Epilogue
One Month Later
Mal
“Wait, really?” I ask. “With a man?”
He snorts, looking at his phone with near-literal heart eyes. “No, with this dick. Do you wanna see?”
“Alex,” I groan, shoving my hand in the way before he can shove a dick in my face.
“I’m meeting him later today,” he says.
“The dick?” I ask, thoroughly confused. “How?”
Alex’s eyebrows wing up, and he tilts his head. “Grindr, boo. Has living with Henrik aged you?”
“Har har,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“Hey, Henrik,” Alex calls out. My boyfriend turns his head, focusing his attention Alex’s way. “What time is Mal’s bridge tournament? I want to make sure my schedule is free.”
Henrik purses his lips like he’s thinking about it. Most of the time, I appreciate that he and Alex have such an easy, joking camaraderie. But, right now, I’m bemoaning the mind meld.
“Seven?” Henrik answers. “But don’t get any big ideas in your head. He needs to be home by nine for bedtime.”
Alex cackles next to me, and Henrik smiles, looking pleased with himself.
“Thanks, Daddy Henrik,” Alex calls out.
I shove my friend’s shoulder. “You’re such trouble,” I tell him, not for the first time.
“And you love me for it,” he retorts. He’s not wrong. “You love all of us, I know it. We’re going to miss you, Mal.”
I nod, looking around the studio here at Elite 8. At all the men—and one woman—gathered for my sendoff. The cast, the crew, the producers, and even some loved ones.
I knew months ago, the moment Henrik showed up here to beg me to come home, that I wouldn’t be resuming my role as Malibu.
It was never my dream, working here. It fit into my life for a long time, and I’m happy I had the experience.
I’m glad to have met these people and that I had a safe place to land for a while.
Elite 8 Studios kept me going when times were tough.
But now, I’m ready to move on officially.
I won’t be far away, of course. Just a drive. And I have a feeling I’ll be back here from time to time to visit. Not to mention, I know I’ll see plenty of my boys—my brothers—outside these walls.
But even knowing that, it’s bittersweet, putting this part of my life in the rearview. I couldn’t be happier with where I’m going, with my life with Henrik, but my past played a part in me getting here. And if nothing else, I’m grateful for that.
“I am going to miss you all,” I agree wholeheartedly.
“But you’re happy,” Alex fills in for me, his hazel eyes soft.
“So very happy,” I sigh out.
My eyes seek out Henrik in the crowd, and I smile. He’s nodding his head along to something Emil is saying.
“You’re going to give me a toothache,” Alex teases. “You and those moon eyes. And you’re not the only one. One by one, my friends are getting picked off.”
“And what about you?” I ask, turning back his way. “You used to date, but it’s been a while.”
Alex shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a sad little glimmer in his eyes. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m more of a realist these days. Happily ever after might not be in my cards.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask, nudging him gently. “You have suitors lining up around the block.”
Alex huffs. “Suitors… Sure, for a night. Men talk a big game, but no one actually wants a nympho boyfriend.”
“Alex,” I say softly.
He shakes his head. “No, it’s the truth. I know who I am. I know what I need . And when it comes down to it, none of the men I’ve been with want my kind of extra for the long-term. It’s fine . Don’t go all gooey eyes on me, Curls.”
I hold up my hands. “Fine, fine,” I concede, knowing Alex doesn’t want me cajoling him. I nudge him again, though. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe no one man is enough.”
Alex titters at that. “Now there’s a thought.”
“Hey, assholes, we’re cutting the cake,” Jerome, my former boss, calls out.
Everyone laughs and, as one, the crowd starts to filter into the center of the room, where a buffet table houses said cake. The thing is massive and, of course, dick-shaped. Jerome holds a knife at the ready, and I wince, nearly reaching for my own junk in sympathy.
“Malibu, anything you’d like to say first?” Jerome asks, as is custom. Anytime someone leaves Elite 8 Studios, they give a goodbye speech. Usually, there’s also a cast orgy. But I opted for cake.
I nod, stepping forward. Everyone watches me patiently as I collect my thoughts, and I take a moment to look around the room.
At the lights overhead. The collection of props lined up neatly against one wall.
The cameras and boom equipment set off to the side.
And all the people within, most of whom I’ve known for years.
These people—they’re my family.
“I’m not big on speeches,” I say, “but I would like to say a few thank yous. First, to Jerome, for offering me a job here in the first place. That little business card you handed me all those years ago at that tiny diner in Salt Lake City meant more than you could know.”
Jerome clears his throat, nodding tightly, and I smile. That’s about as sentimental as the man gets.
“To Dix, Adonis, and Tink,” I say, using their stage names out of deference to where we met. How we started. “Your friendship kept me afloat. You proved to me I wasn’t alone, even when I felt it. Thank you for that. Truly.”
Dixon smiles, Niko tips his head, and Alex swipes furiously at his eyes.
“And to everyone else—working with you was a pleasure. Thank you for accepting me with open arms. For always being kind. For giving me such a wonderful goodbye.”
There are some smiles and more head nods at that.
“And, uh, I have one more thank you.” I look over at the man I love, who’s standing beside Dixon now.
His arms are held clasped in front of him, and per usual, he’s sporting an impeccable suit.
A dark, teal-blue today, like the ocean.
“Henrik.” His eyebrows pop up in surprise.
“I know we had an unusual start, but from the moment we met, you made me feel safe. You made me feel seen. Thank you. Thank you for seeing me.” Henrik’s gaze softens, and I clear my throat, clapping my hands together once. “And that’s it. Thanks, everyone.”
People call out their well-wishes, but when the noise quiets, before Jerome has a chance to cut the cake, Henrik speaks up. “I’d like to say something, as well, if that’s all right.”
Jerome raises an eyebrow, mimicking my own surprise, but he waves Henrik on. “By all means.”
Henrik nods, and before I know what’s happening, Dixon is walking him forward.
They stop just a few paces in front of me, and I watch in confusion as Dixon pats Henrik’s arm and then backs away.
But as soon as Henrik drops to one knee, my eyes shoot wide in understanding.
There’s a collective gasp at once, and without hesitation, Henrik pulls a ring box from his pocket, holding the black velvet in his palm.
“Mal,” he says softly.
“Yeah,” I breathe out, my hands starting to shake.
Henrik orients himself to me, that bright green gaze of his making my breath hitch.
“Mal, I remember the first time I heard your voice. It was so warm, and it settled over me like a cup of Earl Grey.” I choke out a laugh, and Henrik smiles.
“Every day that I get to wake up, hear your voice, and feel your hand clasped in mine is the best day of my life. You make me happy , Mal. You make me wild and happy.”
I wipe the moisture from my eyes as my smile wobbles and shakes.
“I didn’t know what I’d been missing until you came along,” he says. “With you, I’m never alone. And I don’t want to be alone again. Not if it means I’m without you. I have a clue for you. Are you ready?”
I inhale a breath, nodding, even though I’m puzzled. “Yeah, okay.”
Henrik tilts his head gently, his gaze soft and open. “A grand proposition. Seven letters.”
My breath whooshes out of me. “Marry me,” I say, the words practically a sob.
Henrik grins, slow and steady, before popping open the box in his hands. “Would you marry me, Mal?”
I laugh, swiping at my eyes before dropping down in front of Henrik and touching his arm. He grabs a hold of me, his other hand presenting the ring, and I nod furiously. “Of course I’ll marry you, Hen. I’m already yours.”
He exhales in relief, swiping the ring from within the box and holding it out as the room erupts in applause and a few wolf-whistles.
I give Henrik my hand, and he eases the brushed platinum band onto my finger.
There’s a ribbon of emerald running through the center all the way around, and it glimmers under the lights of Studio 1.
“If you don’t like the ring,” he says a little shakily, “we can get something else. But you said it’s your favorite color.”
It is now. It’s the color of Henrik’s eyes.
“It’s perfect, Hen,” I say, running my finger over the smooth metal. “I love it. I love you .”
“I love you, too, Mal,” he says vehemently, not letting go of my hand, even though the ring is in place.
“I know,” I reply around a laugh. “Fuck, I know.”
Suddenly, Alex collides into my side, his arms wrapping around me like a vise. I laugh harder, so damn giddy I could float away.
“Congratulations, boo,” he whispers into my ear, shaking me. “You deserve it. Your knight in shining armor.”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head as Alex smacks a kiss against my cheek.
I’d wished for that once. A knight to cart me off.
And although, yes, Henrik did sweep me off my feet in a way, falling for him was never about being saved. It wasn’t about grand gestures or money or slaying the monsters from my past. It was something—many somethings—more unassuming, more modest, than that.
It’s the gentle way he cares for me each and every day. It’s how he gets me tea when I’m upset, or holds me close when the panic attacks threaten to overwhelm me. It’s supporting me through the little wins and all the days that feel like losses, and how he lets me do the same for him.
I don’t bother correcting Alex, but Henrik’s not my knight. He’s something better.
Because he’s real.
It takes what feels like a lifetime for my party to wrap up. I field a million congratulations, pats on the back, and kind words. The cake is cut and passed around. And before I go, I make sure to embrace each and every person who helped me along in my journey.
It’s nearly midnight by the time Henrik and I walk toward the exit of Elite 8 Studios, hand in hand.
I pause one last time in the entrance hall, facing the sign that welcomed me so many years ago.
The large neon letters run nearly floor to ceiling, yellow and bright, and I trace the curve of the number eight, offering a final farewell. Saying goodbye. To this place.
To Malibu.
Knowing I’m well and truly ready to leave parts of my past behind.
Henrik squeezes my hand, his grip comforting and warm. “Ready, fiancé?”
Turning, I take a deep breath, catching a whiff of cranberry and leaves.
“Yeah,” I reply, my heart full, my steps light. “Let’s go home.”
The End