Epilogue
MARLOWE
Ten Months Later
We touch down in Turks and Caicos just after noon. The air is hot and heavy and perfect. Neve’s already stripped down to her bikini, and Bridger’s too busy staring at her that he’s walked straight into my back twice before we climbed into the rental van.
The entire island smells like salt and sunscreen and lotion-slicked bodies, and somehow it’s still not as intoxicating as the man whose hand is wrapped around mine.
I glance down at it again—my hand—like I’ve done a hundred times since we landed. Since we stepped off the plane into paradise. Since he slid that ring onto my finger with a sexy smile and a look in his eyes like I was the only thing holding his world together.
The diamond flashes in the sunlight, big and bold, a promise made by a man who once vowed to burn anyone who’d ever hurt me.
I don’t need the ring or any big fancy wedding he keeps trying to plan.
I just need him. His hands. His voice. That quiet, steady rage he carries—for me, never at me.
The way he looks at me like I’m his reason for breathing.
I’d marry him in a burning building with the walls crumbling down around us and still say yes without blinking.
Because he’s not my happy ending. He’s the whole damn story.
And I almost lost him before the story even got the chance to begin.
Damian technically died that day.
His heart stopped as he held my hand, his grip went slack, his eyes didn’t blink.
I felt the moment it happened. Like someone had reached inside me and snuffed out a star.
I screamed so loud and so long they had to sedate me.
But then they brought him back. They brought him back.
Seventeen seconds without oxygen—seventeen seconds where my heart stopped with his.
But they brought him back. And I swore I’d never waste another second of the time we were given.
Now, months later, he still wakes up gasping some nights, drenched in sweat, hand fisting the sheets like he’s falling. And I press my palm to his chest, over the place where the bullet nearly took him, and remind him—he's here. He’s home. He’s mine. We’re safe.
Bridger and Cody are okay too. We all are. Somehow. And no one ever questioned what happened at the abandoned school.
That night, while I waited for word from the surgeons, still wearing Damian’s blood on my clothes, the place went up in flames.
I never found out who did it. But when Neve sat down beside me, quiet and calm, and offered me a steaming cup of coffee in the waiting room, she smelled suspiciously like fire.
I didn’t ask. I’m just glad she’s my friend.
We bought a house when he got out of the hospital.
It has a pale blue front door that Damian says matches my eyes and enough room for Delilah to visit if the doctors ever clear her.
It’s close to her memory care facility, so we can see her without driving too far.
So we can remind her that love doesn’t die just because the mind forgets.
The bakery? Rebuilt. Better. Bigger. Insurance covered more than I thought, and the new location gets more foot traffic. There’s even an outdoor patio with fairy lights and mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu that makes people smile.
And across the street?
Cross Brothers Custom Garage.
Cody spray-painted the sign himself: bold block letters in matte black on burnished steel. The place looks like them—gritty, fast, and a little dangerous. But underneath the oil stains and the heavy metal blasting from the speakers, there's heart. It’s more than just a shop. It’s redemption.
Sometimes, when I stand behind the bakery counter and look out the window, I see Damian leaning against the garage door, grease on his jaw, arms crossed, smiling at me like he still can’t believe I’m real. And I smile right back.
Then he lifts his phone and waves it at me. A second later, mine buzzes with a message that makes my knees damn near give out.
Back office. Legs open. Panties pushed to the side. I’m starving for lunch.
My face burns, but my pulse kicks hard and fast. Because I know exactly what’s coming—me. I’ll be coming.
I roll my eyes, fighting the grin that’s breaking out. I swear, just thinking of the things we do ruins my underwear. The thought makes me warm in places I probably shouldn’t be—especially now, in this rental van, with Bridger grumbling about Neve’s lack of clothing and Neve’s smirk.
The resort comes into view, towering and pristine, white walls gleaming like bone in the sun. Palm trees rustling above us like they’re whispering secrets. The ocean stretches wide behind it, impossibly blue. Endless. And just for a moment, it all feels unreal.
The van slows to a stop in front of the main entrance, and the second the doors slide open, Neve bolts out like a kid on Christmas morning. She’s practically vibrating, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she spins in a slow circle to take it all in.
Beside me, Bridger climbs out and immediately stops short. I follow his line of sight—straight to Neve. Or more specifically, the enthusiastic bounce of her breasts in her very tiny bikini top.
Even Damian catches it. He raises a brow, and I smother a laugh behind my hand as we exchange a knowing look. One day, Bridger’s going to wake up and realize he’s been fighting a battle he already lost. Because Neve’s not too young. She just might be too much for him to handle.
Damian slides his arm around my waist and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You see it too?”
“Oh, yeah.” I grin. “Poor bastard doesn’t stand a chance.”
We head inside and get in line at the check-in desk, the cool air hitting our sun-warmed skin like heaven. All of us are a little sweaty, a little dazed, but buzzing with the kind of joy that only comes at the beginning of a well-deserved paradise vacation.
Neve leans into my side, pointing out the open-air lobby and the wide view of the ocean just beyond it. “Snorkeling. That’s what I want to do first,” she says, eyes bright. “Have you seen how clear that water is?”
“I’ve never been,” I admit, resting my hand on Damian’s stomach. “But I’m in.”
“We should do it tomorrow,” Bridger says. “Let’s just chill today.”
“I agree,” Damian mutters against my ear, voice like gravel and sin, “if ‘chill’ means bending you over our balcony, pulling your panties to the side, and making you scream my name while the whole damn resort listens.”
I elbow him gently, biting back a grin. “Behave. But yes, let’s do that immediately.”
We inch forward in line, everyone tossing ideas back and forth—sunset dinner on the beach, boat tours, drinks with little umbrellas, maybe even a couple’s massage.
Then it’s our turn at the counter. The woman behind the desk greets us with a warm smile. “Welcome to Coral Reef Bay Resort. Name on the reservation?”
“Cross,” Damian says, flashing his ID like he’s got a badge and not a criminal record. “There should be three rooms.”
She types something into her computer and then her smile falters. “Oh… It looks like we only have two rooms booked under that name.”
Silence drops like a bomb.
Neve straightens, voice sharp. “Only two?”
The woman nods, still trying to be chipper. “Yes. One king suite and one queen. I’m so sorry, we’re fully booked—there’s nothing else available.”
Damian and I exchange a look. A long one.
“Let me guess, each suite has only one bed?”
She nods again. “Yes, that’s correct.”
Bridger turns to Damian. “So… do you want to just share a room? And the girls can stay in the other one?”
Damian doesn’t even hesitate for a second. “Uh, no. You fucked up the reservations, not me. I plan to fuck my fiancée on every available surface of our room. Floor. Bed. Balcony. Sink. Shower. Against the door—”
“Yeah, okay. Enough,” Bridger growls.
“You’re not going to want to witness that.” Damian says, pointing a finger into Bridger’s chest. “And I especially don’t want you in the corner, watching and whining while I’m making her come.”
Bridger’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. All that comes out is a strangled, vaguely horrified noise that falls somewhere between a cough and an existential crisis.
“Okay, what about a cot for the room then?” Neve asks.
“I’m so sorry, but we’re out of those too.”
Neve arches a brow and crosses her arms. “Me and Bridger have to share one bed?”
Bridger groans.
“It’s fine,” she looks over to Bridger and gives him a level stare. “We’re both adults. We can deal with it. I’ll tie my bikini top on the doorknob when I have my cabana boy inside.”
The color drains from Bridger’s face.
And Damian? He starts laughing. Loudly.