Epilogue
Fisher
I hit return and sit back, smiling as I survey all five screens. I don’t know what I get more joy out of: hacking through somebody else’s firewall or building an unbreakable one.
My focus drifts to the framed photo of Libby and Sutton on opening night of Wicked .
The real joy comes from the two of them. The rest is just icing on the cake. Libby is two months into her run as Glinda, and she loves every minute of it. She’s finally giving her understudy a chance to perform so she can have a few days off.
She might have to be back for the matinee on Sunday, but she won’t get any complaints from me. I’ll take what I can get.
I attach my full report to the email, confirming that the client’s firewall is up and running, and I’ve just hit send when my phone vibrates on the desk.
Cal’s name appears on the screen. I smirk, knowing exactly why the hot shot New York attorney is calling me.
“Hey, man, what’s up?”
“Why me?” he whines, his British accent only making him sound more pathetic.
“You clicked the fucking link.” I laugh.
I’ve been managing Murphy & Macon’s network security for years.
They were one of my first clients, and yet fucking with my friend never gets old.
One of my network checks involves sending emails with just a link or a shared drive to see who will click.
The person who does is then required to take a network security refresh class.
“Of course I clicked. It was from you, you wanker,” he mutters.
“They always come from someone you know.” I pull my phone away from my ear to check the time. Sutton will be home from school soon.
He groans. “Can you give me a pass?”
“Nope. You’ll be at the class with all the other clickers.” I smirk. “But think of it this way, when you come up to Boston, you’ll get to hang with Libby and me.”
After the Emmy’s, Libby, Sutton, and I moved into my apartment in Boston. For the first few weeks, reporters and paparazzi followed Libby’s every move, but by the time September rolled around and Sutton started school, things had settled.
From there, we fell into a comfortable routine. Every morning, Libby takes Sutton to school, then heads to rehearsal while I get a few hours of work in before Sutton comes home. On the nights Libby has a show, Sutton and I swing by for an early dinner with her.
Libby shines on the stage, like she was always meant for live performance. And Boston is good to all of us. We eventually need to upgrade from my three-bedroom apartment, but for now, we’re all content.
Bing lifts his head and peers around, then hops off the sofa. That can only mean one thing. Day after day, he greets Sutton the second she’s home. The door to our apartment slams shut, and a heartbeat later, she calls my name.
“Sutton’s home. Gotta go. Stop clicking the links.” I hang up on my friend, laughing at the creative curses he throws out.
My girl flies into my office, braids bouncing, and tosses her pink backpack to the floor.
“Are you done? Ready to go?” Excitement spills out of her as she dances from foot to foot. She might have wanted to leave the island where she was born, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t dying to visit. “You said we were leaving right after school. And Maggie said she’d meet us at the wharf.”
Since it’s November, I wanted to take a chopper, but Libby insisted on returning the same way she arrived the first time. So Cank managed to get us first-class tickets on the trash boat.
“Libby’s on her way home, sweet pea. How was school?”
“You know what Addie did in art today?” Sutton launches into a story about Beckett Langfield’s stepdaughter, who has become her best friend.
The two of them attend Bridgeworth Academy and play offense for the girls U9 soccer team.
Now that the season is over, Beckett has been pushing hard for them to play softball.
But since we plan to spend most of the summer on the island, Sutton isn’t sure.
Going back and forth so often could get tricky, but we’ll do it if that’s what she wants.
“Did Libby pack my rain boots?” Sutton says, jumping straight from her story without even a breath. She tilts her head, and her braids fall over her shoulder. “Wilder said I could pull up some traps before Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, and I need my water boots.”
“I’m pretty sure we left them there the last time we went out.” Although Libby hasn’t been back to Monhegan this fall because of her busy show schedule, Sutton and I have been out a few times to check on the houses.
Since the idea of taking over Hunter’s old room still sits like lead in my stomach, we decided to renovate Libby’s house.
Although fine for spring and summer, the structure hasn’t been updated for the cold Monhegan winters.
We added a woodburning fireplace and remodeled the kitchen and master bath.
They finished this week, and I can’t wait to show Libby how it turned out.
“Hello!” Libby calls.
Bing yelps happily in response.
“Yes.” Sutton jumps up and down, then darts from the room. “We can leave now!”
I stand and stretch, then trail behind her. At the mouth of the hallway, I prop myself up on the doorframe and watch the two of them.
With a smile, Libby brushes a hand softly over Sutton’s blond hair. “Someone is excited, I see.”
“I can’t wait to go back. Eddy said there’s already snow. Lindsey and I are gonna make a snowman, and Mrs. K said I can help her bake the pumpkin pie tonight if we make in time. And I get to have a sleep over with Lindsey, and?—”
Libby cuts her off with a chuckle. “No wonder you’re so pumped. Sounds like fun.”
“Get your backpack. Everything else is loaded in the car.”
The second Sutton takes off down the hall, Libby moves to me.
I hold my arms out and engulf her, breathing in her sweet scent. “How was today? They gonna make it three days without you, Princess?”
“Haha.” She pinches my side.
“Who said I was kidding? I couldn’t make it three days without you.
” I tilt her chin up and press my lips to hers.
My intention is to steal a quick kiss, but I can’t ever get enough of this woman, and I find myself cupping her cheek and diving in for more.
Our tongues tangle for a minute before she pulls back.
“Mmm,” she mummers against my lips. “I couldn’t make it without you either, Hacker.”
“Stop standing on top of each other. We need to get moving.” Sutton rushes down the hallway with the backpack designated for travel rather than school. “Come on, we don’t want to miss our ride.” She bolts past us, heading to the apartment door, with Bing hot on her heels.
“You heard the girl.” I smirk and swipe a thumb beneath Libby’s bottom lip. “Our trash boat awaits.”
She giggles. “Ready to go home, Hacker?”
That’s the thing I’ve learned over the last six months. Home is Boston, or Monhegan, or wherever Sutton and Libby are. Because these girls—they are my home.