Epilogue
WINTER
A s we walk through the iron gates, my breath catches at the sight of the campus.
St. Killian’s looks like something torn out of another century, stone buildings rising tall, and the walls covered in dark ivy.
An extravagant fountain commands the center of the courtyard, water glittering as it arcs high into the air before crashing back down.
Students cross the lawn in neat lines, their uniforms pressed, like something out of a rigid boarding school instead of a ritzy university. The whole place feels heavy with tradition. I don’t know what I pictured when I thought of the school tucked away in the Irish countryside.
Students and teachers swivel like we’re a disturbance in their little world.
Heads turn, whispers seem to move across the area and to be honest, I suspected that would happen.
This is a surprise visit, and I gather that Sebastian has racked up quite the reputation for himself around here if he’s anything like Tristan.
I also realize that no one here is expecting Sebastian’s twin brother, and most of them probably don’t know that Tristan even exists.
Tristan’s jaw tightens, and I swear the glare he gives them could slice through stone.
I squeeze Tristan’s hand. “Be nice,” I whisper, and he groans in that ridiculous, dramatic way that always makes me laugh.
“They’re going to write Sebastian up because you’re sauntering around campus.
No uniform and giving dirty looks to everyone who even looks at us,” I say, because I can’t help myself.
I mean, we didn’t think any of this through.
I had no idea that St. Killian was so strict.
“We probably should have told him we were coming.”
Tristan snorts. “Good. I hope he gets written up. I might punch a couple professors on my way out just to set the tone.” His voice is flat, mildly annoyed, and extremely funny.
I stop walking and yank on his arm, the way you do when someone’s being theatrically terrible.
He drags me a step or two, because he’s so big and doesn’t realize that I’m trying to stop him.
Tristan looks down at me, and he must realize that I’m not joking.
I plant my foot and glare back at him. The look on his face when he registers?
Priceless. He exhales, half-annoyed, half-amused.
This is one hundred percent his fault for letting slip that his intentions for this little trip to visit Sebastian are not entirely pure.
Tristan might not forget anything, but I don’t either, and I know exactly why we’re here today. It has very little to do with wanting to check in on his brother since they haven’t seen each other for a long time in person.
“Did you bring me all the way to Ireland to punch your brother for interrupting our first morning together after we—” I cut off, because there’s too many nosy people here.
“HAD SEX?” Tristan bellows, too loud, and he’s super proud of himself.
Tristan doesn’t even bother to whisper when he adds, “Yes, I did. I told him I wouldn’t forget, and I haven’t.
I do want to check on him, make sure he’s okay after everything with our father.
But I’m also going to beat the fuck out of him. ”
I inhale before saying, “You said we were going to watch his rugby game!” I hiss, because of course that was the plan, unless his version of ‘watching’ involves punching people.
Tristan smiles. He likes when I’m exasperated and I realize all of this is by design.
He knew exactly what we were walking into, and he thinks it’s hilarious.
He slips his arm around my shoulders and then down my side, fingers warm along my ribs, thumb rubbing lazy circles down my body like he’s marking his territory with the trail of his fingers.
“We absolutely are going to watch his game,” he says, and his voice sounds so soft this close to my ear, the sort of tone that makes the world narrow to him only.
He changes that to something gruffer when he adds, “And then after the game, we’re going to surprise him.
It’ll be a sweet little reunion, and I’m going to punch him in the face. ”
I glance up at Tristan, and I can’t help it…I laugh, and the sound is a little sharp. This is Tristan: protectively violent in theory, absurdly tender in practice. He’s mine, loud and wrong in this particular case, and exactly what I want in every scenario.
“You are absolutely ridiculous,” I tell him, but I can’t stop laughing as we approach the gate to the rugby field.
The wrought iron curls like something out of a Gothic postcard, and as we head for it, I’m not paying attention like I should be.
I’m taking in the decor of this place. It’s simply beautiful.
I can’t wait to get some pictures to show Madi and Lilac, they’d absolutely love this place.
Then a body barrels into my arm. She almost walked right into me, but Tristan was too quick, pulling me to him.
The girl is small and quick, a flash of blonde hair and a sage-green bow tying half of her hair up.
Her cheeks are flushed like she’s been running, or maybe she’s upset about something.
Before I can say anything, she’s glaring up at Tristan like a very defensive hornet.
For a second I think she’s going to apologize, maybe laugh it off, but that’s not the case at all.
Instead she points at him with a neatly manicured finger.
“YOU! I was looking for you! I know you were in my room!” she spits, breathless.
“And don’t even deny it, Sebastian. I found the cameras, and I turned them into the Dean’s office.
They did nothing, by the way, so I don’t know who you are or what kind of power you think you have here, but I’m not going to put up with it. ”
She turns those sharp eyes on me. “I won’t tell you what to do, but if you need help to get away from him, I live in the Windham dorm.” Then she’s gone, swallowed by the bodies pushing toward the field.
It takes half a second to register that she, like everyone else at this school, thinks Tristan is his brother Sebastian.
Of course she does. Same face. Same build.
It’s hard for me to fathom because I’ve always been able to tell them apart, since day one.
Even before I really knew their personalities, I could tell them apart at a glance.
“She seems super fun,” Tristan says in that deadpan way of his. I squeeze his hand, my laugh caught somewhere in my chest, and he gives me the smallest tug forward, pulling me through the gate without a word.
The field glows under the stadium lights, jerseys streaking across it in sage green, white, and navy.
My eyes find Sebastian instantly as the game starts.
He drives into a crush of bodies, breaks through with the ball gripped tight, and the crowd roars when he sprints down the sideline.
At the last second he passes it off, taking the hit himself and crashing hard into the dirt.
The players reset. Shoulders lock, muscles strain, and the sound of bodies colliding somehow sounds rougher and more brutal than hockey. Sebastian is in the middle of it all, veins standing out in his neck, teeth gritted, fighting to push his team forward.
Beside me, Tristan’s arm stays heavy across my shoulders, tugging me closer like he doesn’t want there to be even an inch of space between us.
I smile at his profile because I love watching him watch the game.
His eyes don’t leave the field, but I feel him lean down, his lips brushing the side of my hair. He’s so freaking cute.
“I don’t like rugby,” he mutters, low enough that it’s just for me.
“Why not?” I whisper back.
Tristan’s mouth curves against my temple. “No sticks to trip people with.”
I laugh, and he squeezes me tighter, holding me there like the sound is worth more to him than whatever’s happening on the scoreboard right now.
When the game ends, Sebastian’s teammates surround him, clapping his back. He’s laughing, flushed, alive in a way that I don’t remember him being when we all lived in the same house or even when he was at Castlebrook with Tristan and me.
When Sebastian’s eyes land on his twin brother’s, he freezes mid-stride, like he’s not sure he’s seeing right.
His gaze flicks from me to Tristan, back again, and I see it, the shock first, then the grin breaking across his face.
For a second he looks younger, lighter, like all that weight he carries has slipped off his shoulders.
He takes off toward us, mud still on his jersey, hair plastered to his forehead.
“What the fuck, Tristan?” he breathes when he reaches us, and before I can blink they’re colliding. Their arms lock in a hug that’s all bone-deep relief and barely contained emotion.
But like most things with these two, it lasts only a moment. Then Tristan shoves his twin brother back, and Sebastian returns the favor harder. I cover my face because suddenly they’re throwing punches to each other’s arms and shoulders like they’re in high school again.
“That’s for calling me that morning and ruining my mood—” Tristan growls, his jaw tight, but the smirk tugging at his mouth betrays him.
Sebastian laughs, breathless. He looks at me when he responds. “Is he at least leaving his phone on now?” He clips Tristan’s ribs with his fist, grinning wider when Tristan swings back.
I shake my head in the negative, because no, he does not turn his phone on unless we’re apart, and those moments are so few and far between these days.
I can’t help but smile at these two. I haven’t seen them together in person in what seems like so long.
I’m used to their video calls to play chess, which is fun to watch them bicker, but this is really something special.
I make a mental note to take a picture of them together before we head home.
I’ve been trying to be more intentional about things like that lately.
Capturing memories so that I don’t ever forget a single beautiful moment of this life I’ve been blessed with.
Suddenly Tristan is at my side, and he catches my hand and lifts it without warning, shoving it right in Sebastian’s face like he’s presenting the coolest rock on the playground. My beautiful ring glints under the stadium lights, a blatant declaration of our love.
Sebastian’s grin widens, his eyes cutting to me for half a second before he claps Tristan on the shoulder.
“You did good, brother.” He looks at me playfully and says, “You can for sure do better than my brother, but since you insist on staying with him, I’m glad you at least got a nice ring out of it. ”
“I’ll fuck you up again in front of your friends,” Tristan says playfully to his brother. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I think it’s because I’m emotional seeing them together again. Tristan doesn’t let go of me, so I lean back in his arms because I feel so safe and content this way.
“How long are you staying?” Sebastian asks, voice lighter now, almost hopeful.
“Just stopping by,” Tristan says, flat and certain. “We just wanted to see you after everything with Dad. We thought we’d make a few stops in the area, and then we’re heading back to Castlebrook.”
Something flickers across Sebastian’s face, disappointment, maybe? But he masks it quickly, nodding like he expected the answer.
And I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t nearly enough time for either of them to spend together.
Something else is weighing on me, and I think Tristan has forgotten all about it.
I hesitate, then finally say it. “Sebastian, I know you’re not going to like this, but the girl you’ve been watching over…
she knows. She thought Tristan was you and said she ripped the cameras out of her room and took them to the dean’s office. ”
Sebastian’s smile vanishes. His jaw locks, and under his breath he mutters, “Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Just now? Like how long ago?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, he’s already yanking his phone from his bag, thumb swiping quick, frantic.
The screen’s glow paints his face as he checks each feed, one after another. All black, not connected anymore.
“I wasn’t just stalking her for fun,” he bites out, the words sharp, defensive.
His chest rises fast, shoulders tight. “I’m protecting her.
She’s here because she has a target on her back.
And now I have no way to monitor her.” He glances down, cursing again, voice lower, darker. “The tracker on her phone is off too.”
I look at Tristan, but he doesn’t say anything, his expression unreadable. Sebastian just stands there, jaw set, phone clenched in his hand like he’s already planning what comes next.
“Who is after her?” Tristan asks, and I can feel the tension in his body. “I know her parents were murdered, obviously, but why exactly is she here?”
Sebastian is flipping through his phone searching for something, when he grits out, “I guess the better question is probably who isn’t after her? I don’t have the time right now to explain.”
“What do you need? We can stay as long as you need us to. I can make some calls,” Tristan says, and I nod, confirming that I’m down to help in any way I can too, but Sebastian is fixated on his phone, “What are you planning?”
Sebastian looks up, his eyes locking on Tristan’s when he says, “Whatever it fucking takes.”
And I know, whatever he has up his sleeve, this is only the beginning.