Epilogue
Cassius
Three years later…
The door opens, and I hear the familiar sound of Harmon’s keys getting hung on the hook beside the door. It’s silent as he slips his shoes off, and then soft feet pad around the corner and into the kitchen.
I smile to myself as I stir the sauce in the pan, knowing what he’s about to do.
We’ve had the same routine for two years. Two whole years of life being good.
Harmon’s hands slide around my waist, hugging me from behind. He kisses my neck, then my jaw.
“How was your day?” he asks.
“Hm, not bad,” I say, still stirring the sauce.
“Anything you want to tell me about?” he asks.
“Not that I can think of.” I smirk. “Nothing particularly exciting happened today. Just a regular, boring day.”
He huffs a laugh. “You’ll never stop being a brat.”
“Isn’t that why you love me?” I ask, looking up at him over my shoulder.
He takes the spoon from my hand and sets it down on the rest, then turns me to face him.
“It’s one of the reasons.” He kisses my neck again. “Another may be you hiding under my desk and sucking my cock at lunch.”
“I did that?” I ask, biting my lip to stop from laughing. “You must have me confused with someone else. I would never risk my job like that, Mr. Stone. I take it very seriously.”
He grunts and keeps kissing my neck.
Sexual activities at work are not typical for us.
I do take my job seriously, and we avoid each other at work most of the time.
Everyone is aware of our relationship, which was a stipulation from the board about relationships in general after the mess Oliver caused, and we keep boundaries to make sure everyone is satisfied with it.
It’s worked so far. There have been no complaints.
But Harmon has been especially busy lately, working on a new partnership, and he’s been getting home later and later. So maybe I snuck into his office today at lunch to show him how much I missed him.
Maybe.
He reaches for the button on my pants.
“You know we don’t have time for this,” I say, shoving his hand away.
“It’ll be fast,” he argues.
“We need to eat and leave, or we’re going to be late. In fact, I bet—”
“Knock, knock!” Cammy calls from the doorway.
Harmon gives me one last kiss before pulling away and straightening his tie.
“Oh my god! You’re not even ready yet!” Cammy shouts, staring at me.
“It’ll take me two minutes to get dressed.”
She comes over and shoves me away from the stove. “Go. I’ll finish this. We’re going to have to eat so fast!”
“Then maybe you should have cooked!” I call back.
She mumbles something that I can’t hear, but it makes Harmon laugh.
I go into the room to change into the outfit I picked out this morning.
It’s more casual than what Harmon is wearing.
I matched my button up to his tie and won’t have a tie.
If we both walk into Chrissy’s graduation with suit jackets and ties, we’re going to look like a bunch of lawyers.
Besides, that style looks good on him… not so much on me.
Our bedroom is spacious. Not as big as his was in the old house, but bigger than mine.
We settled somewhere in the middle with a house that has a lot of space, but not so much that we get lost or don’t know what to do with rooms. Harmon had no issue selling his property, and I didn’t care about leaving the apartment…
because he did exactly what he said he would do.
We bought land and built our dream house—okay, my dream house—with an in-law where Cammy and Chrissy live. It’s a short walk from here. I love having our own space but having them close enough. Letting go is difficult, but Harmon loves it. He loves having a family.
“You’re wearing bibs!” Cammy says as she scoops pasta onto three plates. “I have no idea what was going through your head when you decided to make pasta with red sauce for dinner tonight, Cassius.”
“I was thinking it’s quick and easy.”
“And messy!”
Harmon smiles at me from the table, bringing his glass of wine to his lips for a sip. I roll my eyes and take a seat across from him.
“Good thing we don’t have any bibs,” I comment.
“No, but you have these.” She tosses a fabric napkin at me, then nicely hands one to Harmon. He does as asked with zero issue, tucking into the collar of his shirt, while I grumble and complain about it.
Cammy acts like our mother, taking care of all of us all the time, even when we don’t want her to.
Going to nursing school has increased that motherly part of her brain because not only is she aware of everything that can go wrong, but she knows how to deal with it.
She’s prepared and full of useful medical knowledge.
I keep telling her she needs a boyfriend.
She says she can’t deal with that with nursing school.
I guess she’s right. She is busy all the damn time. I hardly see her.
When we found out she was accepted, I was convinced Harmon did something. He swore to me he hadn’t. It was all her. It’s not that I didn’t think she could do it, but I know how hard it is for people like us to go anywhere. But Cammy did.
And so did Chrissy, because if we don’t leave in ten minutes, we’re going to be late for her high school graduation.
“I am so glad Mom didn’t show up,” Chrissy says as she hugs us.
“I didn’t think she would,” Cammy says. “Sorry.”
“I don’t care,” Chrissy says. “You all are here, and that’s all that matters.”
We heard from our mother a couple times, after the restraining order expired.
I didn’t renew it because it felt weird to bring it all back up when things had been quiet.
The distance from her made me feel bad for her—a little—and not just hate her.
Not that I would let her back into my life or anything, but drugs are a serious thing, and addicts have a lot of problems. She’s not willing to get help, and that’s on her. But I still feel sorry for her.
Of course, every time she reached out, it was only because she needed something.
The answer was always no. I have no idea how she found my phone number, but I told her to lose it the last time I heard from her.
She must have. Or maybe she’s waiting to reach out again.
I can’t be sure, but it doesn’t matter. We don’t have to worry about her anymore. We have our own things going on.
Brandon, that same boy who was at Chrissy’s party a few years ago, and every one since, comes up to us.
“Hey, Chrissy, congratulations,” he says with a smile, opening his arms for a hug.
“Thanks, Brandon,” she says, her cheeks turning red. “You too.” She hugs him and they linger for a moment too long. I raise my brow at Cammy, who rolls her eyes. I almost say something about this prolonged hug, but she pulls back, red as a tomato.
“So, a bunch of us are going out to dinner in like twenty minutes. Do you want to come?” he asks.
“Hell yeah,” she says with a smile.
“Chrissy—”
“Leave her alone,” Cammy hisses at me. “Of course you can go. Just be home by one, please. And make sure you text.”
“In that case,” Harmon says, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “This should help.” He hands it to her.
“What’s this?” she asks, looking down at it.
“Your graduation present from me and Cassius.”
“Thank you! Love you!” Chrissy calls, taking off with that boy and shoving the envelope into her pocket beneath her graduation gown.
It’s a credit card… with no limit. Harmon insisted. I thought he was crazy.
“How much can one girl rack up?” he’d asked.
I only laughed.
Cammy gives me a little shove. “Why do you tell me to date but try to murder every guy she talks to with your eyes?”
I have nothing to say to that, so I say nothing.
“You already gave her your gift?” I change the subject.
“Yeah,” Cammy says with a smile. “I gave it to her before she left. I couldn’t tell if she’s wearing it…”
“I’m sure she is. It was beautiful.”
“It was, Camarra,” Harmon adds.
He helped Cammy pick out the necklace for her. They do things together sometimes, and I love it. It makes me so happy seeing the family we’ve created—as non-traditional as it may be. It’s ours and we love it. We’re happy.
The sun is setting, and the music is low as we drive home.
“Oh, how was your meeting today?” I ask Harmon. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier.”
He takes my hand. “You were occupied with your sister… and not getting red sauce on your shirt.”
Cammy laughs from the back seat.
“Did it go okay?” I ask. “Is everything done?”
“Everything is done,” he says with a relieving smile. “And I’ll tell you, we are all thrilled. Dealing with this for three years—the depositions, his ridiculous appeals—” He shakes his head. “It has not been fun, and I am glad it’s over.”
“What was the final outcome?” I ask, squeezing his hand.
“He got five years, and he’s financially finished.”
“Better than nothing,” Cammy says from the back.
“I’m just relieved his attempts at slandering my name weren’t heard by the public. That was my biggest concern.”
“It’s a good day.” I smile and lean back in my seat.
It’s not a far drive, but by the time we’re pulling into the driveway, my eyes are heavy.
“Want me to walk you over?” I ask over a yawn.
“I can manage,” Cammy says with an eye roll.
She gets out of the car and lifts her hand in a goodbye as she walks up the path to her house.
The only downfall is their front door is further from the driveway.
Harmon insisted on expanding, but she told him not to.
Said she likes seeing all the grass around the house.
I understand that—all we had at the trailer was mud.
At the apartment, it was concrete. Grass is nice.
And so are all the flowers her and Chrissy plant every spring.
Harmon lets us inside after I watch Cammy get into her house and the lights flick on.
There are lights along the walkway, so it’s not entirely dark.
Chrissy will have no issue walking there later when she gets home, but whoever drops her off better make sure she gets inside alright.
Not that it matters, since I won’t be sleeping until she does despite this house being outfitted with the best Phantom tech on the market.
She hasn’t had any big seizures since that day in Chicago three years ago, but she is afraid to get her license, though she does have her permit and will drive sometimes with us.
Only short distances, though. I try not to feel bad for her.
She hates that. But as she gets older, I notice that this is affecting her more than it used to.
Now that she wants to be more independent, there is more fear popping up.
All we can do is let her know we’re here for her for whatever she needs. And that’s what we do.
I shuffle to the bedroom, unbuttoning my shirt as I go. I’m peeling it off by the time I step into the bedroom and toss it on the chair. From the corner of my eye, I watch Harmon undress. We change into pajama pants and crawl into bed together.
I rest my head on his chest as his arm comes around me.
“Chrissy is going to be fine,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
I hum a sound of agreement, my eyes falling closed.
“I’ll wake you when she comes home.”
“Please,” I mutter.
There are shuffling sounds, then pages flipping, and Harmon begins to read as his fingers gently brush through my hair.
He does this every night, lulling me to sleep with his calm voice, reading me all sorts of stories.
It’s the most peace I have. And as I drift into sleep, the only thing I can think is that for the first time in my life, I’m not waiting for something to go wrong.