Epilogue
MIA
Six Months Later
It’s strange how fast chaos turns into calm.
Six months ago, I was in the boardroom defending my relationship, ready to throw away the job I’d fought tooth and nail for.
Now I’m standing in Dylan’s kitchen, wearing one of his t-shirts, sipping coffee from a mug that says Hockey Players Do It On Ice, and watching him try to assemble an IKEA bookshelf using nothing but willpower and too much upper-body strength.
“I don’t need the instructions,” he mutters.
“Famous last words,” Sophie says, perched on the counter, legs swinging. “This is how serial killer documentaries start. First, it’s ‘I don’t need instructions,’ then it’s three bodies in a shallow grave behind a flat-pack wardrobe.”
Murphy walks in carrying a box labelled MIA’S BOOKS DO NOT DROP and dumps it with a dramatic grunt.
“Right,” he says, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead.
“That’s the last of them. You officially live here.
No take-backs. Dylan now owns your book collection, five different brands of herbal tea, and whatever the hell is in that weird vibrating face roller thing. ”
“It’s called skincare, Murphy,” I say dryly.
“Sounds like witchcraft to me.” He hops onto the couch like he built it himself. “Anyway, congrats. This place officially smells better than it did when it was just D and his gym socks.”
Dylan looks up from the instruction-less bookshelf, grinning. “I still have socks older than your taste in women.”
Murphy points to Sophie without missing a beat. “Excuse you. My taste in women is right there. And I’d thank you to respect her as the smart, emotionally grounded, slightly terrifying goddess she is.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “You’re lucky I find you funny.”
“I’m lucky you find me at all, babe.”
Dylan groans. “Get a room.”
“Gladly,” Murphy says, hopping off the couch and grabbing Sophie by the hand. “Come on, we’ll leave these two lovebirds to stare longingly at their spice rack.”
As they disappear out the door laughing, I look over at Dylan.
“My spice rack is the one thing I insisted on bringing,” I say. “I’ll die on that hill.”
He walks over, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “I’ll let you bring anything you want. So long as it means you’re here. Every day.”
I lean back into him. “You’re getting soft.”
“I’ve always been soft for you.”
God. This man.
DYLAN
I never thought I’d be the guy standing in a kitchen with his girl unpacking cereal boxes like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
But I am.
And it is.
Mia’s been living here officially for two days. Unofficially? She’s been mine since the night she fell asleep on my couch with her hand in mine, before either of us had the guts to say it out loud. She’s here now. Fully. Finally.
Her shoes are next to mine by the door. Her hair bobbles have migrated to every drawer and I wake every day with her stray hairs wrapped around body parts I’d rather it wasn’t. Her name is on the lease. And her presence is like a balm on everything I never knew needed healing.
From the hallway, I hear Sophie shriek-laugh and Murphy yell, “NOPE, THAT’S A SPIDER, YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, WOMAN!” followed by a loud thump and a dramatic cough.
“Should we check on them?” Mia asks.
“Nah. If it’s serious, Sophie will kill him quickly.”
She smirks. “They’ve been like this for weeks.”
“Yeah. He’s in deep.”
“He’s in denial.”
“Same thing.”
I take a step back, watching her spin slowly in the middle of our living room, taking it all in.
“I never thought I’d find this,” she says softly. “A job I love. A guy who makes me feel like I can breathe. A weird-ass best friend who talks to my plants…”
I walk over and kiss her temple. “You found all of it because you didn’t settle. You fought for it.”
“I think we both did.”
There’s a knock on the glass door leading out to the garden. Murphy stands outside holding a suspiciously large bottle of champagne. “Can we christen the house now?” he says, his words muffled through the glass. “Sophie says we’re not allowed until you’ve toasted your joint domestic bliss.”
Mia sighs with a smile. “Let the circus back in.”
I open the door and he bounds in, Sophie behind him holding four mismatched glasses.
“To new beginnings,” Murphy says, popping the cork dramatically and spraying at least half of it over the room.
“To found family,” Sophie adds, handing everyone a glass.
“To not getting fired for sleeping with your player,” Mia deadpans, lifting her glass.
I laugh. “To sleeping with your physio and never regretting it.”
We all clink glasses, and for a few moments, there’s nothing but warmth, laughter, and the easy rhythm of people who survived the storm and lived to toast about it.
MIA
After Sophie and Murphy have gone, Sophie with a kiss on my cheek and Murphy with an exaggerated wink and a whispered “He cries when she leaves, it’s adorable”, I lie in bed beside Dylan, my legs tangled with his and his hand resting lazily on my hip.
The room smells like us. Like safety and home all rolled into one.
“They’re going to end up together,” I say into the quiet.
“Murph and Sophie?” he hums. “Definitely.”
“She’s good for him.”
“He knows it. He’s just scared.”
I nod. “Funny how the loudest people can be the quietest when it matters.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “If they need a nudge, I’m happy to interfere.”
“You’re terrible.”
He kisses my shoulder. “I’m happy.”