Epilogue
Six Months Later
easton
“How am I expected to be studious when you’re bare chested and wearing your hot teacher glasses?” I complained to Patrice as I walked out of his bathroom.
Patrice just shook his head and smiled at me while eying my own bare chest over those glasses that made him look even more delicious than normal. “You’re a mess.”
“Yeah, but I’m your mess.”
“Yes, you are.” That got me another sweet smile. Those happened a lot lately. Patrice Denis had sweet smiles and now I got to see them all the time. My heart literally skipped as I hurried to finish up so I could get in bed with him.
We’d come back from the gym and were now in the “before bed routine.” We had that now. The last six months had been a remaking of us, together and individually. We’d worked hard on finding ways to be there for each other as we decided who we would be together.
I loved where we’d arrived, even if this new chapter of Patrice and I involved couples therapy, with homework.
“I’ll get into bed in a sec, babe, I’m ready to work.” I made a show of taking my towel off and sliding on a pair of boxers as he gave me an amused look.
“Are you going to be serious? We have to focus.” Patrice grumbled, as I fidgeted on the bed, arranging myself as close to him as possible while still giving him enough room to write in the notebook he had on his lap.
“I am, I swear, I am just advocating that we figure out a ‘strip poker’ version.” I wasn’t whining so much as being bratty enough to get him riled into messing around with me.
When he turned to look at me, he scoffed just as he tugged me so that I was sitting between his legs, my back pressed to his chest.
“Here,” he said, placing the notebook, pen, and sheet from our therapist in my hands.
He pressed his lips to my temple as he pointed at the paper.
The heat of him made it hard for me to think.
Because after almost a year since we started again, and countless nights of getting as much of him as I wanted, being close to him still made me breathless.
He cleared his throat, commanding my attention, and ran a finger over the paper I was holding.
“Today we’re supposed to think about shared qualities.
” The way he said it, like the fact that we could even do this, was a blessing, made my chest tighten.
I looked up and found him looking down at me with what I assume was the same lovesick expression on my own face.
I spoke with my lips pressed to his. “I’m so grateful we get to do this.” I didn’t have to tell him what I meant—that we’d been able to make this work, to makes us work.
“Same. I love you, bébé.” There was no hesitation in his words, or in the way his eyes locked with mine when he said it.
Since I’d dropped out of the DA race, so much had changed for me.
I’d stayed in my job, determined to use the power I had to actually make changes in how we dealt with racial justice in the county.
My first step, with the new DA’s blessing, was heading an initiative to work more closely with advocacy groups in the region.
We were sitting and listening to the struggle that minorities faced in our communities and how law enforcement was falling short.
We’d been building bridges into parts of the county that we’d neglected for too long.
I’d learned more about myself and the kind of prosecutor I wanted to be in the last six months than I had in the previous five years.
I wouldn’t say being with Patrice had made me do it, but his presence in my life had certainly been the catalyst for me to take bolder steps.
To examine how I wanted to show up in my job.
To live up to the responsibility I’d been given.
I had to be humble enough to admit that being an ally in words but not action was not enough, and in the end, I hadn’t learned how to be one for every person I was tasked with serving. But I was determined to do better.
A rumbling sound got my focus back on the man in question, as he gently pressed on my chest. “Did I lose you?”
I shook my head as he ran a hand over my bare skin. The contact bringing me fully back to the moment and him. “Never, you’re stuck with me, Professor.” I felt a ghost of a smile on the side of my face.
“That I know, especially now that you’ve gone and done this.
I have to keep you,” he said as he touched the red Scotch Bonnet pepper I’d had tattooed on my right hipbone on our last weekend trip to New York City.
The little pepper was a hard-to-find ingredient in all the Haitian dishes Patrice and I tried to make together.
So I got it as a joke, or at least I’d said it was.
But we both knew it was more than that. Patrice had claimed possession of that particular part of my body and tended to it like I’d transplanted a part of himself and tattooed it on my skin.
I could not say that I was very upset about it.
“If you keep touching me like this, I’m not going to be able to do this homework,” I said as my hand tightened around the notebook and I lifted the other one to his neck. “It’s very hard to focus when your lips are only an inch from my mouth.” I sounded breathless, but who could blame me?
“Okay, sorry,” Patrice said on an exhale and moved a hand to the paper that was now totally crinkled on one side from my tight grip.
“Let’s work on this.” More hot breath on my neck, making me shiver and my skin tighten. “Then I can do unspeakable things to that tattoo.”
I groaned and tugged on the poor sheet, which was now really at risk of getting torn to smithereens. “Are you sure we can’t do this naked; it’ll be more fun that way.” I could feel his shoulders shaking behind me as he planted a kiss on top of my head.
“It’s a blessing that I didn’t take up with you until I was almost done with my PhD or I would’ve never finished.”
“Do I bring you to distraction, Professor Denis?” My heart fluttered in my chest like it had wings as I asked, knowing that now I would get the answer I wanted.
“You know you do.” There was nothing in his words other than affection, and maybe just a hint of indulgence.
I lifted my face again, needing to respond to his words with a kiss.
As I pulled back and settled into his arms, I thought of where we’d arrived.
Nothing much had changed, and yet it felt like everything was different.
Patrice had successfully finished out his first year in the economics department.
He’d eventually gotten the hang of his classes, and with the help of the chair of his department, he’d even started a new research project.
“How was your meeting with Martin?” I asked into the comfortable silence, my body pressed so tightly with his, our chests rose and fell in unison.
“It always throws me off that you call him by his first name.” My parents had known Patrice’s boss for years, and it had been a great surprise to hear he’d offered Patrice his personal support after the police stop.
Now they were launching a project to research the hindering effects of systemic racism on social mobility for immigrants.
“It’s going well, we got confirmation that we will get the funding for this first phase. So I’ll go south in July to meet with the guys from University of Miami who we’re partnering with. Maybe you can meet me after I’m done. We’ll take a few days after to hang out. Go to Tap Tap.”
“Oh I’m in,” I said at the mention of the Haitian restaurant he’d taken me to when we’d gone a few months back. “Just tell me the dates and I’ll take the time; I can get away for a couple of days next month. Besides, I didn’t get nearly enough food and beach time when we were there in February.”
Patrice was on fire for the project at work and was also doing more with some of the community organizations he’d gotten involved with over the last year. He was already a big part of the activism in the area, and I was so fucking proud of him.
“Day got back from his trip.”
Patrice grunted at the mention of the sheriff.
“Oh.” Day was not exactly on his favorite people list, but the sheriff had been making some bold moves over the past six months to address the issues in his department.
Including a trip to a national gathering of law enforcement leaders trying to address systemic racism at a local level.
“He came back with all kinds of ideas and is rolling out the anti-racism mandatory training in the department. He’s gotten some resistance, but he seems committed.”
“He’s trying,” Patrice conceded. “I hope he sticks with it, because the pushback is not going to relent.”
I nodded at his matter-of-fact tone. He ran a hand over my arm again and rested his hand by mine on the page.
“First question, Counselor. As a couple, we’re good at—”
I tried very hard not to burst out laughing, and when I looked up, saw a matching knowing grin on my boyfriend’s face.
“Well that’s an easy one, sex. We are excellent at fucking.” He nodded soberly at my words as I giggled.
“We’re on the gifted and talented track for that for sure. But we’re also good at cooking together, and last-minute weekend getaways,” he said, and I heard the awe that sometimes tinged his words when he talked about us, the life that we were slowly building together.
I took the dark brown hand, which was a study of hardness and softness, and brought it up so I could kiss the roughened palm. “I love cooking together and I love our little romantic getaways. I also love how well our families get along.”
“I like that, too,” he said firmly. My father was still an asshole for the most part, but Patrice got along great with my mother, sister, and grandpa. And Patrice’s mom and stepdad were so fun to hang out with. We were now fully in each other’s lives.
I looked down at the second question and raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh, next one is tough.” When I glanced at him, his face said, “bring it on.”
“What are our weaknesses? As a couple.”