Epilogue
Dustin
It’s been three months since we reached for something greater than ourselves and gave us a real chance—three months since the world learned that Halsey, Santos, and I aren’t just some messy love triangle but something far more profound.
We’re three people in love, living fully, unapologetically.
We’ve faced the questions, the stares, the relentless headlines, but none of it could shake the foundation of what we’ve built.
The world may have tried to reduce us to a scandal, but we’ve always been more than that.
Our love is limitless, rooted in something deeper than what anyone else could see.
And despite the occasional online gossip that flares up—rumors that we have to extinguish before they spread like wildfire—everything feels right.
Perfect, even. Not that there haven’t been adjustments.
Hell, there are still adjustments. There are moments of uncertainty, moments where it feels like the world is pressing too close.
But the sky didn’t fall like I once feared it would.
Instead, here we are, finding our rhythm, our balance.
And for the first time in years, I’m happy. Truly, deeply happy.
I lean over, pressing a soft kiss to Halsey’s bare shoulder, careful not to wake her. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow on her skin. She shifts slightly, letting out a quiet sigh in her sleep, her breathing steady.
I pause for a moment, just watching her, feeling my heart swell with a kind of love I never thought I’d find. Love for her. Love for Santos. Love for the life we’ve somehow managed to build together.
Three months ago, I didn’t know if we’d ever get to this point—or any point. Everything felt like it was hanging by a thread, so fragile that one wrong move would break it. But now? Now I can’t imagine my life without them. Without this.
Every morning that I wake up next to them feels like a gift—like a second chance at something I didn’t even know I needed.
That’s why I always wake up earlier than they do.
To steal these quiet moments. To watch them breathe, to reassure myself that this isn’t just some fleeting dream.
What can I say? I’m still a work in progress.
My insecurities won’t vanish overnight, and even though everything’s good, that old fear of losing it all still lurks in the back of my mind.
My therapists and I continue working on that, one day at a time. And isn’t that what matters?
Santos stirs beside me, his arm draped over Halsey. His eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep, and he turns his head, catching my gaze. There’s a lazy smile that spreads across his face, the kind of smile that’s just for me, filled with warmth and familiarity.
“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep, soft and tender in the quiet of the room.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice just as soft. My hand reaches across Halsey, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Santos’s face. The warmth between us is undeniable, and in this moment, it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just us. “How’re you feeling?”
His fingers trace lazy, absentminded circles on Halsey’s hip, his eyes flickering with a sleepy kind of contentment.
“Better than yesterday,” he says, his voice low, still waking up.
“Hopefully, I’ll be out of this boot soon.
” He glances down at his foot, then back at me.
“All depends on what the doctor says today.”
I nod, feeling a flicker of relief. Santos has been pushing through his recovery, but not so much that he has injured himself.
Hals has been watching him very closely, even when she’s not part of his team.
She’s too busy at the Baker’s Creek Hospital and the rehab center.
Our girl is the happiest doing what she loves with a great boss and we just got her a couple of alpacas, which she adores.
Halsey stirs between us, her eyelashes fluttering as she begins to wake. She lets out a soft groan, stretching slightly, before turning to face us, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She smiles, her lips curving in that gentle, beautiful way that always makes my heart skip a beat.
“Mmm . . . good morning,” she mumbles.
“Morning, love,” I whisper back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. The contact is brief, but she leans into it, her eyes fluttering shut again, a small sigh slipping from her pretty lips.
“Morning, baby,” Santos murmurs, kissing her cheek.
She smiles at him too, that same easy, effortless warmth that makes both of us feel like the luckiest men alive.
“What are today’s plans?” she asks. Her head shifts slightly on the pillow, her eyes now fully open, flicking between me and Santos. “Other than going to check on your foot, of course.”
Santos lets out a groan, rolling his eyes dramatically as he buries his face in the pillow for a second. “Don’t remind me,” he mumbles, his words muffled against the pillowcase.
Halsey chuckles softly, nudging him playfully with her elbow. “And just because the boot might come off today,” she says, her tone turning mock-serious, “doesn’t mean you can go running or skating right away. Don’t even think about it.”
I watch as Santos lifts his head, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “I’m just saying, if the boot comes off, that’s a sign, right?”
“Nope,” Halsey says firmly, her fingers brushing over his chest with a playful tap. “You’ll listen to the doctor, or I’ll personally make sure the boot stays on longer.”
Santos laughs softly, leaning over to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Fine, fine. Whatever you say, doc.”
I smile at the two of them, feeling the easy rhythm we’ve found together—the teasing, the warmth, the love that flows between us so naturally now.
Halsey shifts again, sitting up slightly, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. She glances between us, her eyes glinting with that playful energy she has every morning. “Okay, we should probably get moving before you both decide to fall back asleep.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” I say, stretching out beside her, making a show of pulling the blanket back up over my shoulders. “We don’t have to be anywhere just yet.”
She leans down to kiss me on the cheek. “Don’t tempt me.”
Santos chuckles beside us, reaching over to tug at the blanket. “He’s right, though. What’s the rush?”
Halsey looks at us both, clearly trying to resist the temptation of staying in bed a little longer.
But I can see the wheels turning in her mind—she’s already planning out the day.
I can practically hear her thinking about what needs to get done, about Santos’s appointment, about everything else she has on her plate.
I sit up slightly, propping myself on one elbow, and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey,” I say softly, drawing her attention back to the moment. “We’ve got time. It’s okay to slow down for a bit.”
Her eyes soften as she looks at me, and for a moment, the world outside this bed—the world with its demands and expectations—fades away. It’s just the three of us, tangled together in the quiet comfort of the morning, and I want to hold onto this for as long as I can.
Halsey
Six months later . . .
The lights dim, casting a soft glow over the crowd as the music begins to play.
The familiar chords from Dustin’s guitar fill the room, and I feel the excitement buzzing through the air.
We’re at Silver Moon, a small, intimate bar in Seattle that somehow feels like the perfect backdrop for nights like this.
Nights where we watch him play, where we get to see him pour his heart into every note, every lyric.
I glance over at Santos, who’s sitting beside me in the VIP lounge. His eyes are focused on the stage, his arms are around me. There’s a slight smile tugging at his lips, and I know he’s just as captivated by Dustin as I am. We don’t get to do this often—watch him perform live.
Dustin is in his element up there, the crowd swaying to the music, hanging on every word.
He’s still working on his next album, balancing it with his work on the ranch, but moments like this remind me of how much he loves performing.
Even if he doesn’t play as often as he used to, there’s something about seeing him on stage that makes my heart flutter and fall in love with him even more.
I lean back in my seat, taking a sip of my drink, letting the music wash over me. The lights flicker across the stage, illuminating Dustin’s figure as he plays, his fingers moving expertly over the strings. He’s captivating, and it’s easy to lose myself in the moment.
But then, I feel Santos shift beside me, his hand moving a little higher on my thigh, his fingers brushing the hem of my shirt. I turn to look at him, and there’s that familiar glint in his eyes—the one that makes my pulse quicken.
“You’re not even watching him,” I tease, glancing over my shoulder at Santos.
“I am,” he replies, his voice low, but his gaze is locked on me now, not the stage.
There’s a heat in his eyes that makes my heart race, his smile widening as his hand continues its slow, deliberate exploration, slipping under my t-shirt.
His fingers brush lightly against the inside of my thigh, teasing, but never quite giving me what I want. “I’m just . . . multitasking.”
I bite my lip, trying to suppress the smile threatening to break free, my pulse quickening under his touch.
There’s something about these nights—about being here with Santos, watching Dustin play—that always stirs something deep inside me.
Maybe it’s the music, the dim lighting, or the way we fall into this rhythm so easily, so naturally.