Epilogue Two
Salem
The air outside bites a little more than I expect, crisp with late spring rain. I tuck my free hand into my flannel pocket on the patio as Quinn’s name flashes across my phone again.
“Alright, alright,” I huff, answering the call. “Miss me already, groupie?”
Q’s face fills the screen, long blond hair and scruffy beard damp from a fresh shower. “Did you tell your husband’s boyfriend that I play the fucking accordion?”
Wheezing out a laugh, I move toward the fire pit and check our group chat. Sure enough, Logan added Owen into it. “Yep. He thinks you're in a polka band.”
Pepper cackles somewhere off-screen. He angles the phone to where his wife sits behind him on the bed, dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. “Shall we dress Q up in some suspenders for us?”
“Only if he wears really short shorts.”
Quinn just grunts before bringing the phone back to his always pissed-off face. “You know this means the boyfriend has to sign an NDA.”
I roll my eyes and open my mouth to clap back with something snarky, but he speaks again before I get the chance. “You also missed check in. What did we tell you about rules, Little Red?”
My traitorous stomach flips, heat pooling low in my belly—but I act like I’m mulling over an answer to his question. “That they’re meant to be broken?”
His cobalt eyes narrow. “Try again.”
Pepper snorts behind him, clearly entertained but not about to save me.
“That I’m supposed to follow them,” I mutter, my eyes on the darkened sky.
A silent beat passes. “Louder. And look at me this time.”
Gritting my teeth, I obey, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “That I’m supposed to follow them, sir.”
Quinn’s gaze sharpens on me. Fuck, I swear he could reach through the screen and pin me in place with nothing more than that single look. “And you didn't check in because…?”
“I rushed straight here when I landed. I was excited.”
“Not an excuse,” he growls.
Pep lazily runs her fingers through his hair in the background. “He just means he was worried about you.”
“I know what he means,” I murmur, blowing out a deep breath. “I'm sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Quinn’s expression softens—barely. “That’s our girl.”
A shiver races down my spine at those words and judging by his smirk, I swear he can see it.
“Alright, baby, let her get back to her husband.” Pepper snatches the phone before offering me a smile. “Go get your man, Red. And next time, you check in when it's time. Understood?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She blows me a kiss. “Be good.”
“Make me,” I grin, ending the call before I can be punished for that little slight. It’s a clear violation of said rules but a thrill shoots up my spine when a text pops up from Q.
Don't think that I can’t beat your ass from a distance, Little Red. Keep testing me.
Honestly, falling into this dynamic with them came more naturally than I thought it would. At first, it was just a way to keep me off Vince's radar—Symbiotic's sleazy manager. But then it turned into… something so much more.
With Quinn, it’s the safety to submit, the steadiness behind all that rage. The way he sees right through my bullshit, no masks, no mercy. I definitely have Logan to thank for teaching me to be soft.
Pepper is different. She offers me comfort and companionship. A quiet place to exist without needing to perform. I never have to hide with her.
Neither expects me to be anything other than precisely what I am. And these last six months, I needed that.
Tucking my phone away, I turn toward the front door and freeze when I spot Logan leaning against the brick wall. His eyes are on me, hands in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything at first.
Slowly, I close the distance between us.
The warmth of his body feels like home, and I don’t hesitate to throw my arms around his neck before pulling him in for a blistering kiss.
He sighs into my mouth, hands sliding down to squeeze my ass.
When we finally part, our foreheads stay pressed together.
“I missed you so much,” I whisper, curling my fingers into his hair.
“I missed you, too. Fuck, I'm so glad you're back. You know you can kiss me in front of Owen, right?”
I release him with a sheepish grin. “Didn't wanna make it weird. I don't know how… open we're allowed to be with this thing.”
Logan chuckles and brushes his fingers over my jaw. “Salem, everything about this thing is probably weird. But it’s ours. And Owen’s cool, he gets it. You’re not a secret.”
The simplicity in those words wraps around me like a hug, loosening something in my chest. When I lean in again, I kiss him like I mean it—because I do.
“You better warn your other partners, though,” he mumbles, nibbling on my lower lip. “I’m claiming every airport kiss from now on. I hated not meeting you there.”
“Good luck winning that competition. Quinn’s got at least three inches on you.”
He pulls back, honey-gold eyes wide. “We’re talking about his height, right?”
Smacking his arm with a laugh, I soak in the sight and feel of his presence. I’m afraid that if I look away too long, he'll disappear. In moments like this, it’s easy to pretend that he didn't almost die last year and that I might have never held him again.
That thought brings memories from the night of the crash flowing back, and curiosity gets the better of me. “Have you heard from Devon at all?”
Just like that, the mood shifts. Logan’s smile falters, his hand slipping away from my waist as he stares toward the fire pit. “No. Not since the hospital ten months ago. Christian hasn't, either.”
I reach for his hand again. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“I don’t know. Called him about a hundred times, but... no answer. I don't think he wants to talk to me.”
My chest aches for him. Not for Dev, but for my husband, who seems to care way too much about people who don't deserve it.
I cup his cheek and redirect his attention back to me. “You're always chasing after ghosts, baby. Maybe it's time to let one chase you back.”
He leans into my touch with a sad smile. “Like you?”
“Me,” I nod, kissing him softly. “And Owen. And anyone else who’s lucky enough to have you.”
“Do we have each other, Salem? To have and to hold, until death do us part?”
A lump rises in my throat when I realize what he's asking. “Technically, we already did the death part.”
A broken laugh crawls out of him. “Yeah, I guess we did.”
“Everything after that is our choice.”
His fingers trail down my arm to touch the ring on my finger. “Then I choose you. In whatever way that means for us. Married, divorced, I still want you as my partner in life, no matter what.”
My heart leaps ten different ways at his loving gaze, stealing my breath.
“So, tell me,” he continues. “What do you want, Salem? Because I'm all in if you are.”
I search his eyes, relishing in the hope that shines there. When I reach into the back pocket of my jeans to withdraw the divorce papers, they come out wrinkled and worn, edges soft from how many times I've unfolded them late at night.
There was once a time when I thought that these papers were the only way forward.
I thought that letting him go was the kindest thing I could do for us both, because I didn't know how to love him without losing myself.
But standing here now, with his hand in mine and his heart wide open, I realize that letting him go never made me feel free. It just made me feel hollow.
“I've carried these with me for months,” I whisper, staring down at the pages. “Everywhere I went, I kept them close like some kind of failsafe. A get out of jail free card.”
Logan stays quiet, and I meet his gaze with a certainty that settles deep in my bones.
“I always thought that loving someone came with shackles, but I understand now that the right kind of love doesn't feel like a cage.
It feels like that first breath of air, the ground beneath your feet when you step off the plane.
Something you reach for without question because you know it'll be there every single time.” I swallow hard as my pulse hammers in my ears.
“I was so afraid of losing my heart to you, Logan, but having it in your hands has set me free.”
Without an ounce of hesitation, I step toward the fire pit and toss the papers into the flames.
They catch instantly, charring as fire claims every signature, every line of legal jargon that threatened to rip us apart.
Behind me, I hear Logan gasp, and I turn to see him gaping at the fire with wide eyes.
“You sure?” he asks dazedly, watching them ignite.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”
My husband crosses the space between us in two long strides before cupping my face in both hands. “You just gave me back everything I've ever wanted.”
A tear slips free as I offer him a crooked smile. “You never lost it. You just… had to wait for me to catch up.”
His lips crash into mine fiercely, kissing away every mile, every doubt, every minute we spent apart. It's devouring, all-consuming, the type of kiss that isn’t about rekindling something that died, but reclaiming what never stopped burning.
When we break apart, lips swollen and breathless, he looks at me in awe. “So we’re really doing this, then?”
“We’re really doing this.”
A grin spreads across his cheeks so wide that I nearly fall into it. “Guess I'd better book a honeymoon for real this time.”
“Please don't,” I groan, burying my face in his chest. “I just traveled the world. I'm totally cool spending a week in my own bed catching up on trash TV.”
“Or we could go to Vegas for old time’s sake?”
I snort and playfully shove him toward the door. “Hard pass. Now let's get back to your boyfriend before he thinks we've ditched him for marital bliss.”
Logan just chuckles, tugging me inside. We round the corner to spot Owen still at the table, scrolling on his phone while Closure by Dommin plays throughout the bar.
He arches a brow in amusement when he sees us. “Let me guess. You’re keeping her?”
Logan squeezes my fingers tightly. “Forever this time.”
“Then I hope you two are ready for one hell of a weird, wonderful life because I’m not going anywhere either.”
“Wouldn't have it any other way,” I add, slipping into the booth with my husband and his boyfriend.
Conversation flows effortlessly between the three of us, all teasing jabs and real laughter that brings tears to my eyes. Logan leans into me while Owen keeps one hand confidently on his thigh. There’s no jealousy, no discomfort—just warmth.
Just us, together and in love.
Others might not understand it, and that's okay. Love doesn’t have to follow societal norms to make sense. It just has to be true.
My fingers drift down to the camera hanging from my neck out of habit, curling around the worn leather strap.
Owen's mid-laugh, and Logan glances sideways with that crooked grin I’ve grown to love. They're both wrapped in each other's arms.
I could take the shot. The lighting is perfect. It would definitely make a pretty picture.
But I let the camera fall, untouched. Not because this moment isn’t worth capturing, but because it is. It’s messy and unconventional and strange as hell, but no less real. Some moments are too sacred to be viewed through a lens.
So instead of freezing it in time, I close my eyes—just once—and let this one live exactly where it belongs: in real life, authentic, unaltered by digital hands. Not stored in pixels or in prints, but in my heart.
And that’s the frame of mind I plan to keep.
The End