Epilogue Holden
Epilogue
Holden
One year later
“Don’t peek or I’ll send it back,” I say, leading River out into the scorching summer heat down to the garage of our new house.
We’d closed a month ago on a four-bed, three-bath modest little number (modest by my standards) that had a pool I didn’t want but River insisted on. It was the only thing he’d insisted on, other than we not spend a fortune on it.
“I want a home, not a house,” he’d said.
Couldn’t argue with that.
“You’re peeking, aren’t you?”
River chuckles, one hand over his eyes. “I’m not, promise. I’m actually scared to look.”
We arrive at the garage, and my pulse kicks up a little. “All right, have at it.”
River pulls his hand away and then stares.
“Holy shit… That’s a 1967 Pontiac GTO sports coupe,” he says in awe, walking around the rusted red eyesore that is going to be residing in our garage for the next six months.
“Only about seven thousand ever made.” He comes around beside me, his smile ridiculously beautiful. “Whose is it? What’s the job?”
“No job. It’s yours.”
His blue eyes widen, and I could cry at how touched he is over this decrepit jalopy.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? To make you happy. What other reason could I possibly have to—”
River hauls me to him and presses his mouth to mine in a deep kiss. I sag, falling into him instantly. They used to call me a vampire, but River’s kisses drain me of rational thought and leave me dizzy and weak, the sexy bastard.
“Thank you, Holden. I love it.”
“Then it’s the best piece of junk I ever bought.”
“When I’m done with it, it won’t look like junk.”
No, the faded red paint will be gleaming, and the rusted chrome will shine again.
Because that’s what he does, I think, watching River admire the car. He brings things back to life.
“It’s more for me than for you anyway,” I add. “You spend so much time at the shop, depriving me of the pleasure of you in your work clothes, greased and sweaty, bent over a car…”
“I’ll bend you over this car right now,” River says, his voice gruff as he pulls me tighter to him.
My hand slips down the front of his jeans. “I dare you…” I squeeze.
He groans, then removes my hand. “That’s one way to introduce ourselves to our neighbors.”
“The fun way.”
River laughs as we head back to the house. “Don’t forget. We have dinner at Dad’s tonight.”
“Forget? You’ve reminded me at least ten times since this morning.”
“I know, but…”
River doesn’t finish his sentence. I narrow my eyes. “We have dinner at your dad’s all the time. It’s not exactly life and death if we’re late.”
River runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I just…have a lot going on at the shop. Maybe I’m reminding you so I don’t forget.”
“Uh-huh. Should I invite Beatriz?”
“I already did.”
The plot thickens…
“I wasn’t aware you kept a direct line to my tia.”
“I love her too.” River grins. “You need to learn to share.”
Beatriz retired on the Holden Parish pension plan.
She wouldn’t let me give her as much as I wanted but enough to live comfortably and visit family in Salvador, Brazil, any time she feels like it.
She’s a frequent guest at our dinners with River’s dad and sister and will be at our home too, once we’re settled in.
I start to make a snappy retort when River jerks to a stop. I follow his gaze and freeze.
Margaret and Reginald Parish are walking up the drive. Reg is carrying a large gift, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a light green bow. The day is hot, and he’s wearing a polo and shorts; she’s in a sundress. They’re both wearing hopeful, nervous smiles.
“Is that them?” River asks in a low, angry voice.
“No, my parents would never look that human, even in disguise. That’s my aunt and uncle.”
After I returned from my self-imposed exile, I left the door open to talk and reconnect with Reg and Mags through Bernard. That had been a year ago, and Bernie had nothing to report. Except the news that my parents had officially disowned me.
And made it public.
Gods of Midnight remained under my name, and I did the interview in which I revealed—in graphic detail—the conversion therapy program they’d sent me to.
My parents had retaliated by taking out a full page in The Seattle Times.
I’d been a “destructive force” in their life since my childhood.
Incorrigible. Promiscuous. An embarrassment.
Alaska was a last attempt at discipline, but I’d continued to shame the family name, even after they’d generously granted me my inheritance.
They concluded their little exposé by declaring that I was heretofore disowned and that no one in the Parish family should contact me ever again.
River had had to peel me off the bathroom floor in the early morning hours that week, holding me while I purged myself of them the way he’d grieved for his mother. Except where he grieved for what he lost, I grieved for what I never had.
After not hearing from them, I figured my aunt and uncle had sided with my parents, just as they had when the decision to send me to Alaska came down in the first place.
Why are they here?
River lets out a breath, and his hand slips into mine, warm and solid. When I say nothing, he clears his throat. “Hi, I’m River. I don’t believe we’ve met. You’re Holden’s aunt and uncle?”
“Hello, River,” Reg says. “Reginald and Margaret. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Wonderful to meet you, River,” Mags says with a soft smile. She nods at the gift in Reg’s arms. “We heard you moved back into our old neighborhood. This is a little housewarming present.”
“Who told you that? Bernie?” I practically shout.
“Easy,” River says quietly.
“Can we go in and talk?” Reg asks. “Do a little catching up?”
River checks in with me. I nod.
“Sure,” he says.
Reg chuckles with nervous relief. “Great. This is starting to get heavy.”
River rushes forward and takes the gift from him, and they walk ahead of Mags and me.
“You look wonderful, Holden,” she says. “So healthy and happy.”
I nod at River. “Thanks to him. And a lot of fucking hard work on my part.”
She doesn’t flinch at my biting tone. “I’m so glad. He seems like a lovely young man. The Sridhars were telling us all about what he’s done to the Whitmore auto shop downtown. Just wonderful.”
“When did you get back in town?”
“Just last week. We’re only here for the month, and then we’re taking a cruise—”
“With my parents?”
“No.” Mags’s hand rises as if she wants to touch me but thinks twice. “We’ll talk about it inside.”
River leads us into our new house, to the living room.
It has comfortable, inviting furniture—him.
And colorful paintings on the walls and eclectic art pieces—me.
Built-in bookshelves flank the fireplace, filled to the top with our combined libraries, except for one shelf in the middle.
It has only Gods of Midnight. River says it’s my shelf and that only the books I write will ever live on it.
He sets the gift down on the coffee table and pulls me aside. “You okay? You need me to stay?”
Fuck, I love him. I love him so much, my heart can’t contain it. “I’ll be okay.”
“I love you,” he says, loud enough for Mags and Reg to hear, and kisses me full on the lips. “Call me if you need me.” He waves at my aunt and uncle. “Nice to meet you both,” he says politely, but I can hear the warning underneath: If you hurt him…
Reg and Mags are on the couch. I sit down across from them in a tall wing-back chair. My fingers drum the armrests.
“Well,” Mags says with a bright smile. “It’s been quite a long time.”
“Indeed,” Reg says. “But we’ve been following your career. Marvelous, what with all the awards for your book.”
“Did you read it?” I ask rudely.
“We did. Both of us have.”
My mind immediately flips through a catalog of explicit scenes, specifically the chapter in which Jules attends—and then participates in—a seedy sex show in an underground club in New York City.
“We both thought it was incredible,” Reg says and chuckles. “A little more risqué than my usual James Patterson, but you’re very talented, Holden.”
Mags nods. “So very talented. We’re proud of you.”
I don’t know what to say to that, except part of me leans toward them as if warming myself in front of a fire.
“Thanks.”
Reg rests his arms on his thighs, his lips pursed. “Holden, Margaret and I have been doing a lot of thinking in the last year. When we heard from Albert Bernard that you had contacted us, I admit we…hesitated.”
“Hesitated,” I say flatly. “For an entire year.” I wave my hand dismissively, the old insecurities rushing back. “Never mind. I left four years ago with only a shitty note. You don’t owe me anything.”
I never asked you for anything, and I never—
“We do,” Mags says, breaking into my thoughts. “We owe you quite a lot, Holden.”
“Beginning with how we stayed silent when my brother told us his plans for you,” Reg says, his voice grave. “We both felt—your aunt and I—that that kind of therapy was wrong and that Charles and Estelle were making a terrible mistake.”
“But you didn’t say anything.”
“No, we didn’t,” Mags says, meeting my eye. “And we should have.”
“Charles has always been the king of our family since we were young children,” Reg says.
“He was your grandparents’ favorite—they were just as ruthless as he is.
The only way to deal with him has been to not rock the boat.
And to be blunt, he owns majority stock in the Parish oil holdings.
If he wanted to make our retirement difficult, he could. ”
“But Reginald and I don’t need as much as we thought we did. Fancy cars and houses on two continents…” Mags shakes her head. “It’s unnecessary. And vastly less important than you.”
I sit back in the chair. “What are you saying?”
“We’re saying we have disowned your parents,” Reg says. “We have cut them out of our lives, divested ourselves of any joint financial ventures, and have requested they never contact us again.”