Epilogue
Finn
One Year Later
The Rusty Anchor is packed tonight. Saturday crowd, locals celebrating the end of summer with one last blowout before fall settles in.
Music pumps from the jukebox, laughter echoes off the exposed brick walls, and the smell of burgers and beer fills the air.
Behind the bar, I pour drinks with the easy rhythm of a man who's done this a thousand times, watching the controlled chaos with satisfaction.
This place has always been mine and Dash's pride and joy. But now? Now it feels different. Complete in a way it never was before. Because she's here.
Madelyn moves through the crowd with confident grace, her curves wrapped in dark jeans and a fitted black Rusty Anchor t-shirt that shows off the body I worship every damn night.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face.
She's laughing at something one of the regulars said, her smile bright and genuine, and my chest tightens with possessive pride.
A year ago, she walked into this bar terrified and running. Now she owns the room without even trying.
"You're staring again," Dash mutters beside me, loading glasses into the dishwasher. His hazel eyes flick to Madelyn, then back to me, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Not that I blame you."
"Can't help it," I reply, pouring a whiskey neat for the guy at the end of the bar. "Look at her."
"I am." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Every damn day."
We watch her together for a moment, our wife, our woman, our everything. The gold band on her left ring finger catches the light as she sets down a tray of drinks. Three bands, actually. One from me, one from Dash, and one we gave her together on our wedding day six months ago.
That day was perfect. It was a small ceremony at the lake, just us, my parents, and a handful of close friends.
Madelyn wore a simple white dress that hugged every curve, tears streaming down her face as she said "I do" to both of us.
Dash's voice cracked with emotion. My own hands shook as I slid the ring onto her finger.
Forever, we'd promised. All three of us. And we meant it.
"She's different," I say quietly, more to myself than Dash. "Stronger."
"She always was strong," Dash corrects. "She just didn't know it yet."
He's right. The woman who walked in here a year ago was running on fumes, terrified and alone. But the woman moving through our bar now? She's happy.
The nightmares stopped months ago. The constant looking over her shoulder, the flinching at sudden movements, all of it faded as she realized she was truly safe. Vega's in prison for life, his organization dismantled. Bruno and Sal are doing twenty years each. Hudson made damn sure of it.
Madelyn doesn't have to run anymore. She gets to live.
And watching her bloom into the woman she was always meant to be? That's been the greatest privilege of my life.
"Finn!" One of the waitresses waves me over. "We need more Bud Light in the cooler!"
"On it." I grab a case from the back and start restocking, keeping one eye on Madelyn the whole time. Old habits die hard. Even though the threat is gone, Dash and I still watch her like hawks. Probably always will.
Not that she minds. She thrives on our attention, our possessiveness, our need to keep her close and safe and ours.
The night rolls on. The crowd thins out around midnight, regulars settling in for last call. Madelyn slides behind the bar, her hip brushing mine as she reaches for a bottle of tequila.
"Busy night," she says, pouring shots for a group of women celebrating a bachelorette party.
"You holding up okay?" I ask, settling my hand on the small of her back.
She glances up at me, those dark eyes warm. "I'm perfect."
And she is. Absolutely perfect.
Dash appears on her other side, boxing her in between us. "Almost closing time," he murmurs. "You ready to get out of here?"
"Depends." She looks between us, a teasing smile playing at her lips. "What did you two have in mind?"
"Home," I say simply. "Bed. Us."
Her breath catches, and I see the heat flare in her eyes. Even after a year, the chemistry between us hasn't dimmed. If anything, it's only gotten stronger.
"I like the sound of that," she whispers.
We close up quickly after last call. Dash handles the register while Madelyn and I wipe down tables and stack chairs. It's a routine we've perfected over the months, the three of us moving in sync like we've been doing this forever.
Because in a way, we have. This is our life now. Our bar, our home, our future.
Twenty minutes later, we're pulling into the driveway.
Madelyn's already talking about kids. She wants to wait another year or two, but the way her eyes light up when she mentions it?
The way she looks at us when she talks about our future?
Fuck, I can't wait to see her pregnant with our child.
Doesn't matter whose biologically. The kid will be ours, all of ours.
Inside, Dash heads straight for the kitchen. "Anyone hungry?"
"Starving," Madelyn admits, kicking off her shoes. "But I'm too tired to cook."
"I've got it." He's already pulling out leftovers from the fridge, pasta from last night, garlic bread, salad. We eat together at the kitchen island, Madelyn perched between us, our knees brushing hers.
"Hudson called earlier," I mention between bites. "He's coming up next weekend. Wants to go fishing."
"Tell him he's staying here," Madelyn says immediately. "I'll make that lasagna he likes."
Dash grunts his agreement. "He's earned it. Bastard saved your life."
"You both saved my life," she corrects softly, her hand finding mine on the counter. "Every single day."
The words hit me square in the chest. I turn to face her fully, cupping her jaw. "You saved ours too, baby. You have no idea."
"She does," Dash adds, his hand sliding to her hip. "She knows exactly what she means to us."
Her eyes shimmer with emotion. "I love you. Both of you. So much."
"We love you too," I murmur, leaning in to kiss her. It's slow and deep, tasting like home and forever. When I pull back, Dash is there, claiming her mouth just as thoroughly.
We finish eating and clean up together, then head upstairs. In the master bedroom, our bedroom, Madelyn strips out of her work clothes while Dash and I watch from the bed.
"Come here," Dash orders, his voice rough with need.
She obeys without hesitation, crawling onto the bed between us on her hands and knees. The mattress dips under her weight as she settles in the middle, looking up at us with those big, trusting eyes.
We take our time.
Dash reaches for the hem of the oversized shirt she’s wearing, one of mine, and slowly drags it upward. I help, lifting it higher until her bare breasts spill free, full and heavy, nipples already tightening in the cool air. We pull the shirt the rest of the way off and toss it aside.
She’s gained weight over the past year. Healthy weight. The kind that comes from finally feeling safe enough to eat. Her hips are fuller, her breasts heavier, her thighs thick and soft under our hands.
I lean in and suck one tight nipple deep into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it before gently biting down. She gasps, back arching. Dash takes the other breast, licking and sucking hard enough to make her squirm between us.
“Fuck, these perfect tits,” he mutters against her skin. “Look how hard your nipples get for us.”
We work our way down.
I spread her thick thighs open with both hands, staring at the way her pussy is already glistening and flushed. She’s soaked, the evidence of how much she wants this shining on her folds.
“Jesus, baby,” I groan. “Look at this pretty pussy. Already dripping for us and we’ve barely touched you.”
I drag my tongue through her wetness in one long, slow lick, tasting her. She moans, head falling back. Dash moves behind her, pulling her back against his chest so she has to lean on him. His hands cup her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her wet nipples while I settle between her legs.
I seal my mouth over her clit and suck hard, flicking it with my tongue. At the same time I push two fingers into her tight heat and curl them, working that spot that makes her thighs shake.
“That’s it,” Dash says against her ear, voice rough. “Let him eat this needy little pussy. You’re so fucking wet for us already.”
Her hips rock against my mouth. I pump my fingers deeper, sucking her clit in steady pulls.
“Come on my tongue,” I tell her, the words vibrating against her. “Make a mess on my face. Show us how much this pretty pussy loves being worshipped.”
She breaks with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around my head as she comes hard, pulsing around my fingers and soaking my chin. I keep licking her through it, slow and filthy, until she’s trembling and oversensitive.
We stay right there, hands and mouths still on her, dirty praise and soft kisses mixing together while she catches her breath between us.