Epilogue
Creed
SIX MONTHS LATER
Not much was changing in my life for years at a time.
A decade of my father’s abuse. Then the years of violence I poured out onto others, switching from victim to oppressor. Then the years with Hyde, Noah, and Dash.
Now, everything is changing so fast I struggle to keep up.
It all started with the girl—my girl—currently rummaging through one cardboard box after another. I lean against the front door, arms folded over my chest, eyes on Millie as she tears through the house.
“I know they’re here somewhere,” she insists.
She’s searching for sandals that’ll go with the dress she’s wearing. Same dress I’ve pushed over her ass fifteen minutes ago when I bent her over the kitchen island.
It’s gorgeous, girly, white with red flowers and red, ribbon-like shoulder straps tied into bows. It cinches her waist, accentuates her tits, and flares down, stopping mid-thighs.
May weather’s been good so far with more sunny days than not and Millie’s embracing that and her newfound love for cute dresses while strategically driving me out of my fucking mind.
“Where did Hyde put them?” she mutters, elbow deep in a box marked shoes.
Millie and Hyde drove home last week to pack her things. Her parents weren’t thrilled she’s moving in with a guy they haven’t even met, but Millie said Hyde had my back.
He told them Millie’s safer with me than she ever was with them and then went on to air the dirty laundry of their past.
He’s been processing that conversation since, promising he’ll fill me in soon. I’m giving him until the end of the week because Millie asked me to, but if he keeps deflecting on Sunday, I’m beating the words out of him.
He’s not allowed to keep shit from me ever again.
“Check the one by the stairs, baby,” I say when Millie stops in the middle of our entryway, eyes scanning the boxes we haven’t had time to unpack.
Morning light pours through the wide windows, highlighting the chaos Millie created in less than two days since we moved in. The place is technically livable, even if a mess. The bed’s assembled, the couch arrived yesterday, and the kitchen works well enough to make a cup of coffee.
Everything else is either still packed or misplaced.
So much is happening between the fast-approaching graduation, my new business venture, and the house move and renovations, that I doubt we’ll settle in before summer ends.
After Noah told Hyde we’d probably grow distant once I graduate, I started thinking and planning. No way would I live in Seattle while my girl and my friends are three hours away at Gravemont, so I put the wheels in motion.
My childhood house went on the market first, the asking price lower than my agent recommended. It sold within ten days. While the paperwork was being transferred, I accessed the rest of my inheritance and cashed in Jeremiah’s life insurance policy.
That alone was enough to buy a two-story, four-bedroom home at the edge of Blackwood Point. The campus is only a fifteen-minute drive away. My business-in-the-making is on the way, so next semester, Millie will drop me off there before classes and she’ll join me once she’s done.
“Got them!” she exclaims, pulling the platform sandals out.
“Good, now let’s go.”
She beams at me, face glowing after the orgasm I wrung out of her ten minutes ago. She balances on one foot, then the other, putting her shoes on.
Six months ago, she barely spoke, rarely smiled, and hid in oversized clothes, but that girl has grown and now, Millie Ward is dangerously comfortable with happiness. She smiles often, talks my ear off, paints, wears cute dresses, and laughs easily.
I can’t get enough of her.
She snatches her phone and sketchbook from the counter, then plants a quick kiss on my mouth on the way out. “Let’s go before Hyde texts me again.”
I follow her, locking the house while Millie slides into the passenger seat of my car and buckles up.
She flips through the sketchbook the whole five-minute drive, eyes scrunching at every logo design for Blackwood Point Boxing and Fitness. My gym.
We’re still ironing out the details, the grand opening six weeks away, but the goal is simple: give kids like me a place to offload their anger in a safe environment.
Maybe even channel it into something useful.
We’ll have beginner and advanced boxing, kickboxing, and MMA classes, youth programs on weekends, licensed coaches, and proper equipment.
None of this feels real.
I never knew what I’d do with my life after college, didn’t dare think about the future because I was pretty certain that one day I’d take a bar fight too far and end up dead or behind bars.
Sometimes, I’m still waiting for shit to hit the fan and put me in my place, but whenever doubts creep in, I glance at the king and pawn tattoo on my arm, and my nerves settle.
Millie’s not the only one who has grown.
I’ve grown, too.
I’m a work in progress, probably always will be, still learning my worth and how to be a better friend and a decent boyfriend. Though that title won’t last long, given I have a ring and a plan.
The gym sits in a renovated warehouse and when I pull into the lot, the place looks as unfinished as it did yesterday.
Noah’s outside with a clipboard, overseeing a delivery while two guys unload big boxes from the back of a truck. Dash sits on the curb nearby, stuffing his mouth with a sandwich, no Hyde in sight. He’s probably inside, unpacking the crates of gloves and pads that arrived last night.
“Look who finally showed up,” Dash mumbles around a big bite when Millie and I step out of the car. “You two fucked while we waited, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” Millie grins, bending down to kiss his cheek, then does the same with Noah.
It doesn’t bother me anymore. They’re good friends, but nothing more, and I no longer feel inadequate. Millie’s mine. She chose me. She loves me.
We enter the gym, or rather what will be a gym once we’re done setting everything up. For now, it’s under construction, as messy and chaotic as the house.
The ring frame sits in the center of the room with only three sides of ropes attached, heavy bags lean against the far wall waiting to be mounted, and unopened crates of gloves and pads are stacked beside the mats.
“Morning,” Hyde says, exiting the back office, a steaming cup in hand. “Took you long enough.”
“They were fucking,” Dash supplies, making him choke on his coffee. “What? We were all thinking it, weren’t we?”
“No, we weren’t.” Hyde coughs, still clearing his throat. “I don’t need that visual, Dash. She’s my sister.”
“So you pretend they’re not doing it at all?”
“Jesus, Dash.” Hyde pinches the bridge of his nose, his ears bright red. “Just... shut up.”
Millie ignores them both, moving through the space, eyes sweeping the equipment that was delivered yesterday. Not that long ago, she would’ve stood near the wall, observing more than participating. Now she’s right in the middle, asking questions and making suggestions.
Noah comes in moments later, a clipboard tucked under his arm. “We’ve got some heavy lifting to do.”
“Why?” Dash scrunches his brows. “Aren’t they supposed to bring the delivery inside?”
“They would if Creed paid extra.”
“Which I didn’t because I have friends,” I supply and Dash just huffs, following Hyde and Noah out the door.
For years, those three guys were the only constant in my life. Now there’s Millie, the house, the gym. That’s more than I’ve ever wished for and exactly why I turned down Brock when he asked if I’d consider going pro.
I considered it.
For ten seconds.
I spent four years in college fighting in a cage and in bars. I spent four years prior fighting everyone who pissed me off in high school. For a long time, throwing fists was the only thing I knew how to do well, and I liked doing it.
Going pro would be lucrative, I’m sure. It’d be a life in the spotlight... and that’s not what I want. I don’t want to train, travel, and spend months away from home.
After the turmoil of my childhood and teenage years, I want a quiet, steady life with the girl I love, surrounded by friends.
Millie circles back, curling into my side, both arms around my middle. “This place will be amazing once everything’s set up.”
I pull her closer and tip her face up until our lips connect.
The kiss is slow, deep, and calm. We’re still insatiable, and Millie doesn’t like not wearing a few bruises and love bites, but desperate and rough isn’t all we are now.
We get those quiet, soft moments, too. Turns out I know how to be good for her.
She sighs against my lips, pulling back to study my face. “You look happy, Eli.”
“That’s because I am, Millie Baby.”