Epilogue
The moment I cross the threshold of my apartment after my evening run, a strange sensation washes over me—I immediately sense that I am not alone.
The air feels charged, different somehow, and as I pause just inside the doorway, I take a slow, deliberate breath.
There’s no mistaking it. A delicate, floral perfume hangs in the air, one that I don’t recognize.
It’s unmistakably feminine, and I’m certain I haven’t invited any women over, nor have I had female company in my apartment before.
The unfamiliar scent unsettles me, making my heart beat a little faster.
I bend down to untie my running shoes, kicking them off with a little more force than usual, my mind racing with questions.
With cautious steps, I move further into the apartment, entering the open-plan living space.
I stop at the entryway, scanning the room for any signs of disturbance or intrusion.
My gaze lands immediately on a purse, carelessly tossed onto the corner of the sofa as if its owner had been in a hurry.
The sight of it makes my eyebrows knit together in confusion and concern.
I look around, searching for any other clues, but everything else appears untouched and exactly as I left it before my run.
The cushions are in place, the coffee table is tidy, and the kitchen counter is free of clutter.
Just as I begin to wonder if my imagination is getting the better of me, a familiar sound breaks the silence—the bathroom door creaks open.
That particular creak is distinctive, a high-pitched groan that has persisted no matter how many times Dover, my former roommate, and I tried to fix it.
We had oiled the hinges, tightened the screws, and even tried to wedge a piece of cardboard into the frame, but nothing seemed to work.
The noise is unmistakable, and it sends a jolt of adrenaline through me.
I freeze, listening intently, knowing that whoever is in my apartment is about to reveal themselves.
I make my way in that direction, and as I walk, I catch the familiar scent of my shower gel, the one labeled ocean blue, drifting through the air.
It’s fresh and crisp, instantly reminding me of my morning routine.
I glance into my bedroom, taking a moment to survey the space, and see that everything is exactly as I left it—clothes folded neatly on the chair, the bedspread still rumpled from when I got up, and my books stacked on the nightstand.
Feeling reassured, I continue down the hallway toward what used to be Dover’s room.
As I approach, I suddenly stop dead in my tracks, my entire body freezing with shock.
My mouth falls open in disbelief, and my eyes widen so much they nearly pop out of my head.
Standing in the middle of the room is a stunningly beautiful woman—and she is completely naked.
I must make some sort of strangled, startled noise, because the woman whirls around to face me, her eyes wide with surprise.
She lets out a sharp scream and grabs for a towel, hastily wrapping it around herself to cover up.
Her cheeks flush a deep, embarrassed red, and I can see her swallow nervously before she manages to speak.
“You scared me,” she says, her voice shaky.
I blink rapidly, still trying to process what I’m seeing and make sense of the situation. My mind races with confusion as I blurt out, “Who are you? And why are you naked in my apartment?”
She clutches the towel tighter around her and looks at me with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “Can I get dressed first and then have this conversation?” she asks, her tone clipped but polite.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply, unable to suppress a grin. I lean casually against the doorjamb, making it clear I’m in no hurry, and add, “No rush.”
Her eyes narrow in irritation, clearly not amused by my attempt at humor.
She strides purposefully toward me, her bare feet making soft sounds on the floor, and with one swift motion, she shoves me out of the room.
Before I can react, she slams the door in my face, leaving me standing in the hallway, still reeling from the unexpected encounter.
What the fuck!
I remain utterly bewildered when, just five minutes later, she reappears dressed casually in a pair of shorts and a baggy t-shirt.
Without hesitation, she introduces herself.
“I’m Maggie Hilton. Dover’s sister,” she announces as soon as she appears, her tone matter-of-fact but not unfriendly.
“Dover doesn’t know I’m here,” she adds, glancing around as if expecting him to materialize at any moment.
My mouth falls open in surprise, and for a moment, I struggle to process the situation. I vaguely recall Dover mentioning that he has a sister who works as a nurse, though we never discussed her in detail. “The nurse, right?” I ask, hoping I haven’t confused her with someone else.
She nods in confirmation. “Yes,” she replies simply, her expression unreadable.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure how much she knows about Dover’s current living situation. “He’s moved in with his—” I begin, but I stop myself, not wanting to reveal that Dover is gay if she isn’t already aware.
She finishes the sentence for me, her voice calm and unbothered. “Boyfriend,” she says, meeting my eyes.
I wince, feeling awkward for having brought it up. “Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t sure if you knew,” I admit, my voice apologetic.
Maggie shrugs, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “I knew before he did,” she says with a hint of amusement. “Although I didn’t know he’d moved out. We haven’t really been in touch for a while,” she adds, her tone turning a bit more subdued as she glances away.
Taking a moment to collect myself, I hand her a bottle of water and lean against the kitchen counter, curiosity getting the better of me. “Okay then. So, why the unexpected visit to Boston?” I ask, genuinely interested in what brought her here unannounced.
“I really needed a break, so I decided on a whim that I’d pay Dover a surprise visit,” she says, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as she speaks. “Looks like I managed to surprise you in more ways than one, didn’t I?” she adds with a nervous laugh, glancing away shyly.
“You could say that again,” I mutter quietly, not quite meeting her eyes. There’s a lingering sense that she’s holding something back, that her explanation isn’t the whole truth, and I wonder what she might be hiding.
The silence between us lingers, growing heavier with each passing moment, until she finally bursts out, unable to contain herself any longer.
“I’m pregnant.” Her voice trembles with a mixture of fear and vulnerability.
“I lost my job.” She takes a shaky breath before continuing, her words tumbling out in a rush.
“And to make things worse, the baby’s sperm donor keeps harassing me, pressuring me to have an abortion.
He won’t leave me alone, but I’ve made up my mind—This is my baby, and he can go fuck himself!
” Overwhelmed by the weight of her circumstances, she looks at me, her eyes brimming with desperation.
“That’s why you left town?”
She nods, and a silent tear trickles down her cheek.
I’m a sucker for a woman in need.
The End
Find out more about Nash and Maggie in Book 8, On a Breakaway.