Epilogue
Miles added a ladle of warm seafood stock to the pot of risotto simmering on the stove, then stirred it.
He’d had to promise to wash Toby’s Jeep once a week for the entire summer to get his brother’s recipe for Shrimp Etouffee Risotto, but if it turned out half as good as the one Toby made at Binge, it would be worth it.
Shrimp Etouffee Risotto was Tabitha’s favorite dish on the menu.
Making her happy was his favorite thing in the world.
A win all around.
These past six months with her had been the best six months of his life.
But they hadn’t been the easiest.
Whoever said love should be easy—and that it meant never having to say you’re sorry—was full of shit.
It’d been a sentiment Miles had firmly believed when he and Tabitha had been together before. One based on nothing more than the fact that the only successful relationship he’d seen had been that of his parents. And he’d been too young, too na?ve, and biased to understand that they hadn’t let their kids see the messy parts of their marriage.
That they’d protected them from those parts.
They’d made it look effortless so for a long time, Miles had thought that was what any successful relationship he had should be.
He’d thought love was all you needed. That it alone was enough.
The last six months had proved him wrong.
Again. And again. And again.
Real kick in the balls, that.
But the pain was worth it.
With the help of Abbie—his personal therapist who he saw weekly—and Kaitlyn—the couples’ therapist he and Tabitha went to every other week—he now knew being in a relationship, staying in one, was a hell of a lot of work.
You had to learn what to compromise on and when to stand your ground. How to set boundaries, both personally and within your relationship. And with Kaitlyn’s help, they were slowly learning how to rebuild trust.
But the most important lesson they’d both learned was that you had to choose your person. Every day.
That was why Miles truly believed he and Tabitha were going to make this work this time. They chose each other, day in and day out.
They still had plenty of things to discuss. So many more stories and secrets to share. So many past hurts to get over. They both still had healing to do. Both still struggled with trust issues.
But they didn’t let those issues take over. Didn’t give into them. No matter how many times their fears crept in, or they both fell back into old patterns, they chose to stay. To work through them together. They fought for each other and their relationship.
And they were winning.
He’d told each member of his family individually about his anxiety and his guilt over their parents’ accident and while all their assurances that they didn’t blame him helped to ease that guilt, it wasn’t gone completely. But with the help of Abbie, it was getting better. And he was having fewer and fewer anxiety attacks thanks to her teaching him how to keep his nervous system as regulated as possible. He’d started running again, which helped, as did making time for things he enjoyed like joining the local basketball rec league.
Tabitha had gone back to therapy, too, choosing to see one of her previous therapists in Pittsburgh via video call twice a month, working to heal the trauma of her childhood and the wounds that had been reopened. Learning how to navigate her new relationship with the brother she hadn’t known about and how to move forward now that she knew her mother was alive.
And lived only a few miles away.
He was adding another ladle of broth to the risotto when the back door opened and Tabitha stepped in.
“Hey,” she said, stomping snow from her knee-high, stacked heel, gray boots. Reaching down to unzip them, she sent him a bright smile. “It smells fantastic in here.”
“Thought we’d stay in for dinner instead of battling the crowds. That okay?”
Her grin widened, her eyes going soft. Grateful. “Perfect.”
He’d told her he had a surprise for her for Valentine’s Day, and he’d known she’d been nervous about it. Probably because the only other time they’d celebrated Valentine’s Day together, back in Pittsburgh, he’d gone all out.
A dozen red roses sent to her at the café where she worked; gourmet chocolates and a stuffed bear the size of a four-year-old child when she got home. Then he’d taken her to dinner at a fancy restaurant on Mt. Washington, overlooking the rivers and the city.
And although she hadn’t complained, he could tell she’d hated it.
He’d wanted to make their first Valentine’s Day memorable. Wanted to show her how much she meant to him.
Had wanted to impress the girl he’d fallen so hard for, but yet again, he’d gone overboard. Had done too much. Tried too hard. And she’d spent the entire evening stiff and tense and uncomfortable.
Luckily, another thing he was learning about himself was that he could change.
And one thing he was learning was that all it took to make his girl happy was to pay attention to what she liked.
Which was spending time with his family or her growing circle of friends—Willow and Hayden and Colette, Greer’s older sister who moved back to town at Christmas time—yoga, and baking more.
But what she liked most was when it was just him and her. Cooking together or snuggled on the couch binge watching a show or catching up on paperwork on their laptops.
After setting her huge bag on the counter, she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the hook by the door next to his. She had on a knit, gray dress that ended above her knees and hugged her curves like a glove; a thin, darker gray belt that accentuated her waist and gray tights he couldn’t wait to peel off her.
And if the grin she gave him as she walked toward him was anything to go by, she knew it.
What could he say? They had no more secrets from each other.
Pressing against his side, she peered into the pot he was still stirring, then shot her gaze to his, her eyes wide. “Is that what I think it is?” He nodded, and she set her arm on his shoulder to keep her balance while she rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “This looks amazing.”
Wrapping his free arm around her, he held her against his side. “Should be good. Unless Toby sabotaged me by forgetting” —he stopped stirring long enough to make air quotes around the last word— “to mention a vital ingredient. Which the bastard has done more than once.”
He hadn’t been joking, but she laughed anyway.
And because he loved the sound of her laugh, because even now it was still so rare, so precious, he bent his head while she was still laughing and kissed her, wanting to taste it on his lips. Wanting to capture it.
It was fucking amazing, doing something simply because he wanted to. Because he could. Because she let him.
Because she was his.
When he finally pulled back, she was still smiling, so he gave her another kiss, this one firm and quick.
“Want me to set the table?” she asked.
“That’d be great. I thought we’d eat in the dining room. Should be about another ten minutes before everything’s ready.”
He’d already sauteed the vegetables and made the roux, the low fire under it keeping it warm. All he needed was to finish the risotto and cook the shrimp.
“Miles,” she gasped and he turned to see she’d noticed the bouquet of flowers on the dining room table. “These are beautiful.”
He’d gone with something simpler this time; a mix of flowers in pinks and reds. He had no idea what most of them were, but they were bright and cheerful, and Tabitha let out a soft laugh of wonder as she touched a fingertip to one of the lighter pink one’s petals.
Yeah. He was getting better and better at making his girl happy.
“There’s a salad in the fridge,” he told her, going back to stirring. “It’s already dressed. And I picked up a baguette at St. Honore’s. It’s sliced and in the bread basket. Just need to uncover it.”
She shook her head as if gathering her thoughts. But she kept right on smiling. “Got it.”
He dipped a clean spoon into the risotto. Blew on it, then took a bite. Shrugged. Seemed al dente to him. Turning off the burner, he added the grated parmesan and butter, then stirred.
“How’d it go with Reed?” he asked.
Tabitha had texted him that she was going to stop at The Cockeyed Chameleon to see her brother after work.
“It was fine,” she said, grabbing plates from the upper cabinet.
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
She set the plates on the counter, then got silverware out of the drawer. “No, it was. He was cordial, and at least he’s talking to me instead of that routine he did the first few weeks where he only replied in grunts and shrugs. It’s my own fault for expecting some miraculous turnaround on his part.”
“He’s still adjusting to everything. You both are.”
“I know. I just need to keep being patient and keep reminding him I’m here if he wants a relationship with me.”
Just like Tabitha chose to work on her relationship with Miles, she also chose to work on building one with her brother.
So far, the kid wasn’t interested.
But Tabitha wasn’t giving up on him. And Miles had a feeling, one day, Walsh was going to appreciate that.
Especially after everything the kid had been through.
Despite Tabitha telling Sara VanHoy, the D.A., about her past with Michelle, Sara was still moving ahead with charges against Reed. And since Reed refused to talk to anyone about what really happened that night, including Tabitha and his attorney, Lily Raught, his only hope was going to be Tabitha’s testimony at his trial.
But at least he was keeping his nose clean. Not letting his bitterness push him into acting out like he would have a few years ago. Tommy DiFonzio had fired Reed after he’d been arrested—a dick move considering the kid was innocent until proven guilty—but Patton had given him more hours at the bar and had gotten him a job with a buddy who’d just opened up a garage specializing in vintage motorcycle restorations.
He was going to be okay.
At least Verity was doing better now. One less teen for him to worry about.
Her first semester at OSU had been rough, but now that she had a new roommate and had made a few friends, she wasn’t calling them crying, begging to come home. She’d even agreed to finish the year out there instead of transferring to Pitt like she’d originally wanted.
Best of all, she’d stopped asking about Reed.
Miles added the shrimp to the sauté pan, tossed them with the vegetables and roux, then added the seasonings, and covered the pan. Finished getting dinner ready while Tabitha set the table and got their drinks, singing along to Zach Bryan’s “Smaller Acts” playing over the Bluetooth speaker.
They ate sitting next to each other because he liked being able to touch her—her knee, her arm, her hand. Loved that he could lean over and kiss her, which he did after she took her first bite and moaned about how good it was. Then he kissed her again because she tasted way better than his dinner.
By the time they were done eating, Tabitha was leaning back in her chair with her eyes shut, groaning about how full she was.
“Guess that means you’re not ready for dessert,” he teased as he stood and began gathering their dishes.
She opened one eye. “Well, now, one shouldn’t be hasty. At least, not until one knows what dessert is being offered.”
“Vanilla cheesecake.”
That perked her up enough that she opened both eyes. “From St. Honore’s?” At his nod, she sat up. “With the chocolate cookie crust?”
“Of course.” As if he’d get anything less than her absolute favorite.
“Miles,” she said, and Christ, but he’d never get enough of hearing her say his name in that stunned, breathy tone.
She stood and followed him into the kitchen. Wrapped her arms around him after he set the dirty dishes in the sink, tipping her head up to look at him. “Thank you. For everything. The flowers and dinner and dessert.” She kissed him. “This has been the best Valentine’s Day ever.”
“You’re welcome. But none of those is your actual present.”
“They’re not?”
He shook his head. Kissed her again, then linked his fingers with hers. “Come on.”
He started to lead her into the living room, but she dug in her heels. “I need to grab something first. I’ll meet you in there.”
Sending her a puzzled look, he shrugged. “Okay.”
In the living room, he got her present out from where he’d hidden it in the bottom drawer of his antique bookshelf. Tucked it behind him when she entered the room carrying a large gift, neatly wrapped in shiny red paper, a red and white polka dot bow in the center.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, setting the package on his lap.
She stood watching him, her expression both nervous and excited, as he removed the bow then carefully unwrapped the paper. There were two boxes stacked on top of each other.“The top one first,” she said.
Setting the wrapping paper on the floor, he lifted the lid off the top box then moved the tissue paper in it aside. His gaze flew to hers, stunned, his heart in his throat. Dropping his eyes back to the box, he pulled out the sleek black frame. Touched his forefinger to the glass.
It was a photo of his parents standing in Urban’s front yard—their front yard—and… Christ, but they were so young. Maybe early twenties? They had their arms around each other’s waists, his dad’s hand on his mom’s visibly pregnant stomach. But they weren’t looking at the camera.
They were looking at each other, their smiles bright and so full of joy, so full of love it hurt to look at it.
A good hurt, though.
The kind you could only get from grief. From loving someone who was no longer there.
“Willow helped me go through some of your parents’ old photo albums,” Tabitha said when he remained quiet. “You don’t have any pictures of them. At least, not displayed. And I thought maybe, when you’re ready, you could start with this one.”
No, he didn’t have any pictures of his parents. He had other family photos scattered around. Verity’s senior pictures and Ian’s class photos and plenty of group shots of his family at different times; Binge’s opening night, and when Silas he earned his SEAL trident, and when they all flew to Miami to attend Eli’s first major league game.
Staring at the picture, he nodded. “I’m ready.”
Ready to start remembering his parents with joy instead of guilt. Ready to embrace their memories and keep them alive in his heart.
“That’s you,” Tabitha said, tapping his mother’s belly. “There was a date handwritten on the back of the original. It was just a few months before you were born.”
Eyes stinging, he blinked at her then slid his free hand behind her neck and pulled her to him for a long, lingering kiss. “Thank you,” he said, voice husky with gratitude. “Thank you for helping me get back to them.”
Setting the picture on the end table, he put the box on the floor, then lifted the lid on the second box, Tabitha tensing beside him.
It was another glossy black frame. Another photo of a young couple.
It was a picture of them in Pittsburgh, taken after they’d gone to a Pirates’ game.
He had on khaki shorts and a T-shirt, his hair—longer than it was now and curling at the ends—covered in a backward Pirates’ ball cap, sunglasses hiding his eyes. Tabitha’s hair was longer, too, lighter in color and pulled back in a ponytail. Jesus, but she looked like a baby, barely older than Verity in a pair of cut-offs and a tank top, her shoulders and nose pink from too much sun.
“You kept this?” he murmured, remembering asking a middle-aged mom to take their picture that day. “All these years?”
He’d kept nothing of that time, and he regretted it now. He’d gotten rid of the ring he’d bought her. Deleted any photos off his phone. Blocked her number. Threw away anything and everything that had reminded him of her.
“I almost didn’t,” she admitted, leaning her head on his arm to look at the photo with him, a small, sad smile on her face. “But no matter how many times I tried to delete it, I couldn’t. I couldn’t delete it but at the same time, I could barely look at it. And I couldn’t figure out why.” She laughed softly. Shook her head. “Now it’s so clear.”
“It is?” he asked, frowning as he looked at the photo again.
He’s got his arm around her waist, his hand on her hip, closer to her ass than it needed to be, and he’s smiling, big and bright at the camera. Beyond fucking cocky that the most beautiful girl in the world was with him.
Tabitha had her arm around his waist, her hand on his lower chest. But she wasn’t smiling. And she wasn’t looking at the camera.
She was looking at him.
She was looking at him, her expression a mix of fear and hope and joy.
She was looking at him like she loved him.
His heart thudded, hard and heavy, in his chest. His finger trembled as he traced it over her face in the photo. He’d doubted it, back then, her feelings for him because she’d never told him. Because she’d left him.
His gaze flew to hers, a million thoughts racing through his mind. A million questions.
“Every time I looked at this picture,” Tabitha said quietly, as if she saw his thoughts, heard those questions, “I saw how much I loved you. And it scared the hell out of me because I knew I was going to ruin it. And now, I love you even more,” she said, her voice growing thick with tears. “But I’m not afraid of it anymore.”
He put the picture back in the box and set them aside so he could pull her onto his lap. “Please let me tell you,” he begged, pressing his face against the side of her neck. He’d kept his promise to her all these months, but now the words were bubbling up inside of him, too big to contain. “Please.”
Her hands in his hair, she nodded.
His head jerked up and he met her gaze. “I love you,” he said in a rush, but after all these months of keeping them in, one time wasn’t enough. A million wouldn’t be. “I love you. I love you so fucking much. I love who you were, and I love who you’ve become and I’m going to love who you’ve still yet to be. I love you and I want to be with you always.”
Turning slightly, he reached behind him, feeling around until he found the small box. Brought it out from behind the cushion and handed it to her. “Here.”
She tore off the wrapping paper, gasping when she saw the small jeweler’s box. Looked at him with wide, shining eyes, her hands trembling as she lifted the lid.
She blinked at the contents, had tears spilling down her cheeks. Frowned, her teeth worrying her lower lip.
“You don’t like it,” he said, reading the disappointment on her face. “I can return it. We can exchange it for some—”
“No. No. I love it.” She rubbed her thumb over the diamond heart pendant nestled in the velvet box. Her voice dropping. “It’s beautiful.”
He tightened his arm around her waist. “It’s okay if you don’t like it.”
“I do.” She licked her lips. Darted a quick, embarrassed look at him. “I thought it was going to be something else.”
Any doubts that might have been strong enough to survive the last six months with her, any fears that had hung around, simply disappeared.
“I love you,” he said again, taking the box from her. He pulled the necklace out, holding it so that the heart pendant hung down, swinging in front of her like a hypnotist’s watch.
Right next to the house key he’d added to the delicate silver chain.
Her mouth parted and she pinched the key between her thumb and forefinger. Searched his eyes.
“One day,” he said, “when you’re ready, I’m going to ask you to marry me.” He curled his hand around hers, still holding the key, then lifted her hand to his mouth. Kissed her knuckles. “Until then, move in with me. Be with me. Please. I want to share my life with you, starting today. I want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep holding you in my arms.”
“When we were together before,” she admitted softly, “I knew we had an expiration date. Each moment I had with you made me feel like a thief taking something that wasn’t meant to be mine.”
“And now?”
She exhaled, long and low, her eyes never leaving his face. “Now I know those moments weren’t stolen. They were a gift. And I want more of them. So, yes,” she continued, through her tears. “Yes, I’ll move in with you. And one day, when you ask me to marry you, I’m going to say yes to that, too.”