Epilogue
QUINN
Seven Months Later
“ K nox,” I sing-song, bursting in through the open front door of his new home.
After Travis Foster bought out our apartment building to renovate over the summer, the five of us—along with the other residents living in Third Street Apartments—were granted the rest of the spring semester to stay. One week after classes end, we need to have all of our belongings removed from the building for the new construction to start.
None of us renewed our leases for next year when the building is set for a grand reopening.
Knox’s father hadn’t even tried to convince his son to stay, but that didn’t matter at all to Knox. The only thing that he or any of us cared about was that we’d no longer be living next to each other come summer.
The three of them—Knox, Ace, and Slate—found a house to rent on the outskirts of campus. It’s gorgeous: a modern number that looks like it costs more than an arm and a leg and has more bedrooms than they need.
Ace’s parents are well-known in the art community. So well-known that he doesn’t even need his job at the art supply store in town. I’m sort of proud of him for wanting to have his own income, even if all he spends it on is booze and Rory. The latter I definitely accept; she’s been needing someone in her life like Ace.
Ace had been adamant about Knox and Slate moving in with him, even though they were wary about how expensive the home was. Knox was the hardest to convince, but in the end, Ace won out, telling them that his parents wanted to do this for them, that it’s only one year, and that they’re like his brothers.
He even tried to convince Rory and I to move into an apartment building nearby, but it wasn’t the right fit for either of us. We wanted something homier than the new high-rise with perfectly straight lines and cookie-cutter to every other apartment in the building.
We wanted something close to campus, something walkable because neither of us have cars. We like the lived-in feel, having the memories of others’ stories shared in the chips in the floor or the dents in the walls.
I miss our old apartment dearly, saddened by what Mr. Foster is going to make it into. Sure, the elevator was a death trap in itself, and sure, the walls were thinner than paper, but it was home, where I found love with my grumpy next-door neighbor, though I’m sure that in Knox’s version of the story, I was the grumpy one.
The five of us had spent our last night at the building together, drinking and eating until our hearts were content, stomachs filled with waffles and ice cream from Rhonda’s. It was the perfect night to end our time in the building, but also to end the semester.
I passed Drawing 201 with flying colors, and I’ve been beaming since that night I spent with Knox when my inspiration finally struck again. The swan portrait that I merged with myself was a project I never thought I’d be able to finish, let alone be so proud of. It’s been a long few years since I’ve felt this good, this light, and I can only hope that it’s not a fleeting feeling. I want this one to stick around for as long as possible.
I even passed Art History, and I don’t know who was more excited, Odie or myself when I texted him about it after receiving my grade. I still owe him my coffee order and probably a six-pack or so, maybe even a trip to one of his games, but I definitely couldn’t have done it without his or Knox’s help.
In a few days, Rory and I head back up to Seattle for the summer, although I see a few flights back to California in our future. Maybe even the boys can come and visit us. I know Knox is staying around Vulcan U for the summer and Slate is going back to Hawaii to spend time with his younger sister and parents he hasn’t been able to see since Christmas. Ace is traveling with his parents for a spell and even invited Knox along, but he declined, graciously thanking Ace’s parents for the offer but that he’s diving deep into his next set of drawings for an exhibition he wants to put on sometime next year.
Since he’s had to put his dream of becoming a tattoo artist on hold because of the lingering effects of his motorcycle accident, he’s decided that his next showcase is going to be drawings of all of the tattoos he wishes he could give some day.
Knox has also decided to restart physical therapy to work on the shakiness of his hands in hopes of one day making those dreams come true .
Rory is taking a four-week painting class at the Royal Academy of Arts in London and I’m sad to see her go for so long, but I’m so incredibly excited that she’s gotten this opportunity because her portraits are simply breath-taking. I know she’s going to kick some major ass out there, and when she returns, I’ll be waiting with open arms and a case of Seattle’s best tasting vodka, which is basically just vodka we can get from any liquor store in any state, but it’s the thought that counts, really.
And as for me, I’m not sure what I’m going to be getting up to this summer, but I expect to find myself with my head in my sketchbook now that the ideas are flowing so freely. I’m excited to spend time with my parents and see Sam again, and I know that Rory and I will always find something to get up to in our neighborhood.
I turn towards the living room where I hear Knox calling my name, heading deeper into the house. I’ve already been given the grand tour, already helped christen Knox’s room a few days ago when they hadn’t even moved in one piece of furniture yet.
That had been a lot of fun, and my legs are still sore from our endeavors.
I come to a screeching halt at the sight of Knox and Slate bare-chested as they carry a couch between them, moving further into the living room.
My gaze zeroes in on Knox, his chest glistening with effort. His tattoos look absolutely delicious right now, as do the muscles flexing underneath them. I suck in a sharp breath and lock my legs together, trying to ward off the heat of arousal washing over me.
It’s move in day for the boys and they’ve been lugging boxes and furniture from Third Street Apartments all morning .
Knox looks godly in the light spilling in through the large glass windows overlooking the yard. The parties at this house are going to be next level coming the fall semester. It’s all that Slate has talked about since they signed the lease, commenting on how their housewarming party is going to rival that of Project X.
“Hey, Princess,” Knox winks, catching my wandering eyes with his own. I can only beam, not bashful at all about checking my boyfriend out. This stroke of inspiration has really helped me come out of my shell a little more, feeling more settled in my own body than I have in years.
So what if he’s caught me admiring his chiseled torso? He’s all mine and I can stare if I want to. Although, the sudden dampness between my legs that has me shifting on my feet does make Knox’s smirk widen, those jade eyes going molten.
“Can you two stop eye-fucking for one minute?” Slate groans dramatically, acting like he’s struggling under the weight of the couch. He could probably easily carry it by himself, actually, with how ginormous he is. “This thing is fucking heavy.”
“All right, let’s put it over here,” Knox directs with a sigh, guiding them a few more feet into the room. They place the couch in front of the giant television Ace splurged on, and I know movie nights are going to be insane in here. Two words: surround sound. It will be just like we’re at a movie theater, without all of the extra bodies, and with twice as much popcorn.
A thump sounds from upstairs and the sound of Rory’s laughter drifts down the staircase.
So, maybe this new house isn’t that much more private than our old apartments.
As soon as Knox lowers his end of the couch, I’m flinging myself into his arms, wrapping mine around his neck tightly. Knox laughs and swings me around before planting me back on the ground and leaning over to kiss me silly.
The flooding warmth that spreads throughout my body only intensifies as he steps closer, pressing into me and grinding my hips against his with a firm grip around my waist. It allows me to feel how happy he is to see me, and damn, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this.
“Hi,” I grin when we part.
Knox’s eyes glitter with amusement. “Hi, Princess. How was your morning?”
My hands snake down his chest, brushing over his nipples as I go. I don’t miss his reaction to my touch and it makes me giddy all over again. I hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants, turning my smile sultry, enjoying the way his eyes darken with need. “Much better now.”
“Is that so?” Knox quirks an eyebrow. He looks like he’s two seconds away from dragging me upstairs to his new room and breaking his bed in. He hasn’t gotten a new one but a new room calls for a new fuck, and I love that soft as fuck mattress he has. I wouldn’t mind it one bit at all if we abandoned this moving stuff and found our way up there. “Do I want to know why you’re so cheery this morning?”
“You already know,” I grin, rolling onto the tips of my toes to kiss him on the nose.
When I try to pull away, Knox growls, tightening his hold on me to keep me close.
I almost purr.
“You can’t say that and not want me to fuck you, Princess,” he replies roughly, dipping down to whisper in my ear. His breath is hot across the shell and I shiver in his arms, eyelashes fluttering at his whispers. I have to swallow back the moan crawling its way up my throat .
We startle apart at the sound of a loud crash, turning to find Slate all but glaring at the both of us, having just dropped a box of books to the ground purposefully.
“I thought we were supposed to be moving,” Slate tosses over his shoulder before yelling up the stairs. “I can’t have both roommates fucking already. There’s still so much shit to move!”
“I’m coming,” Ace shouts back and I crinkle my nose.
“Ew.” My joking reaction makes Slate crack, a smile twitching at his lips. He’s still been acting weird but won’t tell anyone why, insisting that he’s completely fine even though all four of us can see through his lie easily.
Slate props his hands on his hips, still staring down at Knox and I like he’s scolding us. “I knew I made a good decision in befriending you, Quinnie.”
“More like forced yourself into my life,” I grumble playfully, following him out to his rusty Bronco, stuffed full with boxes.
“Just for that, I’m giving you a heavy box,” he teases right back, but he isn’t kidding because my breath is nearly knocked out of my chest when he hands me the next one. It’s falsely labeled ‘Knox’s room’ because I’m pretty sure it’s actually filled with bricks.
Knox glares at his roommate as he rids me of the heavy box. I give him heart eyes and try to convey that I’m totally going to go down on him later for carrying the weight of the world—that box—for me.
His answering grin shows me that he understands exactly what I’m trying to tell him.
While Knox carries that inside, I sneakily slide out a box that says ‘couch pillows’ on it instead. It takes me back to the day Rory and I moved in to our last apartment, how the living room box had been the last one I brought inside before my very first—and very terrible—run in with Knox.
The smile I wander inside with is a nostalgic one.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes!”
“Then why are you acting like I’ve already put the needle to your skin?” Knox argues, sitting back in his chair.
I’m lying on the dining room table, shirt pulled up to my neck, waiting for Knox to put the tattoo gun to my skin. I keep squirming, not quite comfortable on the cold table top, but it’s the best we’ve got. Lying on the couch or Knox’s bed would probably make me feel less uneasy, but I wanted him to have the flattest surface to work with because I know he’s nervous about fucking this up with his shaky hands.
It's not his hands that I’m worried about. I don’t care what the lines look like and I know he’ll make them perfect. I’m worried about the sudden indecision creeping along my spine.
It’s my first tattoo ever, and I’m hella nervous.
It’s taken me months to decide on what I want it to be of, and Knox has been nothing but patient, not pushing or pestering me once about it, no matter how badly I know he wants to be the one to put my first ink on my skin.
The sound of the gun is intimidating as fuck.
I sigh loudly and Knox shuts the tattoo gun off, placing it on the table. He rips the gloves from his hands and helps me sit up, guiding my shirt back into place.
“Maybe we should wait,” he suggests softly, soothing the skin of my hands with his thumbs .
“I want one,” I huff, sadly. “But I don’t think this is the one anymore.”
Knox’s hand falls from mine only so that he can grip my chin and turn my face towards his. He’s looking down at me sternly and presses a firm kiss to my lips before answering.
“That’s okay, Princess. There’s no rush. You don’t even have to get one, if you don’t want to.”
“I do,” I whine in frustration. I’ve had it planned for weeks and now…I just can’t go through with it. It doesn’t feel right anymore.
I slide off of the table into Knox’s lap, resting my head against his chest while he holds me tight. I let the soothing beat of his heart calm my racing thoughts, the rubbing of his hands up and down my back a relaxing gesture. It makes my heart swell with the amount of love that I have for him, and I’m really going to miss him this summer.
Knox brushes a strand of hair from my face when I finally lean back. He’s studying me with those intense jade eyes that I’ve come to love. I can always tell what he’s thinking these days: his annoyance, his happiness, his anger, his lust. But right now, I’m not all that confident in what he’s pondering.
“I want to show you something,” he murmurs softly and I frown.
“Okay,” I answer tentatively, but his hand is sure in mine as he laces our fingers together after helping me from his lap.
Knox guides me up the stairs and into his room.
“Knox,” I can’t help but tease, because the lingering traces of my nervousness are still making me feel jittery and unsure. His hand in mine helps. “I already know this room too well,” I continue, alluding to when we’d gotten everything moved in and Knox fucked me over every surface in here. It was pure bliss, one of the best nights we’ve shared together .
A good fucking might help my nerves right now, come to think of it.
He puffs a breathy laugh and guides me to sit on the edge of his bed. I follow his instructions with obedience, covering my eyes when he tells me to.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Knox asks, and I roll my eyes behind my lids.
“Um, two?”
His grumbling sounds like it’s coming from the other side of the room when he answers. “I was thinking two.”
I bounce giddily on the edge of his bed, grinning in his general direction. When I hear his scoff, my smile only widens.
“Easy, Princess.”
I stop my bouncing but not my grinning.
“What is it?” I ask, thrilled now rather than nervous.
Knox’s laughter still sends butterflies shooting off in my stomach to this day, and I don’t ever want that feeling to go away.
“If I told you, that would defeat the purpose of me asking you to close your eyes, Quinn,” he tuts and I swear I can hear him rolling his eyes at me. “But you can open them now, Miss Impatient.”
“Hey, that’s my middle name—” My words stick in my throat as I stare at the canvas he’s holding.
I’m in utter awe at the artwork he’s showing off, the lines he’s so confidently drawn. I’m transported back to the night of his exhibition, when he’d shared the deepest parts of his soul with me in both pictures and words.
Similarly to the centerpiece of his exhibition, the charcoal drawing in his hold is of two hands intertwined. His, with his rough scars and grafts, clutching tightly to a flawless hand, a more feminine hand .
My hand.
Knox shifts nervously on his feet. I can feel his eyes on me and all I’m doing is staring at the artwork, open-mouthed and awe-struck.
“I wanted to give it to you before you left for Seattle,” he explains, looking from me to the picture, more nervous that I’ve ever seen him. “So you can take it with you and have something that reminds you of us while we’re apart.”
Tears well in my eyes as my heart constricts in my chest. “It’s—” I choke, pressing a hand to my aching chest as if that’s going to be the thing that will make it stop feeling like it’s going to explode. “It is so beautiful, Knox.”
He breathes out a soft sigh of relief, just managing to move the canvas out of the way when I spring up and collapse in his arms, sobbing into his chest. It’s not even pretty crying, either. It’s full-blown ugly crying that’s fucking up my makeup, but neither of us really care.
Knox cradles me tightly against his chest, his lips peppering soft kisses to my hairline. “Shh, Princess. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m crying because it’s perfect,” I say, pulling away. My fingers stay locked in tight fists, the fabric of his shirt balled between them.
Knox brushes my tears tenderly, wiping softly at my wet cheeks. He studies me, eyes glinting with concern as he drinks me in, calming me down. “You’re perfect. And I love you.”
“I love you too, Quinn,” he answers, his voice a rasp that makes me lean in closer.
And even though I’m too chicken to get a tattoo today, Knox is there, tattooed on my soul. He’s inked in the love that I hadn’t known I was missing until we met. Through all of the arguing, the late nights spent at each other’s throats and in each other’s arms, we found love.
And I fucking love Knox. So, so much.
“Yeah?” I ask, cheeks pinkening at his words. It still feels surreal, how we went from hating each other to loving each other so fiercely. I’m thankful for him every single day. “You love me?”
“I love you, Quinn Conroy,” he repeats. “I think maybe I always have.”
“That’s so not true,” I laugh wetly, trying to swat at his chest. Knox catches my hand in his and kisses my palm, eyes shining with adoration.
“Okay,” he concedes with a grin that makes my heart skip. “Maybe not always, but for a long time now. It’s us, Quinn.” We both turn to admire his drawing again before looking down at where our own hands are clasped tightly between our chests. His scarred one, my smooth one. Opposites, yet somehow perfect together. “I want us. For as long as you’ll have me.”
“Forever then?” I ask, because I don’t even need to think about it. I’m not letting this man go.
Knox nods, leaning down to kiss me. It’s an unspoken promise, one that settles in my heart like a tattoo when he agrees.
“Forever, then.”