to Ever. She escaped Arthur, was about to be free of him, until she got it in her head that sacrificing herself, her life, her happiness, was an even trade for mine.
It wasn’t an even trade. It wasn’t even a possible trade because my life’s forever intwined with hers. Same with my happiness. And our life is just beginning.
Our guide, Vincente, stops us to point at the tree trunks.
“There. You see?”
I scan the trunks, noticing how textured they are compared to other trees.
The altitude up here has me out of breath as I ask, “They’re fuzzy?”
He shakes his head and grins. “They’re alive.”
“Those are butterflies, Major.”
I look again, this time at the movement of those textured trunks. They do look alive.
“Shouldn’t they be orange?”
“The butterflies are so tightly packed together, all we’re seeing are the tips of their wings. The black-and-white parts,” Ever explains, not as affected by the altitude since she’s well-traveled and I’m…not. Not yet anyway. We’re working on it.
Ever and I both applied to some of the best cheerleading colleges in the country and were accepted to several. All of them highly ranked, we chose the cheapest. Now we live in Florida, where we spend our days either in class—going after degrees in natural resources conservation—or on the mat, together. After twenty-five years of doubting cheerleaders as athletes, I’m now one. But only for Ever. I couldn’t let anyone else be my wife’s base. Truthfully, I like cheer way more than I ever liked wrestling. Having a partner makes every win, no matter how big or small, that much sweeter. It just so happens, I have a pretty big winner for a partner. Nobody at our college calls her Zero, but she’s definitely earned the title. Her precision inspires me to achieve my own, so even though this is my first year cheering, I work my ass off trying to match her skill level.
Every night, we walk along the beach—that doesn’t smell like sulfur but something else we can’t quite put our fingers on—then go home and fall asleep in each other’s arms, grateful that nobody knows or cares who Crue and Ever Brantley are.
Now that I have a little bit of money, I know it’s not what makes people good or bad. Money only provides more options. It’s what you do with those options that determines what kind of person you are.
We’ve been smart with ours, stretching Arthur’s inadvertent wedding gift out as long as possible. This trip is the first non-essential expense we’ve allowed ourselves. After visiting my parents for the holidays and checking on my dad’s recovery from back surgery, we flew down here—in coach—before our practices increase in both quantity and intensity in preparation for Nationals in April.
With it only being the beginning of January, the preserve warned us it might be too cold for the butterflies to fly around. They said it might even snow. I’m really hoping it doesn’t though and that the sun comes out so we get to see millions of monarchs take flight. A lot are flying around now, but most of them are sticking to the trunks and branches and leaves and—Holy shit, they’re on everything.
There’s a butterfly conservatory near where we live that we like to visit, but it doesn’t compare to Ever’s old one. A labor of love, hers was pure magic.
We don’t know what happened to it after Ever left the manor, but we’re optimistic the butterflies found their way out into the real world.
Mine did.
“Do you think any of your butterflies could be here?” I ask her.
“Doubtful.”
A single monarch dances in front of her, so she puts her hand out for it to land on.
Fascination lights up her face as she considers the butterfly on her palm. She’s seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of butterflies from the egg stage all the way through to adulthood, and she’s still amazed at every one.
It’s probably like when I look at Ever. From the first glimpse of her morning bed head to the last hint of her serene face next to me at night, I’m always captivated by her. Bewitched, as my mom put it.
“But…maybe their grandchildren.”
“There’s no way for you to tell? Like markings?”
“No. Only if there was a tag on it.”
“You can tag a butterfly?”
With a smile, she peeks at me. “You did, didn’t you?”
“I, uh, don’t think…” The butterfly-covered trees become very interesting as I avoid Ever’s general direction. I even point at one.
My wife’s chuckle brings my attention back to her. She’s just shaking her head.
“Yeah, I did,” I admit.
Vincente’s been pretending not to listen, but his eyes widening confirm he’s hearing every word.
“How?”
“It was back at the manor. I put a microchip in a couple of your bracelets.”
“The amethyst one?”
I jerk a nod. “And the tiger’s eye.” This shit’s so embarrassing out of context. I almost explain to Vincente that I was Ever’s personal protection agent, but don’t in case he questions why she needed one in the first place. The Munreaux name has been dead to us for months. We don’t so much as utter it anymore. I didn’t even put my time there on my résumé. I’d rather let people think I was unemployed for that month than have Arthur Munreaux’s name listed on anything of mine. It’s not like he’d be a good reference anyway. I stole his daughter off her wedding altar, prevented his company from cornering the market on hydrogen-powered electric motorcycles, and threatened to sink him like a retired ship.
Damn. I’m as diabolical as Ever.
Bars of golden sunlight cut through the forest, slicing between leaves and branches to send warmth out around us.
It starts slowly, butterflies falling by the dozens, then more and more, until suddenly they’re all cascading down off the trees like black, white, and orange waterfalls before catching air and taking flight.
Ever releases a quiet sob.
I shift my gaze to watch her instead. She’s in awe, absolutely transfixed by the dreamlike spectacle, and all I can think of is how lucky I am that I get to witness her like this.
“Butterfly?”
“Yes?” she responds distractedly.
“Do you want to be kept?”
Her shimmering azure eyes find mine. “Only by you.”
“Come on.” I pull her over to a flat spot and place her in front of me, both of us facing forward.
“What are we doing?” she asks, already setting her feet apart as I grip her waist. I’m good enough now, she doesn’t bat an eye at me throwing her places outside the gym.
“Double cupie.”
I toss her straight up and she completes a double body spin before I catch both her feet with my right palm. Without a hat on, I can see every detail.
Her hands in a V above her, my wife tilts her head back to take in the view. We’re surrounded by fluttering monarchs, both our bodies holding at least a dozen of the inquisitive insects each.
I’d do it all again. Arthur wasn’t just holding Ever back. He was killing her. She’s a flyer, meant to soar above us all. And I’m meant to keep her safe when she lands.
I’m meant to keep her safe.
I’m meant to keep her.
Thanks for reading Hide and Keep.