Epilogue
I’m a bundle of nervous anticipation as I stand in front of the window and stare outside, eager to see my father’s car pull into the drive.
He’s bringing Isla home from the hospital today.
She might’ve woken up from her coma a few weeks ago, but she had to stay in the rehabilitation wing before they’d allow her to come home.
It was scary at first—how her injury seemed to have erased so much of her brain. She struggled to find the words she was looking for and kept jumbling the timeline of events leading up to the night on the cliff. But the doctors assured us she’d be okay, and … they were right.
Isla was a quick study. She relearned how to walk and talk and feed herself by going to hours of physical therapy, and she never gave up.
She also worked on improving her memory with a variety of guessing games and looking at lots of photos of familiar faces.
Like her family. Her friends. Students at school, as well as teachers.
She got the hang of it at a rapid-fire pace, able to identify people, places, and things within seconds.
Her determination won over everything else—she wanted to go home. She wanted to feel like herself again.
She also started seeing a therapist. I have, too.
All of us Vales have, actually. Going through something so traumatic weighed heavily on all of us, and we desperately needed someone objective to unload our pain and feelings on.
Someone to help us process everything that happened and come to terms with who we are on the other side of our experience. It’s helped me a lot.
“He should be here soon.” I whirl around at the sound of Connor’s voice. He stands in the open doorway with his shoulder propped against the doorframe. “I just spoke with Whitney. Your father called and said they’re five minutes away, if that.”
I don’t move from my spot at the window. “I want to see his car the minute it gets here so I can go out and greet them.”
Connor approaches, settling one hand on my shoulder as he stands behind me. “You’re a good sister.”
I lean into him, savoring his strength. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
I turn to face him and rest my hands on his chest. He looks good.
You’d never know he got the crap beaten out of him only a few weeks ago.
The bruises and scratches are gone, though his healing arm is still in a cast, which he hates and can’t wait to get rid of.
He says it itches terribly, and more than once I’ve had to scold him for trying to shove all manner of pseudo-sharp objects under the cast to scratch with.
Whitney explained that most men—not all, but definitely my dad—are huge babies about injuries, illness, and physical discomfort in general. She might be on to something.
“I’ve never lived with them—all of them—before. The last time Isla and I lived under the same roof, I was six years old and she still wore pull-up diapers at night. What if we don’t get along? What if she resents me being here?”
“She won’t.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m pretty certain she’s excited to get to know you better.”
I frown. “Who told you that?”
“Isla.” He shrugs. “What can I say? We text each other a lot.”
Right. Once Isla’s neurologist cleared her to look at screens, she started texting Julian and Connor.
The first because she was ready for him to get his head out of his ass and go public with their relationship, and the second because she needed to bond with someone over her grief about Emily.
I wish I’d known her. From the stories I’ve heard, she was an amazing human—funny and bright, with an unrivaled passion for baby animals and Love Island.
Regardless of the details, she was someone loved by two people I love.
That’s all I need to know to understand the world lost someone precious when she died.
“Don’t be nervous,” Connor reassures me when I still haven’t said anything. “They’re all glad you’re here. Even your mom.”
“You’re right,” I say with a sigh. I’m staying in England for the time being.
Mom has moved to an outpatient rehab program, and her new roommate—surprise, it’s Doug—is helping her navigate her new sobriety.
Doug offered to let me stay with them, but everyone, including me, thought it would be better if I stayed on this side of the Atlantic for now.
Besides, if I’m being honest, I’d much rather be here.
Mainly because of Isla and Connor. Well, and my dad and Whitney, too. And Sophia.
It turns out there are a lot of reasons for me to live here. It feels so good, realizing I’m starting to put down roots.
“It’s going to be great.” Connor dips his head and settles his mouth on mine for a too-brief kiss. “This is the perfect chance for you and Isla to spend time together. You should cherish that. I wish I had more time with my sister.”
I immediately feel terrible. “You must think I’m selfish.”
“No. Never.” He shakes his head. “It’s normal for you to feel apprehensive, but I think everything is going to work out just fine.”
He kisses me again. And again, until we get a little too caught up in each other. We only break apart when Whitney clears her throat extra loud.
“They’re here,” she announces as she walks toward the front door.
Not even the delicious, familiar heat of Connor’s mouth is enough to keep me from running to the door. Whitney opens it, and I scoot out before her, racing down the steps and making my way to the passenger side of Dad’s car. I open the door for Isla and make a sweeping gesture.
“Welcome home!” I practically shout.
Isla climbs out of the car with a dazzling smile on her face, and before she can say a word, I pull her in for a hug.
We hold on to each other for a long time, saying nothing, though it feels as if we’re communicating with each other anyway.
The relief that I feel at having her here, out of the hospital, is immense to the point of overwhelming.
I can barely speak because I’m so overcome with emotion.
I’m grateful that she’s finally home and that we’re all together.
So grateful.
We finally break apart, tears shining in our eyes as Whitney makes her approach, pulling Isla into her embrace.
“Oh, sweet girl. We’re so glad you’re home,” she murmurs into Isla’s hair.
It’s almost the same exact thing Whitney said to me when I came back to their house for the first time. I heard the sincerity ring in her voice when she said it to me, and I can hear it again, now. In this moment.
We enter the house together, Connor waiting for us in the foyer. When Isla spots him, she gives him a big hug. After she pulls away, they share a sad smile, and Isla wipes the tears from her cheeks before she turns to face us.
“The Harringtons will be here soon,” Whitney announces. “We wanted to make sure it was just family greeting you home first. Didn’t want you too overwhelmed.”
“Thank you.” Isla’s voice is soft, and she tilts her head back, taking everything—including us—in. “It feels good to be home.”
…
Whitney had the luncheon for Isla’s return catered so she didn’t have to do anything in the kitchen beyond make Isla her favorite chocolate cake for dessert, which she did earlier this morning.
The Harringtons are sitting at the table with us, and they brought Julian along with them.
Our father has come to terms with the fact that Julian and Isla are in love, despite the veritable blood feud between him and Max Ashworth.
But Dad can’t deny that since the day she woke up, Julian has been at the hospital by Isla’s bedside whenever he didn’t have school.
He’s been helping her walk the corridors and playing memory games with her.
Bringing her stuffed animals and flowers, or her favorite sweet treats.
The way he looks at her and how he takes care of her … none of us can deny it.
Julian cares about Isla deeply, and she feels the same way about him.
We’re making idle conversation after we finish eating, when Headmaster Harrington sends Connor and me a pointed look from across the table.
“I hear you two are going on a few university tours soon.”
Connor and I share a look before I answer for both of us. “We are, and I can’t wait. We’ve come up with a fairly extensive list, scheduled private tours at most of them … we even have a list of historical sites to visit en route. No hasty decisions from us, I can promise you that.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Mrs. Harrington smiles at me.
“I’m just glad you’re staying here,” Sophia says from where she’s sitting by my side.
Reaching out, I rest my hand over hers. “Me too.”
“I’m also taking her around London to show her the sights,” Connor adds. “Claims she wants to get to know the city better.”
“Oh yes. I’m going to make him take me to every tourist landmark there is.” Connor groans, making me laugh. “He’ll have to ride the hop-on, hop-off bus while doing it, too.”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” Connor mutters, shaking his head.
“As long as I don’t sing, you’ll be fine.” I elbow him in the ribs, making him chuckle.
“We should all go together,” Isla suggests, sending a look to Julian, who nods his encouragement. “That could be fun.”
“You should come with us, too,” I tell Sophia.
“I would love that.” Sophia beams.
Whitney excuses herself to the kitchen to prepare the chocolate cake, and Mrs. Harrington goes with her. My phone rings in my pocket, and I pull it out to see MOM flashing across the screen with a FaceTime call. I answer it immediately.
“Billie! You look so pretty,” Mom greets me.
I feel my cheeks heat at her compliment. “Hey, Mom. So do you.”
But “so pretty” doesn’t even begin to cover it. Mom looks amazing. Her eyes are bright, and her skin isn’t as sallow as it was before she went to rehab. Her cheeks are full, too, like she’s been eating regularly again. I’ve never seen her look better.
“Thank you. We just wanted to check in.” She waves a hand to someone off-screen, and Doug appears, a smile on his face as he raises his hand to me in greeting. “Doug reminded me Isla is supposed to come home today.”
“She’s here already. We were just having lunch.” I flip my phone’s camera and aim it at Isla, who waves.
“Hi,” Isla tells her with a smile.
Their relationship is tentative at best, but I believe it’ll grow stronger with time.
Isla wants to get to know Mom better at her own pace, but she told me it makes her nervous, letting our mother back into her life.
I don’t blame her, and neither does Mom, so they’re going to take it one day at a time. It’s all they can do.
“Got my chip today.” Mom holds up the Alcoholics Anonymous milestone chip in her hand. “Thirty days sober.”
“Congratulations.” I smile at her.
“Whitney texted me last night. She mentioned she has some friends who own art galleries here in the city. Once I finish a few paintings, she’s going to talk to them, see if she can get my work in a gallery for a showing,” Mom explains.
“That’s so exciting.” I laugh, my joy for Mom’s improved health—her improved life—bubbling through me. “Better get to work!”
“I’ll keep on her,” Doug says, beaming at Mom.
Doug didn’t waste any time once I left for England.
I didn’t think anything of it when he asked where Mom was—in fact, I was happy to have someone stateside who might pop in to visit every now and then.
But Doug understood the assignment a little differently.
He visited Mom every day, supported her in her recovery, and moved her into his apartment once she was ready for an outpatient program.
Most impressive of all? He finally sold that shitty bar.
He told me a man who loves a woman who struggles with alcoholism doesn’t come home from work smelling like beer. It was that simple for him.
I’m so, so happy for them both. It’s reassuring, knowing Mom has Doug to take care of her. And in her own way, Mom will take care of Doug, too.
Doug is a good man. My mom is lucky. So am I.
We say goodbye and hang up the call when Whitney enters the dining room carrying the cake, which is covered with lit candles. When Isla spots them, she begins to laugh.
“It’s not even my birthday,” she teases when Whitney sets the cake in front of her.
“We’re celebrating your return home.” Whitney’s voice is hushed, and her eyes are glassy. “Candles felt … appropriate.”
“I encouraged her to do it,” Mrs. Harrington adds with a laugh as she settles back into her chair.
I glance around the table, my gaze lingering on each familiar face.
I care about all of the people sitting at this table.
They’ve all become a part of my family, even Julian.
I can’t imagine my life without any of them, especially Isla and Connor.
That I came so close to losing both of them has brought crystal clarity to my life.
I’m learning how not to be alone anymore—how to let myself love and be loved.
I’m coming to terms with the fact that pushing people away doesn’t prevent them from hurting you—it just makes you miserable all the time.
And in what might be the greatest irony of all, being Belinda Winters taught me what it really means to be Billie Vale.
Sister.
Daughter.
Friend.
Girlfriend.
And soon, college student. I’m really excited to add that identity to the list.
I’m surrounded by family. People I adore and love. I scan the table, letting my gaze linger awhile on each person. When I finally get to Connor, I discover he’s already looking at me. Waiting for me to see the love shining in his eyes.
I lean my shoulder into his and whisper, “I love you.”
He drops a kiss on top of my head. “Love you, too, Billie.”
“Even when I sing?” I bat my eyelashes at him.
He laughs, leaning in so his mouth hovers above mine. “Yes, even then.”