Epilogue

Gabriel

Eleven months later

Gripping a rolled down, oily paper bag, I enter the cottage through the mudroom, Lunchie’s bright bark and rush to greet me making my chest hum.

This life. I can hardly believe it’s mine.

“Happy Anniversary.”

River appears in the doorway from the kitchen, wearing a short, black dress and heels. She stretches a hand up along the doorframe and pops a knee. “Which are we doing first? Eating, house hunting, or celebrating in other ways?”

“Other ways.”

My answer comes immediately. I bridge the gap and wrap her in my arms, breathing in her vanilla scent and velvety smooth skin. “You look insanely beautiful.”

I drop the bag on the bench so both hands can circle her hips.

She kisses me deeply, and for a moment, I forget everything. The hassles and headaches of starting my own non-profit while simultaneously growing my coaching clientele have been a lot lately. But I’m fulfilled. I love my wife, and I love my dog—that we share with Skye, of course. Skye’s still thriving at Caring Souls, and she even got a part-time job in retail greeting customers.

And in case you’re wondering, we continued with the weekly anniversary gifts all year long. Sometimes it was as simple as a short, handwritten letter or a pack of a favorite brand of gum. Other times, we splurged on jewelry. One week, River gave me a booklet of handmade coupons for things such as “massages administered by my sexy wife”

and taking over the bathroom cleaning for the week. I even gave her a new robe, since her old one really had become threadbare. She still wears the purple one on occasion though, thankfully.

River breaks off the kiss. “Lunchie!”

she protests, snatching the bag from the dog’s roving nose.

“I agree with the idea of ending the evening with food,”

she says. “But you’ve got to let me see what you brought home.”

I reach to grab the bag. Come on. I have a speech to share first.

But she’s too quick for me as she dodges away and into the kitchen, unrolling the bag and taking in a big whiff of the contents. “Tacos?”

She points to the logo on the bag. “From Casa Queso?”

She moans with a “Mmmm. How did you know I was craving Tex Mex?”

“It’s not tacos.”

Her eyes move into slits and she cocks her head to one side. The lilting music of our doorbell breaks through the magic between us.

“I’ll answer that,”

I say, happy to drag out the dinner reveal a little longer. It’s probably one of my brothers or their wives.

I open the door, ready to remind them it’s our anniversary and to be quick about it, when I’m met with my dad’s scowling face.

“Dad?”

I haven’t seen him much since our big fallout in the penthouse. Besides family events, in which he mostly keeps his distance from me, we haven’t spoken. I’ve missed him. I didn’t realize how much until I see him standing under my porch light, holding a gift bag.

“Your mom tells me it’s your anniversary,” he says.

I nod, lightning shooting across my skin. I’m bracing myself for what he might say but also, it’s good to see him again. “Come in,”

I say, opening the door further and stepping aside.

He hesitates, but steps through the threshold just as River joins me.

“Hi, Thomas,” she says.

“Hello, River,”

my dad glances around the room. “Nice place.”

“It’s very nice, but we’re in the process of looking for a place of our own,”

River says. “We’ve taken it slowly because there’s really no rush since Gabriel’s friends have no immediate plans to move back. But I think it’s time to get more serious about it.”

“Your mom told me that. Good luck with the search.”

River glances at me before stepping to the sofa. “Have a seat.”

“Uh, no. But thanks. I just wanted to stop by and give you an anniversary gift.”

He hands it to her. “It’s just a couple of gift certificates and a pen set.”

I have to laugh. It’s the quintessential gift from Thomas Tate, with the exact delivery method of telling you what the gift is before you even have a chance to open it. My mom always gives him a hard time about that habit.

I lean over to take a peek in the bag through the tissue paper. “Thanks, Dad. That’s great.”

Dad clears his throat and scratches at his eyebrow. “I also want to say . . . well, I wanted to apologize for how I reacted to Prague, son.”

He chews his bottom lip, his gaze going everywhere but mine.

Before I can respond, he squares his gaze on me. “And I don’t know if you kept it or not but if you happen to still have that medallion you gave me when you were eleven, I’d love to have it back.”

A pause. My heart is pounding through my ears and throat.

“I don’t deserve the accolade in any way,”

he continues. “But it’s a prized possession that I lost my head over and I’d appreciate getting it back.”

He rubs a fist under his eye. “If you already got rid of it or don’t want to give it back, though, that’s understandable.”

“Wait.”

I go to the mudroom and unearth it from under a stack of mail. The glass is still sporting two spidery cracks through the center and the frame is starting to come apart in the corner.

“I kept meaning to throw it out or repair it, but I didn’t do either.”

I hold it out to him.

It’s silly, really, that the small gift from when I was a kid could represent so much.

He takes it from me and runs a thumb across a crack. “No, this is great. I’ll get it fixed. Thank you.”

He bunches up his mouth before going on. “Gabriel, I’ve decided to start the process of retirement for real now. The board’s begun the search for possible candidates to take over and I’ll spend the next year or so working with him or her for a smooth transition.”

He shoots out a quick breath. “I wanted to ask you to come back, if you’d like.”

He glances at River. “And if River feels good about it.”

Sharp ice carves out my stomach. She and I had discussed this possibility, along with many other scenarios that could come to fruition in our future, and I know what we decided. I reach a hand to her, and she closes the gap, holding it with both of her hands. We share a glance, and I know we’re on the same page.

“I’m honored you’d ask me, Dad, but I’m going to have to decline.”

At his frown, I go on. “I love what I’m doing. I approve of my life. I don’t need your approval anymore, but I would like us to repair our relationship, if that’s possible.”

Dad nods. “Of course. I kind of figured you’d say you didn’t want to come back to Foundations, but I had to try.”

He lifts up the frame. “Thanks again. And . . . best wishes for many happy returns on the day.”

So not a typical “Dad”

way to exit a room, but I’ll take it.

“Wow,”

River says curling into a hug after he’s gone. “That was kind of . . . big.”

“It was. I appreciate him coming. And just so you know, I don’t have any doubts or misgivings about continuing in the career I’ve got now.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She gives me a swift kiss, then draws back, her mouth widening in a grin. “I have something for you.”

She digs into a pocket in her dress and pulls out a folded-up piece of paper. “I always swore I’d never do this. Like, ever. But I wanted to start our anniversary night with something lighthearted.”

“Can I see?”

I say, reaching for the paper.

“No, I want to read it to you.”

She clears her throat. “In fact, go sit over there, please.”

She points to the sofa. “Makes it a little nicer if I feel like I have an audience.”

I sit down with a chuckle under my breath, and she starts in, her posture straight, her voice as serious as if she’s quoting Shakespeare.

“In the soft glow of theater light,

his joking dances, a lovely sight.

Two dimples form, like full, round moons,

a secret world where I downright swoon.”

The poem she wrote as a teen about my dimples?

She starts to laugh, and her face stains pink. After I encourage her, she moistens her lips and continues.

“With every smile, his dimples dive,

dancing along in their own little jive.

Deep as the lake, the endless beyond,

in those valleys, where I belong.”

I stand when she finishes, shaking my head and clapping. “That was the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

She scoffs. “It’s truly terrible poetry but my heart was sure in it.”

“I wish I’d paid better attention and gotten to know you and . . .”

I hug her, nuzzling in as close as I can. “. . . realized what a precious gift your presence in my life would be. I’m sad all that time was wasted.”

“It’s okay. We can keep making up for lost time.”

We kiss some more until she pulls apart when her stomach growls.

“Maybe we should eat next?” I ask.

“If it’s not tacos, what is it?”

“You mean you didn’t peek when I went to answer the door?”

“I tried! But there were a lot of napkins in the bag, and it was hard to tell!”

“It’s bean burritos, okay? I know, I know. Not romantic in the slightest. But I promised you one, remember? To celebrate our year of marriage and a job well done.”

Her eyes grow large. “Yes! And hey, I want to give you your gift before we eat.”

“Are you sure? You seem pretty hungry.”

She only smirks. “Here’s your present.”

She goes on her tiptoes so her lips are right at my ear. “You ready for it, my love?”

“Yes.”

A jolt goes through me, shaking me into the knowledge that River’s gift is going to change our lives.

Her hands snake up my back, her breath at my throat. “There’s a bean in my burrito, Gabriel.”

I sputter as she steps back, gauging my reaction. I’m unsure what she means.

Then she sees it, the moment it hits my awareness.

“A baby?”

I breathe.

Her squeal of joy is all I need to kick me into movement. I lift her in my arms to spin her, but we only make it halfway around before her lips find mine.

Our kiss is gentle and searching. A celebration.

Her feet make contact with the ground. I cup her cheek in my hand, brushing my thumb over her chin and lips. Memorizing every sensation that comes from her, that is her.

“Do you approve?”

she challenges, a fleck of a question in her eyes.

“Oh River, I approve.”

I’ve gotten used to living on terms that I approve of.

What started out as a ruse is the most honest thing I’ve ever done.

The best thing I’ve ever done.

I stare at her in wonder—my beautiful wife and the mother of our child.

We whisper our "I love you"s far into the night. Over and over again.

Milo

A Friday night eleven months earlier

My older brothers are full of secrets.

And it’s the weight of secrets that has brought me to my favorite Denver hole-in-the-wall Italian place, Raymond’s, to eat alone. If I swim in the focaccia, the butter, and the chunky red sauce, maybe I’ll be able to forget for a moment that I’m being chased by an expectation that has its claws in me so good I’ll have to sever my own arm to be free of it.

For years, Henry lived life in hidden corners of the world—on the edges of what the family was privy to know. It made sense since he worked in Army special forces and in high-powered, private security in Europe. Still, it wasn’t easy not to know where he was or what was happening in his life.

Sebastian’s another story. His secret keeping isn’t overt. It’s his emotions he keeps private. The drive to be strong—to lead and protect his brothers—keeps his feelings buried inside.

Sometimes, I feel a pulse of anxiety about that. I’d give just about anything to know and help carry his inner struggles.

Grief is what Alec tries to hide. His life was punctuated by the loss of love and career. He’s healing from it, but the shadows behind his eyes aren’t hidden from me.

Even Oliver’s and Gabriel’s happier personalities have their limits. No matter how much enjoyment they manage to squeeze out of life, there are aspects of their early lives I’ll probably never know anything about.

And then there’s me.

The youngest.

At Raymond’s, you only ever have three options in servers: Nico, Raymond’s surly son; Ann, in her fifties and related to Raymond in some way (she’s only slightly less surly than Nico); and Rose.

Tonight, I’m the luckiest man alive because I got Rose, and when she comes to refill my water glass, I’m so tripped up by the way she looks in her starched, fitted white, button-down shirt and short black skirt, that I forget what I was going to order.

She looks, in a word, radiant.

“You need another minute to look over the menu?”

Her voice is professionally polite, but the way her lips curve into a smile tells me she knows exactly what happened—that I’m temporarily waylaid by her beauty.

“No, uh, I’m ready.”

I give her my order, which she scribbles on her pad, before sliding the pen in her waistband pocket.

“Is this your first time at Raymond’s?”

she asks, taking the menu from me and tucking a strand of dark hair back into her clip. The light is dim in the restaurant, probably not by choice but because it’s on the end of a very old strip mall that has seen better days—and those days were in the nineteen seventies. The light fixtures hold so tightly to their coating of dust I doubt they’ll ever come clean.

Still, it’s light enough to cast a bit of a glow over the planes of Rose’s face, her sculpted, high cheekbones, straight nose, and glossy, pink mouth.

Like I said, radiant.

“I’ve been here a few times.”

I don’t mention that I’ve seen her here before and haven’t ever been fortunate enough to be assigned to her table.

She steps to me, bending down so she can lower her voice. “I’m just asking because the dish you ordered?”

She hesitates, checks over her shoulder, and then pulls a face, sticking her tongue out to the side and crossing her eyes.

I snort a laugh, nearly losing all the water I’d just swallowed.

“What should I have instead?”

I’ll admit it: I was trying to impress her by ordering the pasta with sardines and Sicilian mushroom risotto, the most authentic of all the dishes. The most expensive.

Her face lights up in a smile. “Do you trust me?”

Before I can answer, she continues on. “Because I have something I think you’ll really, really like.”

I already know that she has a lot of things I really, really like. But since this isn’t about her and I feel out of my element trying to flirt with a server, I tell her to go for it. “Bring me whatever you think I’d like,” I say.

Her lips press together, and I realize when she does that, her mouth draws up like a rosebud, like her name—vibrant, alive, lush.

“Prepare to be amazed.”

Her tone is so matter-of-fact, her eyes taking me in, that I can’t help but think she means more than just the food.

I shake my head to clear it when she leaves for the kitchen. I’m supposed to be strategizing a plan for what I’ll say to my family about my future.

I’ve been an open book until now. There wasn’t really any other choice. Having five protective older brothers means my life has been on display for them.

It could have gone another direction—I could have been mostly forgotten about in the shuffle. But that’s not how the Tates roll, and for better or worse—each of my brothers have taken a shine to their youngest brother. I’ve never doubted that they love me. In all honesty, I’m close to each of them.

In a lot of ways, I feel like the luckiest of all the Tate men.

Except, I have secrets of my own.

And that pressure keg that holds these secrets inside will eventually have to burst open.

When it does, when my father and Sebastian find out I don’t want to work for either of them, I really will feel like an amputee. Their disappointment is going to be a phantom pain I’ll never be able to shake.

When Rose returns with the food she chose for me, her brows knit together and she’s frowning. At first, I wonder if it’s because the plates are heavy. But even when she sets them down on the table in front of me, she seems preoccupied, maybe even a little shook up.

“You okay?”

I venture, thinking she’ll probably wave me off with a quick smile and an I’m fine!

But she doesn’t. Tilting her head to the side, she twists that rosebud mouth to one side.

“Can you keep a secret?”

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