Epilogue - The Aimee Position Studio
Aimee
The red recording light glowed in the corner of my studio as I leaned closer to the microphone, my voice dropping to that intimate tone that had become my podcast’s signature.
“So remember, compatibility isn’t just about what makes your heart race—it’s about who makes you feel safe enough to be vulnerable.
That delicious, terrifying moment when you realize you trust someone enough to let them see all your messy parts?
That’s the sweet spot.” I paused, letting the words land before continuing.
“To start today’s episode, we have a very special group of guests.
You may remember them from a completely unhinged threesome call a few months ago.
Milo, Xavier, and their girlfriend June. ”
I switched to speaker and set the phone down, pulling up Instagram on my computer. “How’s life in polyamorous paradise?”
“Fucking amazing,” Xavier’s voice cut in, that edge of defiance I remembered from our first conversation still there, but softened somehow. “Like, legitimately amazing.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” I clicked on the most recent post from Milo’s account, a beautifully shot photo of the three of them at sunset, June nestled between the two men, her glasses catching the golden light as she smiled. The caption read: ‘Home isn’t always a place.’
It was a far cry from the awkward, slightly defensive call I’d received months ago, when Xavier and Milo had dialed in to my show on a dare, pretending to have a hypothetical question about “their friend” who was developing feelings for both his male best friend and a woman they were seeing.
I’d spotted the deflection immediately—occupational hazard of being both a podcast host and a trained counselor—but played along, giving them genuine advice while respecting their thin veneer of deniability.
“We wanted to thank you,” June’s voice joined in, precise and earnest in that way I’d come to recognize. “Your advice really helped. Especially what you said about communication frameworks for complex relationship structures.”
I snorted. “I guarantee I never used the phrase ‘communication frameworks for complex relationship structures.’ That’s pure June-speak.”
“She’s translating,” Xavier said, a smile evident in his voice. “What she means is thanks for telling us we weren’t freaks for wanting what we want.”
“And for suggesting that radical honesty was the only way forward,” Milo added. “Turns out you were right.”
As they spoke, I scrolled through their social media timeline, watching their relationship unfold in reverse.
There they were at a bookstore—Honeybee Books, according to the location tag—Xavier and Milo flanking June as she held up a book, her face alight with joy.
Another showed them at what looked like a test track, June in a company polo directing the guys on motorcycles.
And further back, the post that had apparently made it official—a beautifully shot video of the three of them at an overlook, Xavier and June on his motorcycle, Milo joining them, the three exchanging kisses that managed to be both tender and scorchingly hot.
“I’ve been following your journey on Instagram,” I told them, clicking on a video where Xavier was teaching June to ride his motorcycle in an empty parking lot, her concentration evident, his hands hovering protectively nearby.
“You guys are disgustingly photogenic, by the way. It’s almost offensive. ”
June laughed. “That’s all Milo’s doing. He makes us look good.”
“I have excellent material to work with,” Milo replied, and I could practically hear the fond glance he must have been giving his partners.
“So tell me honestly,” I said, swiveling in my chair and pulling my knees up. “How’s it really going? Because from the outside, it looks like you’ve figured out the secret to polyamorous bliss, but I know that’s never the whole story.”
There was a pause, some muffled discussion, then June’s voice returned. “It’s complex. Beautiful and complex. We’re still figuring out the balance—who needs what and when. Sometimes I need more space than they’re used to giving, and sometimes Xavier disappears into his head when he’s struggling.”
“And Milo?” I prompted.
“Milo tries to fix everything for everyone and forgets about his own needs,” Xavier supplied. “But we’re learning. All of us.”
“That’s the work,” I agreed. “The beautiful, messy work.”
“I keep waiting for it to fall apart,” Xavier admitted suddenly, his voice quieter, stripped of its usual bravado. “Keep thinking this can’t be real, can’t last. That I’ll fuck it up somehow or they’ll realize I’m not worth the trouble.”
The raw vulnerability in his voice made my chest ache.
I knew that feeling—the certainty that happiness was temporary, that you’d inevitably sabotage anything good that came your way.
Had felt it myself after Ryan had walked out, leaving me with a ring I never got to wear and the sickening feeling that I’d been naive to believe in forever.
“Xavier,” I said, keeping my voice gentle but firm, the same tone I used with callers who were spiraling. “That’s your trauma talking, not reality. Trust isn’t just something you either have or don’t—it’s a practice. Something you build, day by day, through consistent action.”
“She’s right,” June’s voice came through, soft with affection. “You’re doing the work, X. All of us are.”
“But how do I know it’ll be enough?” Xavier pressed. “How do I trust that this won’t just... end?”
“You don’t,” I said simply. “That’s the terrifying truth about love—there are no guarantees.
But here’s what you do get: you get to decide, every day, to show up.
To do the work on yourself, to recognize your patterns, to communicate even when it’s hard as hell.
And you get to build something that’s worth the risk of heartbreak. ”
I heard him exhale heavily. “Fuck, that’s not exactly comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be. It’s meant to be true.
” I pulled at a loose thread on my sweater, weighing my next words.
“Look, from one overthinker to another—stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s robbing you of the joy that’s right in front of you.
These two amazing people have chosen you, are continuing to choose you every day.
Try to let yourself believe that’s because you’re worth choosing. ”
The silence that followed told me my words had landed. Finally, Milo spoke again. “We’re not going anywhere, X. No matter how hard your brain tries to convince you otherwise.”
“What he said,” June added. “Statistically speaking, relationships built on open communication and mutual respect have a significantly higher success rate.”
I laughed. “And that, folks, is June’s way of saying she loves you and isn’t planning to bail.”
“Exactly,” June confirmed, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve done the math. You’re stuck with us.”
Our conversation shifted to lighter topics after that—their channel’s growing success, June’s work on the electric motorcycle prototype, my upcoming live show in their area.
By the time we said our goodbyes, promising to meet up when I was in Colorado for my tour, my heart felt full in that specific way that comes from witnessing people you care about finding their happiness.
I powered down my equipment, the studio falling into that perfect silence that always felt a little sacred—the space between recording, when ideas were still forming and nothing was fixed yet.
These three had found something rare, I thought as I gathered my things.
Not just love, but the courage to define that love on their own terms, regardless of convention or expectation.
As I stepped out of my studio into the main living area of my apartment, I pulled up another video on my phone—this one from Xavier’s account, showing the three of them in front of Honeybee Books.
Milo was filming as Xavier picked June up, spinning her around while she clutched a stack of books to her chest, laughing in a way that made her whole face light up.
When he set her down, she immediately turned and kissed him, then reached for Milo, pulling him into their embrace.
The casual intimacy of it, the easy way they occupied each other’s space—it was beautiful to watch.
“Is that one of your sex therapy patients?”
I looked up, startled to find Troy rummaging through my refrigerator while Rhett sat at my kitchen island, already halfway through a sandwich that definitely contained ingredients I’d been saving for dinner.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, clutching my phone to my chest. “How did you two get in here? And they’re not patients—I host a podcast, I don’t treat people.”
“Your brother gave us the code,” Rhett said, taking another bite of his sandwich. His firefighter uniform shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of the tattoo that stretched across his collarbone. “Said to check on you.”
“Ryker asked you to check on me, or to raid my refrigerator?” I crossed my arms, trying to look stern despite the fact that Rhett’s forearms were distractingly on display as he ate my food.
“He specifically said to make sure you had food,” Troy added, his head still buried in my fridge. “Didn’t specify whose food it needed to be.”
“I have plenty of food. Or at least I did until you two showed up.” I set my phone and bag down on the counter, fighting the smile that threatened to undermine my annoyance. “Why don’t you ever have food at your own place?”
Troy emerged from the refrigerator with an armful of containers, shooting me a grin that was probably effective on most women but just made me roll my eyes. “Because your food is better. And your brother made us promise to look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after,” I protested, even as Troy slid a plate with a perfectly assembled sandwich in front of me. “I’m a fully functioning adult with a successful podcast and a master’s degree in counseling psychology.”
“Who forgets to eat when she’s recording,” Rhett pointed out. “Ryker’s words, not mine.”
I bit into the sandwich rather than admit he had a point. My brother knew me too well—when I got deep into planning episodes or editing, meals became theoretical concepts rather than actual events.
Troy’s attention had drifted to my phone, which was still playing videos on silent. He picked it up, eyebrows rising as he swiped through. “So all your shows are about threesomes now?”
I snatched the phone back, heat rising to my cheeks. “It’s not a threesome, it’s a polyamorous triad. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, but they have threesomes,” Troy countered with that insufferable smirk that made me want to simultaneously smack him and... well, other things I refused to acknowledge.
“That’s not the point,” I said, taking another bite of sandwich to avoid elaborating. “And since when do you care about the content of my podcast?”
“Since your brother made us listen to a few episodes so we’d ‘understand your work,’” Rhett supplied, making air quotes. “Gotta say, it was educational.”
The idea of my brother, Rhett, and Troy listening to me discuss the finer points of sexual communication made something twist uncomfortably in my stomach. “Well, I hope you learned something useful,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster.
“Definitely,” Troy said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “That thing you said about the importance of non-verbal feedback? Changed my life.”
“Out,” I said, pointing to the door. “Both of you, out of my kitchen. Out of my apartment.”
Rhett looked at his half-eaten sandwich mournfully. “But we’re not finished—”
“Take it to go,” I insisted, already gathering containers to shove into their hands. “And tell my brother I don’t need a babysitting service, especially one that eats all my food and makes inappropriate comments about my work.”
“We weren’t babysitting,” Troy protested, though he accepted the armful of leftovers I thrust at him. “Just checking in. Like concerned friends.”
“Friends don’t make fun of other friends’ podcasts,” I said, herding them toward the door. “Or comment on their clients’ sex lives.”
“Not clients,” Rhett reminded me, echoing my earlier correction as he backed toward the exit. “And we weren’t making fun. Just curious.”
I opened the door, gesturing them through. “Curiosity satisfied? Great. Goodbye.”
Troy paused in the doorway, his expression shifting to something more genuine. “Hey, for real though—your podcast is good. You help people. It’s cool.”
The unexpected compliment caught me off guard. “Thanks,” I said, feeling some of my irritation fade. “Now please go eat my food somewhere else.”
As the door closed behind them, I leaned against it, letting out a long breath. My phone buzzed with a new notification—a comment from June on Milo’s latest post, a simple heart followed by “My boys.” Something warm bloomed in my chest at the casual possessiveness of it, the certainty.
Maybe Xavier was right to worry. Maybe there were no guarantees.
But watching these three build something beautiful together, something that defied convention but worked for them—it made me believe that sometimes, the brave choice was the right one.
Sometimes, the risk of heartbreak was worth taking for the chance at something real.
I returned to my kitchen and finished the sandwich Troy had made me, scrolling through more of Milo, Xavier, and June’s posts as I ate. Three people who had found each other against the odds, who were doing the work, day by day, to build something lasting.
If they could do it, maybe there was hope for the rest of us too.