EPILOGUE
DAMON
Five Months Later
Who do I think I am?
“Oh my God!” Sage groans as she approaches me. She scowls, brow lifting. “Again with the sign?! Damon, for the last freaking time, it’s straight! Everything is perfect, okay? You need to calm down. You’re a second away from popping a dang blood vessel.”
I draw in a shaky breath, fingertips tingling as I take in the exterior of the gallery.
My gallery. Cavanaugh Gallery. If I were simply hosting other artists, I’d heed Sage’s advice and calm down.
I’d relax. I’d loosen the tension in my shoulders and my posture.
I’d be confident that tonight’s opening will be a success.
That critics will sing the praises of the artist.
But it’s my exhibit.
Mine.
I swallow, glancing down at the exhibition catalog in Sage’s hands.
Cavanaugh Gallery Presents:
Grief by D. Cavanaugh
Five Rooms. Five Stages. One Immersive Experience.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I mutter, closing my eyes. “What if they hate it?”
“What if they love it?” Sage bumps me with her hip. “It’s normal to be nervous, Damon. Tonight’s a big deal. This exhibit, it’s…it’s vulnerable. Raw. I get it. You’re allowed to be anxious, but you should also be excited. Look at what you accomplished.”
We step into the gallery, and I glance around the temporary walls that split the gallery into a structured maze. Five rooms. Five titles. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
I didn’t like the idea at first. Why would people care? Why would they want to walk through a visual representation of my trauma? My pain? Plus, I barely had any finished pieces. They were a disaster. Half done. Chaotic. Nonsensical.
And now those paintings are hung on the walls. Separated into stages.
Emery said that it’s honest. That it’s real.
The first painting in denial is simply a canvas with a long, black, jagged line.
That’s it. Nothing else. I remember that day.
It was three weeks after the helicopter crashed.
After they died. I sat down in front of the easel, and I was in utter disbelief.
I tried to paint. I tried to convey my emotions, but I could barely hold the brush.
That incredulity is now art.
Quin said it was always art.
I hope the rest of New York City agrees.
“Come on.” Sage yanks on my elbow. “Let me show you the gift shop.”
She drags me through the gallery until we stop in front of the display. I grin. Next to the various prints available to purchase is a variety of ridiculously out-of-place handmade mugs.
“Awesome, aren’t they?” Sage’s eyes glitter. Sage…my friend. I have a friend. “I think they’ll sell out in minutes.”
“Definitely.” I rein in a laugh. “They’ll be a hit.”
Sage smirks. “Oh, I know.” Sensors sound from the front door, and she nods toward the entrance. “Fam jam is here.”
I whip around, beaming as Emery and Quinton enter the gallery pushing a stroller. Without thinking, I dart toward them, eager to hold my son. My light.
But before I can, Emery shoots me daggers. "Don’t you dare, Damon. He's sleeping. Let the child sleep."
I roll my eyes, a grin spreading across my face. She’s so cute when she’s pissed and tired. An adorable combination. "But our son wants his dad. I can feel it. He misses me."
Quinton glares at me, clearing his throat. "I'm dad. You're daddy. We've been over this."
"Oh, I know I'm daddy,” I smirk at Emery, licking my lips. “Aren't I, mami?"
Emery sighs, glancing around the gallery. "Damon, not in front of—"
"It's fine!" Sage calls out from the gift shop, clearly eavesdropping. "I don't mind!"
I chuckle. "See? She's got no issues." I look down at my snoozing baby. "So, how's little Gabriel Cavanaugh doing today?"
Quin purses his lips. "Must you always use his full name?"
I shrug, casting Quin a playful look. "Emery got your name, Gabe got mine. Deal with it.”
For two whole months this past summer, I couldn’t open a newspaper or magazine without seeing a picture of the three of us.
The tabloids went berserk.
Emery Jones Weds Big Pharma Golden Boy Quinton Marquis in Private Ceremony
Emery Jones’s Baby Bombshell: A Scandalous Twist
Is Emery Jones Pregnant with Damon Cavanaugh’s Child?!
Quinton Marquis and Damon Cavanaugh: Secret Lovers?
Cheating, Lies, and Scandal: The Inside Story
Damon Cavanaugh Breaks Silence: 'I'm the Real Dad'
Damon Cavanaugh, the Other Man?
Damon Cavanaugh: Hero or Homewrecker?
It was insane. The theories. The speculations. Honestly, it was quite hilarious. The three of us would lie in bed and read each article out loud and laugh. Our favorite theory was that Quin and I were secretly in love and that Emery was our cover.
We thought we’d have to suffer an entire year before the craze died down, but there’s one thing juicier to the public than potential infidelity and love triangles: serial killers.
Having a psychotic killer targeting high-profile individuals on the loose isn’t ideal, especially considering Quin's and my social standings, but it’s a nice break from the constant media attention.
We’ve increased our security in case we’re on the hit list. Amir’s sister said we don’t fit the profile, but it’s better to be overly cautious than to end up murdered.
“The gallery looks amazing, Damon,” Emery says, looking around. “I’m so proud of you.”
Quin puts a hand on my shoulder, smiling. “I am too, Damon. It’s incredible. You’ve truly outdone yourself. You’ll be all the rave next week.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be.” Emery leans over, her soft lips feathering against the shell of my ear as she whispers, “But if you need to release some of that pent-up energy, I know how fond you are of back rooms.” She pauses, adding in a sultry voice, “And know how much you love my mouth.”
My cock twitches. “Now that you mention it...”
“I’ll stay with Gabe,” Quin says, tone rough and low. “But when we get home tonight, I’d like an encore.”
I grin at him. “I thought tonight was my turn to watch.”
He smirks. “Consider it my gift to you for your opening night.”
“In that case,” I reach for Emery’s hand, snaking my fingers through hers. “We’ll be right back.”
The tabloids were right. I do love Quinton. I love them both. They’re my family.
Forever and always.
The End