Epilogue
I wake up in a cold bed.
I’m unhappy about it, which is new, considering I haven’t been unhappy since Maine, not really.
It’s been an interesting few months since Riggins and I went to Maine since we uncovered our history and put it back together. We’ve written under the stars, finishing the songs for the next Atlas Oaks album, and I’ve sent a few to my agent. It seems songs written by the duo of Riggins Greene and Stella Hart are a hot commodity, and more than one bidding war has occurred.
We finished the upstairs of our house and two weeks ago, we threw a much delayed house warming party. The whole band and friends the band and Riggs have made over the years came over. Some of which I knew, and it was great to see them again, others I’d never seen before.
Evie came too, though she’s in a strange position between our mother and me. I’ve stuck to my promise to cut her out completely, but my twin’s entire personality is so intertwined with getting reassurance and positive reinforcement from her.
In my gut I know one day, she’ll hurt Evie, but when that happens I’ll be here waiting.
I haven’t spoken to either of my parents, though somehow (I blame Reed, who has the biggest mouth on this planet), word of what she did to Riggins and me has gotten around, making her even more of a pariah than she was before.
All that to say, life has been good. Really fucking good. We still have our struggles, and we absolutely argue—that’s a given. But every night, I go to sleep with Riggs next to me, and every morning, I wake up with him in our bed, which is why I’m irritated with this morning”s proceedings.
I shuffle out of the bedroom, squinting and grumpy. When I get to the kitchen, I blink a few times and see the clock reads 10 am.
How did I sleep so late?
Opening the cabinet above the coffee maker, I reach for the bread. Yawning as I untwist the bag, I place a piece into the toaster before reaching for my pills. On one of the bottles is a bright yellow post.
Had an early meeting.
Text your sister.
All my love, R
I roll my eyes at the note, grabbing the bottles and tapping out my pills before downing them with water before starting my coffee. When it’s brewing, I reach for my phone to text my husband.
Where are you?
He texts back quickly.
Had a meeting. You text Eve yet?
I just woke up.
Where’s Gracie?
With me. Text your sister, little star. See you later.
You took our dog to a meeting?
When are you going to be home?
Where are you now?
Also, why didn’t you tell me you had a meeting?
I send the texts in an irritated, rushed sequence.
Explain later, I can’t be on my phone. Text Evie. Love you.
You’re annoying.
You’re the worst.
I leave it like that for a moment, grabbing milk for my coffee and a plate for my toast before I decide to send one more.
Love you too.
He doesn’t respond, but I don’t expect him to. Instead, I sit at the kitchen island with my coffee and toast before texting Evie.
Why is my husband telling me to text you?
Because I’m awesome.
What’s going on?
Something is going on, and both Riggins and Evie are in on it.
I’m coming over for lunch
That doesn’t answer my question.
She doesn’t respond.
Everest.
There’s still no reply five minutes later when I finish my toast. I could text Reed or Wes or, maybe, worst case scenario, Beckett, except he hates texting, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t be of any use.
Instead, I get dressed and grab my notebook to sit on the porch swing while I wait for whatever my sister and husband have planned to fall into place.
I’ve learned to go with the flow.
I’m just getting out of the shower, my hair dripping onto the Aspen Oaks tee that goes almost to my knees when the front door opens. Gone are the days of forgetting to set my alarm or lock my door, considering Riggins outed my pen name and a literal rock star is living here, which means it’s someone who has a key.
“Oh, perfect,” my twin says when she closes and locks the door behind her. “Let’s play dress up.” She lifts what looks like a dress bag in the air.
“What?” I look at my watch. “Didn’t you say you’d be here at noon?”
“Yeah, well, I had a meeting that went too long trying to secure my next tour,” she says. Her first spread following a band on tour skyrocketed her career, and the magazine wants her to keep doing them.
“Say the word, and I’ll talk to Lee about getting you on the Oaks tour,” I say, half joking, half hopeful. I’ve been saying it for nearly two months now, and each time, she shuts me down.
“I don’t want to deal with the nepotism shit, Stell. I told you.”
“Yeah, but we’re going on tour next summer, and I’m going to miss you,” I say with a pout, sitting on my couch.
“No, no. No sitting. We’re playing dress up.” I glare at her change of subject. “Up, now. Go to your room, the vanity.”
“What’s going on?”
“We’re having sister time, obviously,” she says, tugging my hand until I”m still. “I want to play dress up just like when we were kids. I want to do your hair and makeup.”
“Evie, we never played dress up.”
“That’s because you were too busy running after Riggins, but you’re all married and shit now, so you have no excuse.”
“Evie—” I start, but then her face gets serious.
“Stell, please. Trust me, okay?” I sigh.
I have no choice, so I walk toward my room, my dog walking behind me.
“Evie, it’s almost dark,” I say as we sit in her car, driving… I’m not sure where. She spent a full hour doing my hair, blowing it out, and adding gentle waves before moving to my makeup, which took another hour.
It felt like I was getting ready for the prom I never went to. Evie was always the more high-maintenance twin, mostly because it was what our mother wanted.
Now I’m sitting in a cream-colored dress tight around my nonexistent boobs and loose around my hips, ending just past my knees with puffy short sleeves, a pair of my own short booties, my face fully made up and heavily… confused.
“That’s the point,” she says, pulling down a familiar street.
Beck’s street.
“Evie…” We stopped in front of Beck’s house, and I noticed the cars there. Reed’s, Beckett’s, Wes’, and Riggins’ are all parked out front. “Evie,” I repeat, this time starting to get nervous.
It melts when my door opens, Riggins standing in front of me, smiling. His hair is down but brushed and less unkempt than normal, a short sleeve white button down and a pair of tan pants on, boots on his feet.
“Hey, little star.”
“Where have you been all day?” I ask.
His smile goes wide, his dimple coming out. “Somewhere.”
“Why are you all being so weird and vague?” He grabs my hand, ignoring my question and tugging me out of the car.
“Come on,” he says with a tip of his head toward the woods.
“Come on?”
“Yeah. Come on, Stell.”
“What do you mean, come on?” He shakes his head at me.
“I mean come with me. Follow me. God, you’re the one who writes songs. You’re supposed to know what words mean.” I sigh but begrudgingly start walking with him. Evie, in a loose light green dress, walks quickly toward the woods ahead of us.
My pulse starts to beat.
“Where are we going?”
He doesn’t answer as he pulls me into the woods, but he doesn’t really have to, does he?
As we near the clearing, I hear it.
The jingle of tags.
A bark.
I don’t have to catalog it this time since I hear it regularly, but my hand still tightens in Riggs’. I open my mouth to say something but close it again when we finally step into our clearing.
“What is this?” I whisper, looking around.
There are sunflowers everywhere.
Sunflowers and wildflowers with a small arch at one end. A man I don’t know is wearing a small smile, and I barely notice the photographer snapping shots as my eyes meet the guys, all dressed in shirts and light green ties. I almost laugh when I see how uncomfortable they look, but I can’t when Riggins answers.
“Our wedding,” he whispers. “The way it should have always been. In our place, under the stars.” I tip my head up to see a few stars out, the sky not all the way dark but getting there, now that summer is coming to its end.
Then, my husband gets down on one knee, holding up a ring to me.
A real ring, not the thin promise ring I’ve taken to wearing on my right hand after I dug it out of my jewelry box. A large round diamond in the center with smaller triangular ones surrounding it.
“A star for my star,” he whispers. My voice catches as the world crashes into me, as understanding hits.
“Are you proposing?” He just smiles.
“I can’t do it without you, Stell.”
“Do what?” I whisper.
“Anything. Life.” Giving him a small, soft smile, I shake my head. Not saying no to his unasked question but refuting his words.
“You can do anything you want, Riggings. You’re you. You’re amazing.” It’s familiar, words we once exchanged in this clearing what feels like forever ago.
I wonder how those kids would feel seeing us standing here now.
“Fine,” he says, proving he remembers it the same as I do. “I don’t want to do it without you. Marry me, Stella. For real. Be mine forever.”
Words don’t work for the first time in my life, a cry hitching in my throat, and he keeps speaking.
“I won’t ever let you go. I’ll loosen my grip so you can breathe, so you can chase your dreams, but Stella, I’m never letting you go again. I’m honored I get forever to see how bright you burn.”
And there, under the stars, in the meadow, I first fell in love with Riggins Greene; I married my best friend.
Again.