Epilogue
JOEL
“R ight, well I think that’s the last of the boxes,” I say, setting them down on the kitchen counter then wiping the sweat from my forehead.
“Beer?” Key asks, opening the fridge behind me.
I nod. “Definitely.”
He grins and grabs two bottles, which clack together as we sit at the kitchen bar. We crack them open as we take stock of all the boxes that are officially moved in from Dusty’s laundromat apartment. I’m tired just thinking about unpacking them all. Maybe that can wait until tomorrow.
“Can’t believe we made it,” Key says as he peels at the label on the bottle.
I smile and use my shoulder to give him a little shove. “I know. It’s great.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he says.
“Me either.”
“Who would’ve thought, huh?” Key says again.
“Well, it wasn’t for lack of convincing,” I remind him.
He grins. “She’s a stubborn woman. But she couldn’t stay there. Her quitting her job aside, I don’t think I could stand another week not being under the same roof.”
I take another sip, then ask a question I’ve wondered since I found out about Dusty and Key’s past. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Key’s brows furrow. “Tell you what?”
“About her. About what happened.”
He chews on his lip. “I don’t know,” he starts. “It just hurt too much. I didn’t just lose her, I lost the baby too. I lost the home and family I always wanted. It was finally within my reach and cruelly got torn away from me. Then, just when I thought my own parents might have finally found some compassion for me, they sent me to that academy like a damn prisoner. If I had any idea that they had told her I didn’t want her . . .”
The muscles in his jaw grow taut, and he drags his bottle through the ring of condensation on the counter. I wait, careful not to rush him.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
I nod. “I understand. I’m sorry. About everything.”
“I can’t help thinking maybe it was always meant to happen this way. After all,” he says, turning to me and grinning, “how else was I to become a tortured artist?”
I smile back and the two of us take a long drink.
The door opens behind us and Dusty walks in wearing the shortest shorts I’ve ever seen and a loose shirt that covers a neon purple bra and tumbles off one shoulder. Stella, upon her arrival, slinks through her ankles then runs off down the hall, meowing loudly as if to claim her territory. “Hey! I thought you guys were supposed to be helping,” she says, setting the bag of clothes down and walking over to us with a deliberate sway in her hips. “And here you both are, drinking without me.” She pouts dramatically.
My hand squeezes her hip and she smiles at me. “These are the last of your boxes, princess. I think we’re done for today. Besides, we’re going to have to start getting ready soon,” I say. “Can’t be late. The show is sold out thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?” she asks.
“Of course,” Key adds. “You’re the one who got Logan on tape confessing his claims were bogus. All Izzy had to do was give it to her friend at the Chronicle .”
“I’m just glad that’s all over.” She sighs. “I’m so excited for tonight. I can’t wait to finally see you all play for real,” she says, doing a little dance where she stands.
“Yes, but first . . . I think we have time for a quick shower. If we all go together, that is.”
Her smile turns into a sultry grin. She backs up, pushes down her shorts, takes off her shirt and walks toward the bathroom. Both Key and I stare after her, that gorgeous freckled body perfectly at home with us in this house.
She turns back and raises an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you boys coming?”
We give each other a look, clink our bottles, then drain the beer before tripping over ourselves to follow her down the hall.