Epilogue
DAKOTA
Rain drums against the roof, a soothing rhythm that almost, almost, drowns out the persistent ache in my chest. It’s the first rain in… forever.
Steam rises from the kettle, fogging the window that looks out on the endless green surrounding our cottage.
“Tea selection!” Sienna drops a wooden box onto the kitchen counter, making me jump.
“We’ve got options today, courtesy of Cameron’s last supply run and finding the house of a tea fanatic.
” She flips open the lid, gesturing like a game show host unveiling the grand prize.
“We have English Breakfast for basic bitches, Earl Grey for fancy bitches, some weird herbal shit that smells like feet…”
I lean against the counter. “Impressive haul.”
“Wait, I’m not done with the presentation.” Her fingers dance over the tea bags. “Peppermint for upset tummies, chamomile for anxiety, which, let’s be honest, we all fucking need, and…” She picks a yellow packet, then freezes mid-motion. “Um, lemon ginger.”
Something warm and sharp pierces my chest. “That was Amelia’s favorite.”
Sienna’s hand hovers mid-air, uncertain.
“I used to make it for her after treatments.” Usually, mentions of Amelia turn me mute, not chatty. “Said the ginger settled her nausea.”
Sienna’s hand finds mine, her fingers squeezing gently. “You want it?”
“Chamomile. Please.”
Three months of nightmares that won’t quit. Jumping at shadows. Expecting wolf zombies behind every tree. Anxiety sounds about right.
She prepares our mugs, dunking the tea bags in steaming water. “You think Ramirez found someplace good? With Maya and Leo?”
I shrug. “Somewhere with high walls and hundreds of escape routes, knowing him.”
“I miss the little shit.” She blows across her mug. “Leo, I mean. Not Ramirez. Though I guess he was alright too.”
“Ramirez knew what he was doing.” I take the mug she offers, wrapping my hands around its warmth.
“No use wondering about what can’t be changed.” Rosa’s voice comes from the doorway, startling us both. She shuffles into the kitchen in fuzzy slippers, her silver hair twisted in a bun. “He wanted his own path.”
“Morning,” Sienna says.
“Is Arianna up yet?” Rosa accepts a mug from Sienna without being offered. “She mentioned wanting to cut her hair, and I told her it was a terrible idea. Her face shape won’t suit it short.”
I hide a smile behind my mug. Rosa pretends to be annoyed, but I’ve caught her teaching Arianna to make empanadas three times now. “I don’t think they’re up yet.”
“Lazy.” Rosa huffs, stirring honey into her tea. “In my day, we were up at dawn.”
The back door swings open, bringing a gust of cold and damp air into our cozy warmth. Cameron steps in, dripping water onto the hardwood floor before shedding his coat and walking over to us.
“Morning, beautiful.” He bends to kiss Sienna, who squirms away.
“Ew, no.” But she’s laughing, the protest halfhearted at best. “You’re soaked.”
I glance past him. “Where’s your brother?”
“Right behind me, last I—”
And there he is, Julien, rain-slicked and handsome as always. His t-shirt clings to the contours of his chest, water dripping from his hair. Our eyes lock, and that familiar sensation tightens in my stomach.
Three months, and it still happens every time.
He shuts the door, crosses to me in three long strides, and plants a quick kiss on my lips, then—without warning—hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Hey!” I grab fistfuls of his wet shirt as blood rushes to my head. “What are you doing?”
His hand anchors firmly on the back of my thigh as he heads toward the balcony.
“Julien! Put me down!” I try to sound stern, but laughter bubbles up. “I’m in my pajamas!”
“Perfect.” He carries me through the house, ignoring Rosa’s amused snort and Sienna’s wolf whistle.
He pushes through the French doors and sets me on my feet. Rain immediately soaks through my shirt and shorts, plastering my hair to my face, but I’m not cold. Not with the way he’s looking at me.
“Cameron!” He calls back into the house. “Hit it!”
Seconds later, slow and sweet music swells from inside.
Julien turns to me, extending his hand with exaggerated formality. “May I have this dance?”
I stare at him, water streaming down my face. “Are you insane? It’s pouring!”
“Yes,” he agrees solemnly. “And you’re beautiful. Dance with me.”
Before I can argue further, he pulls me against his chest, one hand at my waist, the other clasping mine.
I stumble, laughing. “What has gotten into you?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to see you smile.” He twirls me, sending water flying from my hair in an arc around us. “The real one.”
My feet slip on the wet wood, and he steadies me with a firm grip on my waist.
“Ready?” He asks.
“For—” I gasp as he dips me backward, rain falling directly onto my face.
The cold droplets hit my skin like tiny bursts of reality.
This.
Not safety, though we have that now, tucked away in this mountain cottage with supplies and weapons and high fences. Not food or shelter or even the absence of threat.
He lifts me upright, spinning me again, that rare full smile breaking across his features like sunrise. The one he saves just for me. My chest opens, something shifting into place that’s been broken since Pine Lake. Since before that, maybe. Since I can’t remember when.
And I’m smiling back.
The real one, like he said.
The memory of those videos I used to watch flashes through my mind—couples spinning through puddles, soaked and grinning, not caring how they looked or what anyone thought.
I’d watch them on repeat, wondering what that freedom felt like.
What it meant to be so present, so alive, so unafraid of looking foolish.
Now I know.
It feels like this. Like Julien holding me steady while the world spins. Like rain washing away the heavy weight on my shoulder and mind.
“I know it hasn’t been easy,” he murmurs, lips close to my ear. “These past months. For any of us, but especially you.”
I rest my cheek on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath the wet cotton. “I miss her. Every day.”
“I know.” His hand tightens at my waist. “But you’re still here. Still fighting. Still the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
I meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you.”
“Yes, you would.” He brushes wet hair from my face. “That’s one of the things I love about you. You’d survive without me. But I’m fucking grateful I get to be here anyway.”
My heart stumbles, skips. “You love me?”
He looks almost surprised. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“You’ve never said it before.”
“Figured you knew. Every time I hold you. Every time I kiss you.”
“That’s not the same as saying it.”
“No.” He spins me. “Guess it’s not.”
My hands fist in his soaked shirt. “So say it.”
He chuckles and drops his forehead to mine, noses brushing. “I love you, Dakota. Love how you sing when you think no one’s listening. Love that you still check on Sienna before you sleep. Love that you survived your father and still chose kindness.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, and I’m smiling even as tears slip down my cheeks that can’t be seen because of the rain.
“Love that you’re dancing with me in the rain even though you’re probably freezing.”
“It is kind of cold.”
His mouth curves against my temple. “Love that you stayed.”
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“You could’ve gone with Ramirez. Could’ve struck out on your own. You stayed because you wanted to.”
“Maybe I just like the cottage.”
“Maybe you love me too.”
“I-I’m terrified of losing you.”
“Not what I asked.”
Amelia wanted me to live. To fall in love properly, she said. To choose things for myself.
I choose this man.
This moment.
Meli, I think I found my place.
I throw my arms around his neck. “I love you. So much it scares the shit out of me.”
He wraps his arms around me. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Means you won’t leave.” His lips find mine, the kiss tasting like rain and relief and promises. “Means I get to keep you.”
I kiss him back, pouring everything I can’t say into it. All the fear, the love, the desperate need to believe we might actually survive this.
“We’re doing this.” His eyes flick between mine. “You and me.”
“Dancing in the rain?”
“Everything.”
It won’t last—grief never fully retreats—but for now, dancing in the rain with the man I love, I feel something like hope, like I’m finally living instead of existing.
We stumble through the bedroom door, lips never breaking contact, bodies slick with rain and want. Julien kicks the door shut behind us. His hands are everywhere—in my wet hair, gripping my waist, gliding down to cup my ass—each touch leaving fire in its wake despite our chilled skin.
“Need you,” he growls against my mouth. “Right now.”
My back hits the wall with a soft thud. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, ankles crossing behind him. The hard ridge of his cock presses against my center, drawing a gasp from my lips.
“Missed this,” I pant between kisses. “Missed you.”
He chuckles. “I’ve been right here.”
“Too busy.” My fingers tangle in his hair, needing him closer. “Supply runs. Fortifications. Haven’t had you to myself in days.”
His teeth find my lower lip, tugging gently before releasing. “Let me make it up to you.”
His hips roll against mine, the friction electric even through layers of fabric. I arch into him, chasing the sensation. My thin shirt clings to my skin, nipples hardening against the wet cotton. He notices and drops his mouth to my breast, sucking through the fabric.
“Ah.” My head hits the wall.
“Fuck you’re hot.” He lets me down and tugs at the hem of my shirt. “Arms up.”
I comply, letting him peel the soaked garment off me. He steps back just enough to yank his own shirt off, the movement sending water droplets flying from his hair. The sight of his tanned skin, defined muscles, and that trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband steals my breath.