Epilogue Skylar
Epilogue
Skylar
Six Months Later
Come back to bed,” Brandon calls.
“You’re going to make me late.” I emerge from the closet in faded jeans and a heart-print long-sleeved crew neck sweater. “What do you think?”
His gaze darkens as his eyes roam over me. “I think you’re too pretty to be standing all the way over there.”
“Seriously, what do you think?” I fiddle with the diamond necklace he got me for my birthday. “I need to look like a cute host who’s not trying too hard.”
He props himself up on his elbow in bed, drawing my attention to his awe-inspiring torso, where lipstick smudges are still visible on his abs in a trail I know leads further down below the sheets. “Since when do you worry about picking the wrong outfit?”
“Since I’m having people over at my house for the first time in, like, ever. I need to be approachable. You thought I was scary when we met.”
“Intimidating, sweetheart. Not scary.”
“Same thing.”
He rakes a hand through his rumpled hair. His liquid eyes stay on me, still hungry, and the heat behind them curls through me. “You were intimidating because you were effortlessly gorgeous on a day when you had excruciating pain. Now, get back in here.”
“Brandon Tyler Pike. The outfit!”
“I’ll need to inspect it more closely to give an objective opinion.” He tugs on his boxers and gets out of bed. “Let’s see.”
He cocks his head to the side, then spins me away from him. Before I can turn around, my back is pressed to his muscled chest. His hands run up my thighs.
“Looks good here,” he murmurs, greedy fingers sliding to my waist. “Amazing here.” He sucks on my earlobe. Shivers race down my spine. “It looks especially good up here.”
My body moves against him involuntarily. “Brandon…”
“The outfit is perfect. But it would look even better off you.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “You are insatiable.”
“I haven’t seen you in a week. We should make a rule: The day after a work trip, you’re solely mine.”
“That only works if you want to spend all day in bed.”
“Is that even a question?”
“Sleeping only. That’s all I did yesterday.” And all I’ll do tomorrow. This week has wiped me out.
“You know I’d be happy only sleeping with you. If you can’t keep your hands off me, well, I can hardly be held accountable.” He spins me around and cups my cheek. “How are you feeling right now?”
I skim my finger from his chest to his navel. “Insatiable.”
He growls and pushes me down on the bed. I sigh contentedly as he cages me between his arms. If I could, I’d stay here all night with him.
But considering how often I cancel plans due to health, I should take advantage of the fact that I don’t need to cancel tonight.
After months of talking online, a few of us from the care network are finally meeting in person.
We’re discussing how we can support each other during the holidays.
I’m planning on hosting a virtual event too.
Except on New Year’s. That’s the anniversary of when Brandon and I met. He’s taking me on a trip to Switzerland.
He moves my sweater off my shoulder, trailing kisses over my skin. My eyes close in contentment. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of this.
He’s home.
When the urge to have him again grows too strong, I murmur, “I really have to go. I can’t be in bed with you when they arrive.”
“Okay.” He smacks my butt playfully. “Get your cute ass downstairs.”
In the kitchen, I grab paper plates and cups. No way I’m doing dishes tonight. The food I pre-ordered—a variety to accommodate dietary needs—is still in the fridge, and I hope it goes with whatever Emy’s mom made for the main course.
I put on my ice hat. My head’s started bothering me more in the last few weeks, and all signs point to elevated intracranial pressure.
There was no papilledema in my recent eye exam, but I scheduled a cerebral venogram with manometry for January before work starts up again.
Brandon and I are going to New York City, where Dr. Richardson will snake a catheter into my brain and measure the pressure gradients inside my veins.
This will confirm, officially, whether I can get a stent.
Sometimes, I found out, the pressure inside the veins doesn’t match the presumed severity on the CTV.
I need to cover all my bases before proceeding.
“Well.” Brandon shuffles into the kitchen, his thick hair sticking up in the front. He’s keeping it trimmed at about an inch or two max, and it suits him. “My legs feel like burnt Jell-O.”
I wince. “Too much?”
“A little.”
“Do you need anything? Ice? Ibuprofen?”
We talked to Ranielle about positions, and she worked out modifications for both of us, but sometimes we still overdo it, especially when we get caught up in the moment. Like today, when we haven’t seen each other in a week.
“I’ll be okay.” He pecks me on the nose.
Since he doesn’t pretend to be fine anymore when he’s not, I’m mildly reassured. He’ll tell me if he needs anything. I love us even more for it. We can trust each other completely with our bodies. Intimacy is what we decide it is, at our own pace, in whatever way makes us both feel good.
“We can take it easy tomorrow,” I say. “Cuddle. Maybe watch that new celebrity trivia show.”
“Don’t you need to rest your eyes?”
“I don’t need to keep them open to beat you.”
His smile turns smug. “We’ll see about that.”
“We will,” I say, matching his smile. “I’m dying to find out if you’re still as good while I’m on my knees in front of you.”
The cockiness slips off his face, and he groans, low and needy. I can’t stop my evil chuckle, even if I go hot all over again just thinking about my man moaning for me.
But I have to level the playing field somehow. I swear he studies trivia facts in secret just to show me up. It does work in my favor whenever we go to pub trivia nights with Emy, Analia, Kalle, Luis, and Cyrus (or play online if not all of us are up for it). Whoever’s on Brandon’s team dominates.
The doorbell rings, and I let out a small shriek. “You’re still here! What am I going to do?”
“Should I hide in the closet?”
“We said no significant others. And you’re famous! Some of them are shy.”
No paparazzi have followed us in three months. It did die down, like he said it would. Brandon only comes up in the news now when he’s helping with a big-name disability fundraiser or doing commentary for a snowboarding competition.
But his notoriety—and my leaked chats—initially made people nervous. I had to explain what his dad did and how he’s now in rehab. I don’t want Brandon’s presence today to make anyone worry about privacy.
“I’m so proud of you.” Brandon gathers me in his arms, his cane resting against my back. “You made all this happen.”
When we open the door, thankfully, it’s just Emy and Analia.
“Hi, Pike,” they chorus, then exchange a knowing look with each other.
He inclines his head. “Ladies.”
I give him a playful shove. “Get out of here.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” He gives me one last kiss. “Love you. Don’t forget to check out those links I sent you.”
“I will,” I say. “I love you too. Have fun at Game Night.”
After he leaves, Emy raises a suggestive eyebrow. “What kind of links?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking about.” I might as well tell them. “We talked to a Realtor last week.”
“Shut up! You’re buying a house?” Emy starts squealing.
“Not exactly. The Realtor said there aren’t many accessible houses on the market.”
“Wouldn’t you have to bid right away, then?” Analia asks.
I shake my head and realize I’m still wearing my ice hat. I smooth down my static curls. “He wants to build a house with the right accommodations. Once we have a clearer sense of what’s ideal, we’ll think about the next step.” I burst into a giddy smile. “But I can’t wait for that step!”
I think Brandon will eventually want to move out of Rochester, but for now we’re happy having our friends and his family nearby.
“We might rent something in the meantime,” I say, “but I’m okay with waiting while we figure out what works best for us. I know Brandon’s the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.” There’s no deadline when you’re with the right person. Whatever my future holds, he’ll be in it.
Emy and Analia envelop me in a big hug. I love these women so much. Like Emy predicted, our friendship has only gotten stronger since we started meeting in person alongside our online chats.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Are we ready?” I whisper.
Analia sucks in a deep breath. “Freaking out a little.”
Emy takes our hands. “It’s going to be great. Trust me.”
I straighten my shoulders and open the door.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Skylar.”