Epilogue One
Logan - Six Months Later
“Stop twitching, everything's going to be fine.”
“I'm not twitching.”
I'm totally twitching. I’ve been sitting at this table inside The Prospector for thirty minutes, spinning my water glass in slow circles. There’s a weird chill clinging to my skin, and it has nothing to do with the Spring rain outside.
Salem wanted to meet here instead of the airport. Said it would be easier, less pressure. Something about neutral ground. Which is fair, but part of me still wanted to be waiting at that gate, scanning every face until hers came into view.
Instead, I’m here waiting with an anxious flutter in my chest.
Owen's knee bumps mine under the table as he sips his drink calmly. Dark waves fall over his soft brown eyes when he smiles at me. “Breathe, baby. I doubt she's going to bite you.”
I huff out a nervous laugh, grateful for him yet still nervous at the same time. “She might. Just for fun. Depends on her mood.”
He smiles and leans back in his chair, casual as ever, like this isn’t a huge moment in my easy little life.
Like this isn’t Salem, the woman who's lived in the back of my head every damn day for six months, even while I’ve been building something real and soft with my boyfriend sitting across from me.
Yeah, boyfriend.
God, it still feels strange to say it, but it also feels right—and terrifying as hell.
This is the moment I bring two parts of my life together and hope they don’t burst into flames.
I didn't expect things to happen with him; they just did. I'd only met the guy once years ago at Matty and Xed’s old townhouse, when they'd thrown a going-away party. Arya re-introduced us a few months ago at a local gay bar, and we just clicked.
Salem's known about it since day one. We video chat a few times a month, and she says she's happy for us. Owen knows about her too—they’ve been friends for years.
The truth is, I love them both in different ways. They’re like fire and ash, two halves of my heart. Now they’re about to meet again as my partners.
I glance toward the door again, heart thumping wildly in my chest. “You sure you’re okay with all of this?”
He shrugs, unfazed as he touches my fidgeting fingers. “She’s important to you, and so am I. That’s all I need.”
Fuck, how did I get so lucky?
I'd told him about her on our first date, how she and I were still married but it was complicated. Owen hadn't batted an eye. He told me that normal was boring and then dropped to his knees beneath the restaurant table to suck me off. I never let him go after that.
The bell over the door jingles, and I know it's her before I even look. It’s not just instinct, it’s her gravity, pulling me in. My pulse kicks up as I shift my attention and sure enough, there she is.
Her red hair is windblown, cut short beneath the jaw and held away from her face by a pair of aviators. The second our eyes meet, she smiles wide, rushing across the room with that same fierce stride she’s always had. I stand so quickly that I almost knock my chair over.
“Heya, stranger,” she says, reaching for me.
“Hey,” I reply, voice cracking slightly when I dip to kiss her. She turns her head at the last second, though, and my lips hit her cheek.
Disappointment makes my stomach drop. I can't help it—I really want to fucking kiss her.
Pulling back, she glances over my shoulder with a wicked smirk. “Oh, you two are adorable together.”
Owen raises his drink in a toast. “Hey, Salem.”
She slides into the booth across from him like this is just a normal meet up and not the most surreal moment of my entire damn life. Her chin drops into her hand as she glances between us, smiling softly. “So, you're my husband's boyfriend.”
I choke on the sip of water I'd been drinking and slap at my chest.
Shit, getting right down to it, then.
Owen doesn't miss a beat. “And you're his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Or did those papers get lost in transit?”
Salem waves him off with a snort before stealing a drink of his mai tai. “Semantics. If you want to get super technical, we're estranged.”
“Like you two haven't jerked off together on camera over the last six months. He does tell me everything, you know.”
I drop my head into my arms with a groan. “Great. Now there are two of you ganging up on me.”
“Get used to it,” Owen says, nudging my knee under the table. “You picked us both.”
Salem grins around the straw she’s chewing. “He really did. Poor guy thought he was catching a break from me by getting someone new.”
“Masochist,” Owen agrees, snatching his drink back.
I glare at them both through my fingers. “I’m right here, you know.”
“Unfortunately,” my wife deadpans, but her eyes shine with affection.
Fuck, I wouldn’t trade this for anything, this beautiful in-between we’re living. My past and present somehow coexisting in this booth with me as if it’s no big deal.
Salem's expression softens as she reaches for our hands. “I really am happy for you both. I love this for us.”
“And you?” I ask, inquiring about her own relationship with two of Symbiotic's band members. “Everything going good with Pep and Q?”
She glances at her phone with an odd, almost shy smile. “Yep. All good on that front.”
Owen and I share a look.
“That didn’t sound suspicious at all,” he drawls, rolling his eyes.
I lean over to peek at her phone screen. “Did someone accidentally send a dick pic to the group chat again?”
She drags a hand down her face. “That was one time.”
“Wait, who’s the one packing?” Owen asks. “Pepper or Quinn?”
Salem levels him with a withering look. “You’re not allowed to ask me that!”
“Definitely Quinn,” I answer instead. “Pepper's his wife, she's the drummer.”
“You're not supposed to tell anyone they're married,” she hisses before kicking my leg under the table. “It's not public information!”
“Who's Owen gonna tell? He doesn't even like metal.”
She narrows her eyes at me, fighting a smile. “That’s not the point.”
Owen shrugs, completely unbothered as he sips his drink. “I mean, I don't even know who Symbiotic is. For all I know, Quinn could play the accordion.”
Salem spits a mouthful of water back into her glass. “I'm telling him you said that. It'll piss him off. I love it.”
Speaking of the band’s guitarist, her phone lights up a moment later with his name requesting a video chat.
“Oh, I should take this,” she says, sliding from her seat with an apologetic smile. “I'll be right back.”
When she walks away, Owen leans across the table and watches her disappear outside. “She’s something else, huh?”
I don’t even try to hide my smile. “Yeah, she is. That's why I love her.”
He hums thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the table. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. Always.”
His lips pucker around his straw as he peers at me from under his lashes. “Do you still want to be married to her?”
Well… shit.
Floundering for an appropriate response, I glance down at the scratched wedding band still on my finger. There's only one answer that comes to mind, but anxiety holds my tongue hostage. I need to say it, though. I've never lied to my boyfriend, not once, and I definitely won't start now.
“Yeah,” I tell him honestly. “I do. But I still want you, too.”
“Okay.”
My brows slam down. “...okay?”
“You love her,” Owen says simply, “and she loves you. That’s obvious. But you love me, too. I’m not here to make you choose, babe. If you still want to be married, then I’m good with it. I just needed to hear you say it out loud.”
For a second, I’m rendered speechless. Utterly stunned. The trust in his eyes, that quiet acceptance—it’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
“Thank you,” I rasp. “Seriously. You don’t know what that means to me.”
My boyfriend just leans in and plants his lips on mine. “I think I do. Now, go and tell her the divorce is off so we can live our polycule dream life. This economy sucks.”
A laugh bubbles up as I tug him against my chest and lick into his mouth. When we part, he shoves me toward the door with a smack on the ass, and I head outside to finally—after six long months—give my wife a kiss.