Epilogue
ELLIOT
One Year Later
I survived because I was loved.
But I chose to live because I finally believed I deserved it.
Today was the day. The day we finally moved into our new house.
My stomach fluttered with a mix of disbelief and excitement, the kind that made my chest tight in a good way.
After months of searching, after weeks of sketches and plans and tentative “what ifs,” we’d found a plot of land in Whispering Cove—quiet, private, kissed by the ocean breeze.
Anthony had taken the money from selling his old house and built this, our dream home, from the ground up.
Every beam, every window, every carefully chosen tile was ours.
I couldn’t wait to explore every corner, to place our memories in those rooms, to fill the house with laughter and warmth. Today wasn’t just moving day—it was homecoming.
The tape on the last box crinkled as I pressed it down. I breathed in the faint cinnamon smell lingering from the bakery below my old apartment. Even the apartment smelled like a life I was leaving behind, one I’d survived, one I was ready to carry forward.
Mia crouched on the floor, untangling a heap of cutlery from a box, muttering to herself. “You seriously kept three potato peelers?”
“I make soup,” I replied.
“Yeah, well, not soup you actually eat,” Dix chimed in, tossing a striped tea towel at me. She caught my half-smile with a knowing look.
Drax and Jet carried boxes down the stairs, slipping past me with easy nods, their quiet efficiency grounding me more than they could know. I felt the hum of motion around me. The steady rhythm of people who loved me—not because they had to, but because they chose to.
The drive out to the house felt unreal, the world stretched wide and sunlit as if it were holding its breath for me.
I kept my hand lightly resting on the console, thumb brushing against the worn leather, feeling Anthony’s presence in the car like a shield even without him being physically there.
When the driveway curved and the ocean shimmered at the edge of the property, a flutter went through me.
Anthony was already there, leaning against the porch railing, sleeves rolled up, hair mussed by the breeze.
When I stepped out of the truck, he didn’t hesitate—he crossed the small distance and wrapped me up, arms firm but gentle.
I leaned into him instantly, inhaling him like I’d been starving for air, letting the solid warmth of his chest anchor me.
“Hey,” he murmured, forehead resting against mine.
“Hey,” I breathed back, the words shaky and soft.
Inside the house, everything smelled faintly of new paint and salt air.
Boxes were stacked everywhere, furniture waiting like silent sentinels.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows, lighting the dust motes in the air, golden and lazy.
I ran a hand along the edge of the couch Thomas had prepped for us and felt its smoothness under my fingertips, proof that this was real, ours.
The bedroom was still half a mess, but I couldn’t resist. I pulled Anthony down with me onto the bed, letting the soft duvet wrap around us. He kissed the side of my head, tugging my hair gently, his hand brushing my arm with a feather-light touch that sent a shiver through me.
“You’re okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded against his chest. “I really am.”
He smiled, a little crooked, the kind that made my heart lift. He brushed his thumb over the back of my hand. “Good,” he said. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
We moved slowly through the house together, opening boxes, placing dishes, rearranging throw pillows, teasing each other over small choices.
Mia and Dix carried in the firepit, Jet brought in a bag of charcoal, and Drax stacked wood neatly at the ready.
Each movement was full of laughter, chatter, and the kind of easy affection that only comes from years of knowing someone is your chosen family.
Anthony hovered near the grill outside with Thomas, tossing burgers and sausages, calling out occasional instructions. Every so often, I caught his eye, and we shared a quiet smile—a reminder that through all the chaos, we were still ours.
By the time the fire was crackling and the plates were steaming, Mia clinked her beer bottle against Dix’s. “Okay, everyone. Beach boy and hot daddy deserve a proper toast,” she declared, grinning wide.
I blinked at her, and Anthony’s lips twitched.
“To Elliot,” Mia began, raising her bottle. “Who survived everything life threw at him and still shows up, full of sarcasm and kindness.”
“To Elliot!” the others echoed, lifting their bottles.
“To Anthony,” Dix added, smirking at him over the firelight. “Who’s grumpy, gorgeous, and never let this guy sink—literally.”
“To Anthony!” everyone called out, and he finally let a small laugh slip through.
I watched them all, the way they leaned into each other, shared teasing looks, whispered side comments, and laughed too loudly. And Anthony—my anchor, my safe place—grinned like a kid, his chest warm, his hand finding mine across the plates.
Mia nudged me. “Hey, beach boy, what do you have to say for yourself?”
I cleared my throat, mock-official, smiling at Anthony. “I… I’m lucky. Beyond lucky. And I’m not giving up this family or this man. Ever.”
Anthony laughed, low and throaty, tugging me closer as if the world outside the circle of fire didn’t exist. “Good answer,” he said, resting his forehead against mine again.
The sky deepened, stars winking into existence above.
My fingers tangled in his, our thumbs brushing over each other.
The fire crackled, the waves whispered behind us, and for the first time in a long time, I felt entirely at home in my own skin.
And not just because Anthony was here—but because the people who loved us both were here too, raising glasses and hearts in the only way that mattered: together.
ANTHONY
The firepit had burned down to glowing embers, the kind that breathed softly instead of crackled. Someone laughed inside—too loud, half-drunk, full-hearted—and glass clinked against glass in the partially unpacked kitchen.
“Alright,” Mia announced from somewhere behind me, clapping her hands together. “Before anyone wanders off or sets something else on fire—toast time.”
A chorus of groans followed.
“I swear to God,” Drax muttered. “If this is another speech—”
“It is absolutely another speech,” Dix cut in, already raising her drink. “And you’re going to listen because it’s important.”
Elliot shot me a look from where he was crouched near the garden table, wildflowers scattered around him like he’d spilled a piece of the field onto the wood.
His mouth twitched, half-embarrassed, half-soft.
The light caught in his hair, turned it molten gold, and my chest tightened in that familiar, terrifying way—like loving him was still the bravest thing I’d ever done.
Mia lifted her bottle. “To beach boy.”
Elliot groaned. “Please don’t—”
“To our beach boy,” Jet corrected, grinning. “Who scared the absolute shit out of us, then decided to stick around anyway.”
Glasses lifted. Someone whooped.
“And,” Mia added, eyes flicking to me, unapologetically smug, “to hot daddy.”
I choked on my beer. “Oh my God,” I muttered. “That is not—”
“It is,” Dix said cheerfully. “You earned it. Broody. Protective. Emotionally constipated but trying.”
Elliot laughed—really laughed—and the sound hit me harder than any toast ever could.
“To Elliot,” Drax said more quietly, lifting his glass last. “For staying. For choosing to live. For choosing us.”
The fire popped softly.
“To Anthony,” Elliot said, his voice steady but full. “For coming back. Every time.”
That one—I felt in my bones.
Thomas’s hand closed around my sleeve before I could say something stupid or emotional or both. “Go on,” he said gently, nodding toward the garden path. “Take a walk. Clear your head.”
I hesitated, eyes flicking back to Elliot. He’d gone back to arranging the flowers, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration, like the world wasn’t heavy anymore. Like it hadn’t almost swallowed him whole.
Thomas squeezed my shoulder once, firm and knowing and nodded toward the beach. I followed him knowing it was what I needed.
The dunes rolled soft and pale beneath the fading sky, the beach stretching out like a held breath. The water was calm tonight, silver and patient, whispering instead of roaring. The air smelled like salt and dry grass and the last ghost of smoke clinging to my clothes.
We walked in silence for a while, boots crunching lightly through sand.
“Big day,” Thomas said eventually.
I huffed out a breath. “That’s one way to put it.”
He smiled. “You look different.”
I glanced over. “Different how?”
“Lighter,” he said. “Not because it was easy. Because you didn’t run.”
I swallowed.
“Seeing him like this,” I said after a moment. “Laughing. Letting people love him without flinching… I didn’t think I’d get to see that. I didn’t think he’d get to see it.”
Thomas nodded. “He’s happy.”
“Grounded,” I corrected softly. “Happy comes and goes. This—this feels like something that stays.”
The ocean filled the space between us.
“So,” Thomas said, casual as anything. “You going to set a date?”
I barked out a laugh. “I haven’t even asked him yet.”
Thomas stopped walking. I stopped too and turned to him, heart thudding, and the words were already there—waiting.
“You’ll be my best man,” I said. Not a question.
His face cracked open into something fierce and proud. “Yeah,” he said immediately. “Yeah, I will.”
I exhaled, something loosening in my chest. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“You would,” he said. “But I’m glad I got to walk it with you.”
Later, back inside, the house smelled like citrus soap and salt air, windows thrown open to let the night breathe through the rooms. Laughter echoed off unfinished walls. Boxes waited patiently to be unpacked tomorrow.
Elliot stood in the doorway, hair damp from a quick rinse, wearing one of my hoodies that swallowed his hands. He twisted the cuff around his fingers—too much feeling, all at once—and my chest went tight all over again.
“Shower?” I asked quietly.
He nodded. “Yeah… together?”
The bathroom filled with steam, the world narrowing to tile and breath and skin. I let my hands trace the curve of his back, reverent, careful, loving him the way he’d taught me to—slow and honest and without fear.
He pressed his forehead to my chest. Anchoring us both. I kissed his hair. His temple. The places that said home.
Outside, the light shifted gold, the ocean murmuring like it always had. Steady. Patient. Still there.
And then, as the water pooled around our feet, the question slipped out naturally, carried by the tenderness of the moment:
“You know I want you in my life forever, right?” I murmured. “For everything we’ve survived… will you let me make you my husband?”
He blinked up at me, pupils blowing wide. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”
I held him there, steam curling around us, the future opening quiet and wide. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of loving this deeply.
We were here.
We were safe.
And we were finally home.