Epilogue
EPILOGUE
TATUM
A while later…
“ W here are you taking me?” I ask. I’m still not sure how he did it. How he managed to keep the location a secret for so long. I blame the noise-canceling headphones he gifted me for my birthday and the sleeping pill he placed in my hand as soon as we got to our seats.
Clever, Paxton Turner. Very clever.
With a yawn, I peek out the airplane window in hopes of piecing together where we are, but I’m as clueless as ever.
“Rise and shine, Birthday Girl.” Pax kisses my cheek, then laughs. Reaching up, he runs his thumb along the side of my face, and my brows furrow.
“What is it?”
“Sleep lines.” His smile softens. “Fuck, I love you.”
My heart pitter-pattering like always whenever he says those three words, I lean into his hand, soaking up his affection. “Love you, too.”
“Come on.” He grabs our carry-ons from the overhead bin, hooking his backpack over one shoulder while grasping the handle to my bright red bag and leads the way from our first class seats to the jetway.
As we pass an adorable couple talking to their toddler, my brows bunch. “Are they speaking…German?”
Tossing me another smirk over his shoulder, Pax reaches back and wiggles his free hand, urging me to take it. When I do, he tugs me toward him, pulling me to his side instead of letting me trail behind. “Surprised?” he murmurs.
“Uh, definitely. Germany?” My eyes widen as the word rolls off my tongue. “Are you serious?”
“Welcome to Berlin, Birthday Girl. But we should hurry so we don’t miss the train.”
“Train?”
“Come on, slow poke.”
“But what about Berlin?” I motion to the windows lining the walls giving us a gorgeous view of a country I’ve never visited until now.
“We’ll see the sights when we get back. Come on,” he repeats. “If we miss the train, we’re screwed.”
“And where is the train taking us?” I ask.
“Halberstadt.”
The name makes me pause. Halberstadt? Why does that sound so familiar? Before I have a chance to question him on it, Pax tugs my hand again, and I pick up my pace.
Halberstadt, it is.
It’s a four hour train ride, but I soak up every second. Peering out the window, I take in the different shades of green covering the hills and the gray and sand-colored cobblestones lining the roads. By the time the diesel engine pulls up to the station, I’m like a full sponge, practically brimming with excitement and awe. We’ve traveled quite a bit over the last year, and it’s been nothing short of incredible.
There are a lot of perks to loving a rockstar who’s also obsessed with travel, and a surprise trip for my birthday is definitely one of them. After arriving, Pax arranges for a car to take us to an adorable bed-and-breakfast with a red door and poppies planted out front.
“This place is gorgeous,” I gush as the driver opens the back door and the gentle breeze hits my cheeks.
Lacing our fingers together, Pax lifts my hand, bringing it to his lips. “Thought you might like it. Welcome to Halberstadt.”
Halberstadt. There’s that name again.
Then I hear it. The low hum of an organ. It’s the same note, er, notes . Like a single chord being dragged out to infinity.
It can’t be.
Tilting my head, I shift my attention from Pax to the cozy bed-and-breakfast, to the small church across the street. It isn’t anything spectacular to look at, if I’m being honest. Hell, it blends in with the rest of the landscape. Sandy gray stone. Arched windows. Humble, almost. It only makes the avalanche of awe rush over me more.
“The song,” I whisper. Turning back to Pax, my lips parting, I ask, “How did you…”
“They’re changing the chord in a few hours. Figured we could check in to the bed-and-breakfast, maybe unpack, then head?—”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him as hard as I can, caught off guard by the building pressure behind my eyes. This man. How in the world is this man so freaking sweet?
When my heels touch the ground and he pulls away, finding my eyes red, he says, “Seems Squeaks is rubbing off on you.”
I sniff, pressing my finger against the corner of my eye in hopes of warding off a sobfest. “Apparently.”
“So, how do you feel about it?”
With a mock glare, I wipe beneath my nose. “Not great, thank you very much.”
He laughs. “I meant being here, not turning into Squeaks.”
“Oh.” I sniff again. “It’s perfect, and you’re perfect, and…” I exhale slowly. “And we should go inside.”
“I like your thinking.” Pax tosses his arm around my shoulders and guides me into the bed-and-breakfast. It’s cozy and cool and homey and…absolutely perfect. Once we’re settled into our room, Pax opens a bottle of wine, pours me a glass, and hands it to me as we sit on the terrace overlooking St. Burchardi Church. The same familiar hum of the organ plays as we sip our drinks until the bottle is empty and a timer on Paxton’s phone rings from the bedroom.
“It’s time,” he murmurs. “Come on.”
It’s beautiful in its simplicity. The church. And busy. The stone archways almost give the place a castle-like feel straight out of a fairytale with warm stained wooden beams along the tall ceiling. It’s the perfect church for a quaint, small town like this one. A simple organ of rich wood and tall pipes stands roped off near the back of the building. It’s smaller than I expected. The realization intrigues even more, calling to me like a homing beacon. I move through the crowd, my fingers threaded with Paxton’s until we reach a small open space near the front.
“Sorry, it’s so busy,” Pax mutters. “I debated on bringing you when they weren’t changing the pipes, so it would be a little calmer, but?—”
“It’s perfect.”
His brows dip in concern. “You sure?”
I nod. “Yeah, Pax. Absolutely perfect.” Reaching onto my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek. “Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better destination.” I look around the church in awe. “It’s crazy, you know? How a single person can make such a lasting impact on so many people’s lives. Like seriously, look at all of these people. They’re here to watch someone change a pipe on an organ so it can play a new chord in a song written by an experimental composer who was convinced that the experience of the song was more important than the actual song itself.” I shake my head. “It’s crazy, don’t you think?”
“Inspiring,” Pax decides.
Reverence spreads in my chest, and I squeeze his hand. “Yeah. Definitely.”
“Do you think any of them are ready?” he asks. “The locals. They’ve experienced the same note for almost two years. Do you think they’re ready to experience something new?”
I consider his question and the weight it holds. There’s something comforting in the familiar. I should know. I was too stubborn to pull myself out of the destructive rut I was in for years until I met Pax. And it’s crazy to think about it. How much time I spent drowning in sadness and resentment. I still miss Archer. I always will. But there’s something healing in it, too. In letting go. In accepting change instead of fighting it. In learning to appreciate the new sound while accepting how much you’ll miss the old one.
“I guess we’ll see,” I whisper when a woman appears at the edge of the audience.
Slowly, she walks through the crowd and removes the rope barrier separating everyone from the organ. Methodically, she slides gloves on as an older gentleman speaks to the attendees in German. I don’t know what he’s saying. I can’t understand him. But even if I could, I’m not sure I’d be able to take my eyes off the woman as she carefully picks up a pipe resting on a white cloth on top of the organ. The man goes quiet, and the woman nods at him, approaching the organ once more. Sliding the pipe into place, the chord changes, and a wonder-filled hush blankets the church except for the beautiful new chord ringing throughout. Like a wave, it rolls over me, and I close my eyes, committing it to memory. The sound. The feeling. The acceptance of change and all it brings with it.
“How long have you been planning this?” I whisper.
“Since the moment I told you about the song.” He glances at the organ again, then looks down at me and cups my face. “Listen, I know I’ve given you this speech a few times, but, uh, let me do it one more time, yeah?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low so I don’t disturb any of the other attendees.
Instead of answering me, Pax reaches into his pocket and retrieves a little black box, making my heart stall in the process.
Holy shit. If that’s what I think it might be, I’m going to pass out. Or vomit. Or vomit, then pass out. Honestly, anything’s possible considering the circumstances.
“I love you, Birthday Girl,” Pax murmurs. The slight rasp of his voice mingles with the low hum of the organ, making me weepy but in the best way possible. “I love your loyalty. I love your heart. I love your sass and your wit. But most of all, I love how deeply you love. How you let it consume you, even when it’s scary or reckless.” Keeping me tucked into his side, he opens the box and kisses my temple. “I love you so much, and I’m really hoping you’ll do me the favor of giving me the rest of your life to keep loving you. To keep showing you how much you mean to me. How you’re my everything.” A sheen hits his eyes as he exhales slowly. “Will you marry me, Birthday Girl?”
I stare at the gorgeous diamond ring tucked inside the box and all it signifies. “You’re doing this here?” I whisper.
“Not sure there’s a better place to do it.” He faces me and takes the ring out, reaching for my left hand as my stomach knots and my vision blurs with unshed tears. Rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand, he slips the diamond into place and brings it to his lips. “You’re the only one for me, Tate. And I know Archer is some pretty steep competition, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one for you, too. I want to make it official. Will you marry me?”
Marry me.
After Archer’s passing, I was pretty positive I’d never want to hear those words. Not from anyone. But seeing Pax? The love and devotion and reverence in his pretty brown eyes? It blankets me in so much peace and assurance, I don’t even have to question it. My feelings or my answer. Obviously, there’s only one.
“Yes.” With a watery smile, I lift my chin, and he kisses me again, making me the luckiest girl in the world.
Thumbing the worn pages, I open the same notebook I’ve carried around for years. After the pipe change, we ate dinner at a restaurant down the street, drank another bottle of wine, then came home and made love before Paxton fell asleep. And even though I said yes, and meant it with every fiber of my being, there is still something I need to do.
The tip of my pen hovers over the page for a solid minute, my eyes welling with tears as I press it to the paper.
Archer,
Hi. It’s been a minute. Not since I’ve thought about you. I still think about you every day. Still wonder if a piece of you is out there. Watching over us. In the beginning, when I started seeing Mav and Ophelia and…everyone really, moving on, I thought that because they didn’t appear heartbroken, they didn’t think about you anymore. Didn’t miss you anymore. But now that I’m here, I see how wrong I was. How unfair I was. To them. And to myself. And to you. Like you’re so easily forgettable, am I right? Not even close.
I want you to know I’m happy. It’s taken me WAY too long to recognize that I can be happy while still missing you. I didn’t understand it before, but I do now.
If you are out there somewhere watching over me, you’ve probably caught a glimpse of two—or a billion—of me with Pax. He’s pretty great. Super patient and understanding. You’d love him. I know you would. You’d approve, too. Of how he treats me. I don’t know if you sent Pax to me, but if you did, thank you. And if you didn’t, well, still thank you. He won’t replace you. No one can replace you, Archer. But he does make me happy.
When I was in the church today, I couldn’t help but wonder if you were watching me. If you were there, hidden in the song. I can’t wait for you to watch the rest of my life unfold and all of the note changes to go with it. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to listen to the completed piece together. As. Slow. As. Possible. But until then, I'll keep writing my own song, grateful for every note that comes my way and how it shapes who I am.
Love always,
-Tate