Epilogue
The chaos of the red carpet buzzed around me.
Flashing cameras, reporters shouting names, a thousand conversations happening at once.
It was the usual brand of overwhelming, but I’d gotten better at handling it.
No more wanting to throw up (progress!), but I still hadn’t quite nailed the art of not feeling like I might bolt at any second.
“Breathe, Jules,” Martha, my publicist, reminded me, literally demonstrating by inhaling and exhaling.
I shot her a dry look. “Oh, is that what I’ve been doing wrong?”
She snorted, giving the last few tweaks to my dress.
“You look great! Don’t stress.”
Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one with a well-documented history of tripping in high heels at the most inconvenient times.
Still, I was lucky to have her. Martha and my manager had been my rocks ever since I took this insane leap into Hollywood.
They’d helped me navigate everything, from contracts and networking to school enrollment for the kids and coordinating visits with George.
And together, we’d built something even bigger: a safe space for women in the industry.
Partnering with other powerful voices, we worked to make sure what happened to me all those years ago never happened to anyone else.
It was the one part of this world that truly felt like mine.
I took another deep breath, trying to steady myself as my eyes wandered over the crowd.
That’s when I spotted a familiar scene—Vanessa, mid-argument with her latest client, some ridiculously good-looking actor who was way more interested in checking his reflection in a nearby camera lens than whatever she was saying.
“Some people never change…” I muttered while shaking my head.
Martha’s gaze found Vanessa. She knew most of the story.
She knew how Chris’ manager had once been my worst nightmare, how he and I had imploded, how I’d spent years trying to put myself back together.
What she didn’t know? That I’d been dreaming about Chris long before we ever met.
That part I kept to myself. No need to give my new LA friends a reason to stage an intervention.
As Martha finished smoothing my hair, she suddenly froze. Her expression softened, and her gaze flicked over my shoulder.
“Good thing some people do,” she murmured.
Before I could ask what the hell that meant, I heard it. That warm and familiar voice sent chills down my spine.
“Hey, babe…”
I turned, and there he was.
Chris.
Standing a few feet away, looking exactly the same. Time had barely touched him. His eyes locked onto mine, and it knocked the air right out of my lungs.
How long had it been? I didn’t let myself count.
Every now and then, I’d see his name pop up somewhere, like a headline or an interview. I would tell myself to keep scrolling, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. Most of the time, I could, though. It was easier that way. The pain had dulled over time, but it was still there.
He’d stayed in Boston for almost a year.
No projects, no press, nothing. And then, when the world forgot about him, he came back—loud and brilliant, like he always did.
His directorial debut, After You Go, was the romance of the year.
The kind of movie people called “a masterpiece,” “gut-wrenching,” and “absolutely devastating.”
Fuck, I barely survived the trailer. No way in hell was I watching the full thing.
“You’re going to do great. Don’t worry,” Chris said, his voice slipping over me like déjà vu. Like a daydream I’d had before. But this—this was real.
I forced a breath. “It’s been a while. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“How could I not? When I heard this amazing, up-and-coming screenwriter was being nominated, I had to come.” He smiled—that same damn smile that had always undone me.
Paired with those eyes? It was unfair. A warmth spread through me, something…
familiar. Like my body had a calm the fuck down button, and only he knew how to press it.
“You’re just in time to watch me humiliate myself in front of everyone.”
My publicist chuckled. “She thinks she’s going to fall.”
Chris smirked. “She won’t.”
We locked eyes, and I couldn’t look away. I took him in, memorizing every detail like I’d forget if I blinked. It had been forever—not just in real life, but in my dreams, too. Since the day I walked away, I hadn’t dreamed about him. Not once.
I missed just… looking at him.
“But I’d love to walk with you if that helps,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked onto mine.
With the camera flashes going off around us, I swore I could see my own reflection—my too-bright red hair shimmering in his ocean-blue eyes.
Something about him felt different now, like he was a mix of the Chris I met years ago and the one I had spent over a decade dreaming about.
I let myself wonder how much time had changed him.
I knew it had changed me. Quite a lot.
But it wasn’t just time, was it? It was him.
Chris had walked into my life, and even if it was only for a few months, he had awakened something in me. In my daydreams, the ones where we had spent a lifetime together, he had shaped me into a better version of myself. And in real life, he had done the same.
Maybe that was what we were always meant to do: to find each other, to heal each other, right when we needed it most. I hoped that was true in every version of us. In every reality, on every… radio channel.
I smiled at him.
“I’ve got you,” he said, and I thought I had heard him say it before. Maybe somewhere in time, in some version of our story.
Everything faded away. The flashing lights, the shouting reporters, the chaos. It was just us. Chris reached out his hand, palm up, waiting.
I hesitated for only a second before slipping my fingers into his, our hands fitting together like they always had. No matter how much had changed, something had stayed the same—the way I felt when he was near.
I was home.
THE END.