Epilogue #4
Bestselling author. The words loop in my head, unreal and dizzying. That’s how the store’s manager is about to announce me, and no matter how many times I hear it, it still doesn’t quite feel real.
Behind the curtains, voices blend into a constant hum with laughter, conversation, and the quiet patter of feet. I pace the length of the room, gnawing at my thumbnail, my heart pounding in my chest, throbbing so loud, I know they must be able to hear it out there.
Delilah finally appears, slipping through the curtain and closing the gap between us.
“How many are out there?” I ask, my voice trembling.
She gives me an awkward smile, the kind that means brace yourself. “Honestly?”
“Yes . . . No. Just break it to me.”
“Okay, I don’t want to scare you,” she says carefully, “but the line’s out the door and halfway around the block.”
My eyes widen, and a chill settles in the pit of my stomach.
She holds my shoulders firmly. “Fawn. You’ve got this. You’re a bestselling author, and you’re a boss-ass bitch.”
I don’t feel like that at all. In fact, I’m scared to death, like I could blink and everything would just disappear. How can any of this possibly be real?
A year ago, I was pouring my heart out on paper, writing a story inspired by the two people who matter most in my life. And now? Book signings. My agent’s inbox is never empty. People want my words, my story.
Blasts of heat rise up my neck. “Dee, I don’t know if I can handle going out there in front of that many people,” I whisper. “What if some of those people don’t like my book?”
She snorts. “Those people are here for you to sign their books. And if any one of them gives you attitude, I’ll knock a bitch out.”
Yeah, that really wouldn’t go down well for my reputation. I can already see the headlines. Romance author’s assistant pleads guilty to ‘knocking a bitch out.’
“Plus, Cal and the rest of the Wolves are the first in line, so if you can handle them, you can handle anyone,” Dee adds.
I shake my head, a nervous laugh slipping out despite myself.
“I’ll repeat it one more time,” she continues. “You’re a bestselling author who made charts. You wrote The One Year Rule and have sold millions of copies worldwide.”
My mind goes into overdrive, thinking about how I broke my rule for Dylan and Torin, two men who became my inspiration, courage, and reason for being here today.
“Now, Fawn, repeat after me: I’ve got this.”
Hesitantly, I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ve got this — Oh God, do I look okay?”
“Yes, the red suit looks amazing. You look powerful and professional.” She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Right. I know Dylan and Torin should be here any minute. I’m going to take a seat at the table. I’ll be right on the other side of the curtain, okay?”
Nodding, I pat down my pants as she disappears.
It’s so weird to think that at one point, I was running, hiding. Now, people are waiting for me. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to slow down, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. The sound outside the curtain now seems muffled, more distant.
“I’ve got this . . . I’ve got this . . . I’ve got this,” I repeat to myself, grasping at the words like a lifeline.
“Of course you do.” A deep voice breaks through, strong enough to settle me as soon as I hear it.
My eyes take a while to open, but when I turn, my breath catches in my throat.
Torin and Dylan are right behind me, illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead lighting.
Their hair is slicked back, and they’re wearing white button-down shirts with black tailored pants, looking impossibly perfect — as if they’d leaped straight out of a modeling ad, not in a bookstore in Ivywood, here for me.
For a moment, I can only stare. My chest collapses, caught in a grip of love so fierce it stings. It’s a beautiful sort of pain.
Dylan is first to me; he smells like crisp air as he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me into his embrace.
He bends his head, pressing a soft kiss on my lips.
When he pulls back, Torin’s scent hits me — cigarettes and musk — familiar and grounding.
His stubble grazes my skin as he moves, making my breath hitch.
It all wraps around me at once, holding me together like they’re the only things keeping me from splintering.
“I can’t do this,” I admit quietly, my gaze dropping to the floor. “I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack.”
Torin lifts my chin with a light touch, turning my face to his.
His other hand cradles my cheek, his thumb tracing a line on my skin.
His dark eyes never waver. “Baby,” he says, his voice calm.
“If you want to go, we’ll go. No questions asked.
But please remember how far you have come to reach this point. ”
My throat burns, and I force my head back, fighting the tears.
The last thing I want to do is smudge the makeup Delilah spent far too long on.
Dylan’s hand returns to my waist, as if he knows just where to touch to center me.
“Princess, in just a year, you’ve done what most people only dream about.
You wrote a book people love and resonate with.
You’re with a publisher and got a huge advance for your next novel.
” He pauses for a second. “And you paid your grandpa’s fees. You did that.”
The mention of Grandpa hits me right in the chest. The late nights, the doubts, the fears — everything floods back, but so does the reason I pushed through. For him. For me. I swallow hard and start to nod; although the fear is still there, I’m not going to let it defeat me.
Torin reaches for my hand and laces his fingers through mine, squeezing gently. “We’ll be right next to you, every step of the way.”
Dylan nods, his thumb making slow, comforting circles on my hip. “You don’t have to be brave on your own, princess,” he says softly. “You’ve never had to, you know? We’re here for you, no matter what. Even if you’re strong, scared, or on the edge of falling apart. Especially then.”
Emotions swell inside my chest until it hurts. “What if I mess up? What if I freeze, or say the wrong thing, or—”
Torin leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “Then we’ll still be right here. Messy or perfect, shaking or smiling. None of that changes how proud we are of you.”
“And how much we love you,” Dylan says, like it’s something sacred.
My eyes flick back and forth, tracing their faces, taking in every detail.
They’re my whole world, my safe haven. Every late night, every doubt, and every victory.
I couldn’t have accomplished any of this without them.
The weight of that love presses down on me, and my heart has never felt this full.
My breath hitches. “Promise you’ll never leave my side?”
“Baby, I once said you could drag me through hell. After everything? Trust me, I’ll never leave your side,” Torin reassures me as he sweeps a lock of hair behind my shoulder.
I could never drag them through hell again.
I did that once, and I still feel the weight of it in my chest, like a scar that never fully healed.
I love them too much to ever let my fear or my mistakes hurt them again.
Not now, not ever. A year with them has flown by, and I hope for many more, holding them close, never letting the fire between us fade.
My fingers drift to the locket they gave me, and a small smile breaks through the nerves, real and unguarded. “Us three,” I say delicately, like a vow.
Dylan’s smile answers me instantly, full of everything we’ve survived together. “The three of us.”
For a brief second, Torin’s grip tightens around my hand. “Always.”
With that, the two men who hold my heart step aside and pull the curtains open. I take one steady breath and look at both of them, memorizing their faces to keep me calm and composed before stepping out. I know no matter what awaits beyond, I’ll never face this world alone.
THE END