Epilogue
. . .
September, One Year Later
Jordana
I clinked my wine glass against Gavin’s, surrounded by friends in a light-filled New York City loft.
Stacks of hardcover books covered the table in front of us. Large, beautiful, coffee table books. Gavin’s creative dream had come true, and the photos we’d taken together were splashed across the pages.
I’d had to psych myself up to attend a book release party that featured nude photos of me, complete with ropes, chains, and — most naked of all — my private emotions. There’d been pre-gaming with wine, deep breathing, and a lot of encouragement from Gavin.
But now that we were here, I was beaming with pride. This book told our story. A journey of learning to be seen, to value ourselves.
“A toast to the geniuses behind this book!” Eden announced, holding up her wine to a room of raised glasses.
“To the geniuses behind this book!” everyone echoed.
Red crept up Gavin’s neck, but he accepted the attention with a smile. He’d been as nervous about the party as I was, and took a particularly large swallow of liquid courage before saying “Thank you” to the masses.
“This is it,” he told me. “No more booze. I’ve got to drive us back to Hawthorne.”
“Let’s stay until tomorrow morning.” I squeezed his hand. “Please? I promise the guest beds at my dad’s place are comfortable. He offered to let us sleep over.”
“So convincing,” he teased, kissing my cheek.
This morning, we’d driven five hours from Hawthorne to New York in Gavin’s car, and I was thankful Eden came along.
As I got up to mingle with guests — mostly Gavin’s friends, whom I was meeting for the first time — my mind flitted to the past year. To everything that had brought us here.
After Streetcar closed, I kept writing until I had eight episodes of Typecast, enough for a full season. Eden, Gavin, and I filmed in the spring, with friends taking roles — Hope, Max, Jackson.
A week ago, we’d released the pilot episode online, and Episode 2 had dropped last night.
Word was spreading, strangers were starting to watch…and they liked it.
Next week, we’d start filming Season 2, which I’d written during my summer internship in Chicago. I’d been shocked that I was accepted, but when I told Rachel, she smiled and said she wasn’t surprised.
When he wasn’t putting hours into editing Typecast footage, Gavin was building up his photography studio in Hawthorne, booking family shoots, event photos, and ads for local businesses, along with lighting design for a local repertory theater.
At this point, he knew more people in Hawthorne than I did.
Across the room, he was talking with friends, his amber eyes animated. There was no trace of the closed-off shadow I’d met almost a year ago.
He noticed my gaze and gave me that gorgeous smile.
He didn’t just make my insides turn over; he was wise. In the end, he’d opted not to apply for a teaching position at the university.
“It’s best to be friends with Rachel, not colleagues,” he’d pointed out. “A lot’s happened in your department. It needs time to cool down.”
But the cooling down happened pretty quickly following the dramatic exit of Corey Young.
After Streetcar wrapped, Corey fled to his hometown in Kansas.
Rumors swirled of a nervous breakdown. But according to Max, Corey spent the rest of the year recovering, and eventually moved to Los Angeles to be a screen actor.
He’d spent time in therapy, which I knew because he’d sent apology letters to Eden and me.
I didn’t know if Corey meant anything in the letter, or if he was playing a role. In the end, I sent a response that said only, “Thank you for your apology. Wishing you the best.”
Eden had been quiet for a couple of days after she got Corey’s letter. She never told me whether she’d answered.
I watched her flirt with Gavin’s publicist. She’d chopped her hair short this summer in a wavy bob, above a simple black mini dress that would have been very un-Edenlike a year ago. But she was still Eden, kind and generous, and she didn’t complain about her life being boring anymore.
Joy, Gavin’s editor, approached, her high-heeled clogs clicking on the wood floor.
“I love your tattoo!” she exclaimed, peering at my left arm. “‘Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.’ Let me guess — Shakespeare?”
“That’s right.”
I held out my arm to display the cursive quote I’d gotten last week, after the pilot episode of Typecast released. Finally, I felt worthy of its message.
“It’s from All’s Well That Ends Well.”
“So true,” Joy said warmly. “Congrats on the book. And a show, I hear!”
“Thank you.”
I beamed, touching the gold watch from my dad. What’s past is prologue. Everything that had happened, the highest peaks and lowest valleys, had led to this day.
“Gavin mentioned that your family lives in New York. I take it they’re not here tonight?” she asked with a conspiratorial smile.
I laughed. “I think this book would be a little much for my dad. But he’s proud of me, in his way. So is my mom. She’s not in New York anymore, though. They divorced.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She lives in Ohio now, working in clothing design at a cute little boutique. She’s really happy. My dad, too.”
Against all odds, my father’s new family was good for him — and so far, he was good to them.
My new baby sister, Isabel, cracked my heart open as soon as I met her, and she seemed to have done the same for my dad.
I’d brought Gavin to the lavish June wedding with his fiancée Sophie, and despite my discomfort, it was actually okay.
At one point, my dad had taken me aside and told me how lucky Isabel was to have an older sister she could look up to.
I believed I could be that woman — a role model for her as she grew up. I finally knew how to respect myself. And I couldn’t wait to see who she became.
The night whittled down to a few stray guests and wine-stained linens. To my surprise, Eden hit it off with Gavin’s publicist, a tall drink of water named Adam.
“You two go ahead,” she told us outside, as we made plans to spend the night at my dad’s place. “I’m going to share a cab with Adam.”
“Do you think Adam will end up in Eden?” Gavin murmured in my ear.
“Gavin,” I groaned.
We headed down the sidewalk in the lingering September warmth, under city lights and the darkening sky. The last streaks of sunset bathed skyscrapers, storefronts, and apartment windows in a magical glow.
“How does it feel to be here?” Gavin wrapped a possessive arm around my waist.
“Really good.” I took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking I might want to move back here after graduation.”
Gavin and I hadn’t talked about what would come after I graduated next spring. He was at home in Hawthorne now, but I had no reason to stay after college. Except for him.
I had a lot of plans and hopes. For acting, for writing. I couldn’t shrink myself for a relationship like my mom had — it never worked out, in the end. But I wanted my future to have Gavin in it.
He studied me with a slight smile. “You in New York? That makes sense. There’s more work for you here, more connections. Tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking about coming back here too.”
“Really?”
“Being here with you…” He glanced at the tall buildings framing us on the sidewalk. “The city looks different. It would be a whole new story.”
“So we can be here together next year?”
“We can.” His hand tightened on my hip. “Do you want that?”
“I always want to be with you. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“I can’t either, kitten.” He touched my cheek, then the messenger bag that hung from his shoulder. “I have something for you.”
“A present?” I asked, surprised and delighted. Gavin was unfailingly generous, but his love language was more about thoughtful everyday acts than gifts.
His amber eyes flicked over me. “I planned to give it to you later, but this feels like the right time. Unless you want to wait —”
“I don’t.” Playfully, I nudged my knee between his. “You can give it to me right here on the sidewalk.”
“So impatient.” He drew me close to a building, out of the flow of passersby, and took a flat, silver-wrapped box from his bag, about six inches square.
Eagerly, I unwrapped the box. It looked like it came from a jeweler, which puzzled me even more. Gavin had never bought me jewelry. He knew I only wore my watch and a pair of hoop earrings most days.
I lifted the lid. Resting on white velvet was a simple, slim golden choker, just big enough to fit around my throat.
“It’s beautiful.” I touched the choker. The intent look in Gavin’s eyes told me this was more than pretty jewelry. “Does it mean something?”
“If you want it to.” His nostrils flared, and I shivered.
“It’s up to you, Jordana. This can be a nice necklace that you wear when you feel like it, that matches your watch.
” He ran a finger over my watch, making me remember when he hunted it down and set our entire relationship in motion.
“Or it can be a piece that you wear all the time. A collar. To remind us both that you belong to me.”
My breath hitched, my heart thumping.
“You don’t have to decide right away,” he went on.
But I knew. It wasn’t a question of deciding.
I’d given myself to him over and over, and it never made me disappear. We were stronger together. And the times I was most helpless with him, the most reverent and madly in love, those were the times I was most powerful. I knew he felt the same way.
I bent my neck, looking up at him. “Can you put your collar on me?”
He broke into a smile that lit up his whole face. He swept my hair aside and lifted the collar from the box, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck as he fastened it in place. Then he took the box and dropped it into his bag.
“Such a good little kitten,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
There was only love and warmth in his eyes as he traced the golden ring around my throat. The cool metal and Gavin’s touch made me throb down there.
I was his.
“I’m so happy with you,” I murmured.
Gavin caught me by the waist, whirling me to face him. My dress swirled out in the early autumn breeze. I laughed breathlessly as we stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. People streamed past, not paying us any mind.
“I’m happy too.” His face lit up in the smile that softened his sharply beautiful features. “The happiest I’ve ever been. You’re everything.”
“Not too much?” I teased.
“Never too much. Always just right.”
“So are you. You’re just the right combination of real and magic.”
“I love you, Jordana Green.” He made it sound like a prayer, a wish, and a benediction. The greatest statement in the history of time, and the most casual, everyday truth. Everything and nothing.
“I love you too, Gavin Lockwood.”
He kissed my forehead, then my lips. A universe of possibility arched between us. With the ground solid beneath our feet, we hurried down the sidewalk.