by Allen, Dylan
She let us in and showed us to the room where he was fast asleep, lulled by a false sense of security. I woke him and told him I was there was to kick his ass. Man to man, with our hands as our only weapon.
Duke is laying on the floor, clutching his nose, blood seeps from between his fingers and his face is one big bloody bruise. That’s my handy work. It wasn’t really a fair fight, given how grossly out of shape he is. He got a few good swings in. But mostly he tried to run from the vengeance my fists were bent on delivering in the name of my woman.
I promised Serena we wouldn’t take justice into our own hands. But there are different kinds of justice and there’s no court in the land that give me the pound of flesh this man owes me. I took a small piece of it.
He deserves so much worse than an ass kicking. I want him to know what it means to suffer. And short of anything that would get me jail time, I can’t think of anything more fitting than him spending the rest of his life behind bars.
“You can’t do this. I have rights,” he wails.
I turn to him and give him a look of disgust.
“You’re going to get to exercise them when you’re arrested and charged with all of the crimes. Fiona was nice enough to incriminate you in. She left them everything they need to prove that she was your unwilling, unwitting accomplice. So shut the fuck up and save your sobbing for the police”
We text Serena to let her know they can come in. Etta comes back in, her gun trained on Duke until the Feds can come and arrest him. We wait until we see him cuffed and in the back of the squad car.
Only then, do I turn my car around and head back to Beth.
EPILOGUE
BETH
I was released from the hospital a week ago and cleared to travel back to New York. But we’re still in Dallas while we wait for the judge to sign Cameron’s guardianship order. Penn flew down for Christmas, and is staying in an adjoining room at our hotel in Turtle Creek.
Agnes Wolfe was the designated guardian in her son’s will, but since she died along with him, Cameron was placed in Phil’s custody. When he came to tell me that he was filing a petition for guardianship and custody, my first instinct had been to pushback. Cameron, for so long, was my lode star. I ordered my entire existence around her. But everything is different now. Phil is opening a new restaurant in Houston. He just bought a beautiful home in a subdivision that’s going to be perfect for Cameron - and I know it’s the right thing to do.
I’m not equipped to take care of a toddler. Hell, for the next six weeks, I can’t even give myself a bath. Carter and I are going to have to make some logistical decisions when we get back to New York, and I’m sure we’ll move into a bigger place together. But, right now, neither of us has room for two more people in our apartments. I’m just sad that we’re going to be so far apart.
I wrote a letter to the judge in support of Phil’s petition. There shouldn’t be an issue, Phil is her only living relative and he’s more than willing to take her. But, he’s single and gay and so, we’re not taking anything for granted.
In the last week, I’ve signed a document affirming that I’m not the rightful beneficiary of the bequest made in the Wolfe family estate plan.
A thought occurs to me and my hand stops moving across the sketch pad I’ve perched on my thighs which have served as my makeshift easel all week.
“What do you think of the name Piaf? It’s my mother’s maiden name. I want to change mine now that I’m officially not a Wolfe anymore.“
“Mmmmhmmm, that great,” Carter answers. His lips move to make the shape of a smile, but it’s not really a smile. None of the upward curving movements his lips have made in the last hour have been.
“I’ve got a snake in my boot,” I say dryly.
“Just try and get some rest.” Carter nods, and his hand continues his absent minded strokes on my head. His eyes are riveted to whatever he’s reading for the last thirty minutes.
“Carter, if you’re not going to listen to me, at least do a better job of pretending,” I raise my voice and he frowns in annoyance and drags his eyes off his device and looks at me.
“Huh?” he grunts and then yawns.
“You’re not listening to me,” I repeat, a scowl on my face.
He squints one eye and gives me a long assessing look. “You know…your face is going to get stuck like that.”
I pick up a pillow and hurl it at him.
He catches it and shakes his head in sad disapproval. “Tsk tsk, Beth. That’s no way to treat the man who saved your life,”
I glare at him. “It’s not funny, Carter. I hate being stuck here. I can’t live like this.” I growl in frustration.
He sighs in sympathy. “Yeah, I can imagine how hard it’s been to have Penn waiting on you hand and foot. And getting all those flowers and cards and hampers full of your favorite snacks - it must be torture.” He rolls his eyes and lifts his iPad up again and starts reading.
I kick him and yelp in pain when my bare toes meet the solid muscle of his thigh and he chuckles.
I spy the envelope containing the thank you note I wrote to Madame Mindy from the bedside table.
“I need to mail this, can we at least do that?”
“I’ll take it for you,” he says absently again.
“No, I want to go with you. I feel fine. I need to get out of this hotel room before I go crazy. ” I pout and make my most pathetic face.
“You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.” He reaches to smooth a finger of my forehead and I slap his hand away.
“I hope you’re never incapacitated like this because you’ll look back on the way you’re treating me and the guilt will eat you alive.”
I harrumph, and try to move onto my side. Too late, I remember the cast on my arm and wince when my arm protests.
“Fucking cast.” I settle for turning my head to face the other wall and want to cry when my neck protests, too.
He sighs, “Beth. Come on, I’m sorry. Look at me, please?” he says in a voice completely devoid of the teasing tone he’s used all day.
He presses a kiss to my cheek sounds sincere so I turn cautiously, half expecting him to be grinning. But he’s not, his green eyes are warm with sympathy and he strokes my cheek.
I inhale the clean mint of his scent and hate that we haven’t done more than share kisses like this since I left the hospital. He, and everyone else, is treating me like I’m made of spun glass.
“I know it’s been rough, I was just trying to make you laugh I was going to surprise you, but I made us dinner plans tonight. I picked up a few dresses that should accommodate your cast while I was out this morning.”
And now I feel like an ungrateful asshole for making him feel the need to apologize. Because he’s right. As far as convalescence goes, this must be the Cadillac of set ups.
“You did?” I ask, giving him a shamefaced smile. He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip and he presses down on the center of my lip, pushing his the tip into my mouth. It’s the first taste of him I’ve had all week and I moan before I suck on salty offering.
Green fire flares in his eyes and I flick the pad of his thumb with my tongue.
He pulls it out again and swipes it over my lips.
“Of course, you did. You always take such good care of me,” I say and then press a kiss to his thumb.
The heat in his eyes cools, he pulls his thumb out. He’s been doing this all week, and I’m not sure why, but I decide that I’m not going to wait for him to tell me.
“Is it…my bruises?” I ask him the horrible thought that’s been niggling at me since the first time he pulled away like that.
He brow creases in a severe frown. “What?”
“Is that why you won’t touch me?”
The regret that flares in his eyes gives me his answer before he speaks it.
“No way. Oh my god. No.” He sits up I reach up to stroke his cheek.
“Then tell me what it is. Because it’s something.”
He closes his eyes and a low growl rumbles in his chest. I place my hand over his heart and rub small circles until he covers my hand with his, brings it up to his lips for a kiss and then finally opens his eyes again and the torment in them makes me so sad. But I don’t say anything, I just wait for him to talk.
“I didn’t take care of you. And because of that, I almost lost you. And every time I remember that, I can’t breathe.”
Tears sting my eyes. “Carter, it’s not your fault.”
“I’ll never forget the terror I felt when we got to the house. I have never prayed so hard in my life and I don’t even want to think about what might have been if we’d been five minutes later. But that fire…it was deliberate. You were shot, beaten, your arm is broken, at the hands of people you’ve made sacrifices for. People whose fucking job it is to keep you safe. And these bruises…” he trails his fingers over them in feather soft strokes that are in stark contrast to the flinty anger in his eyes. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get a chance to put a bullet in the motherfuckers who did this to you. I know it’s wrong… I shouldn’t be consumed by that feeling the way I am.” His chest heaves as if he’s just dropped a heavy weight and his eyes are bleak as he watches me, waiting for me to condemn him.
But, I don’t know what to say.
Fiona’s willingness to let her own daughter die - the abject horror of that act, it made me wish death on her and the people who spawned her. For all of his evil, even Andrew Wolfe wasn’t capable of that. I don’t have any qualms about my conviction that the world is better without her in it.
“I don’t know if it’s wrong. But I feel the same way, except my thoughts are decoupled from the shame you’re feeling. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, too.”
He shakes his head, sadly. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t understand people like them. I know plenty of people with money, real money and they wouldn’t kill their own children to keep it.”
I nod. “It’s too easy just anyone to have kids. If your body cooperates, then you’re in luck. Children are defenseless. They don’t ask to be born. And, it’s wrong that your chances of survival hinge on whether or not you’re born to scumbags or not. Shouldn’t we, as a society do more to protect kids?”
“I came to your wedding,” he says and I blink at the sharp turn in our conversation.
“What?”
“I was going to watch you get married so I could cure myself of you. But, I left before…I didn’t see you not come down the aisle.”
“I see…I wondered when you were going to tell me,” I say with nonchalant smile.
“How did you know?” he looks offended and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
“Dina mentioned it. Said she saw you. I was shocked, but she was talking and I didn’t want to interrupt. I figured you had a good reason for not telling me.”
He stares down at me for a long moment, his expression, unreadable and my moment of delight at having shocked him fades.
“Say something,” I demand when he continues his wordless stare.
“I was listening to you earlier,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion.
“Huh?”
“When you asked about changing your name to Piaf, I was listening, but I pretended not to hear you because I was hoping you’d drop it,” he says.
I frown, startled by the left turn at his admission. “Why?”
He lifts his iPad to show me what he was reading.
I peer at the screen. It’s the New York Health Department’s website. “Information on getting married in New York State.” My eyes fly back to his face.
The fierce love in his eyes is everything I’ve ever dreamed and everything I couldn’t imagine. In the confines of my chest, my heart has turned into a caged bird, flapping its wings, frantically demanding to be set free.
He swings his legs off the side of the bed and stands up and strides around to my side of the bed and just before he reaches me, he stops suddenly and curses under his breath.
I watch him, wide - eyed, confused, and a little scared as he’s starts and stops, and grapples with indecision.
“Fuck it,” he says before he stalks over to the edge of the bed where I’m lying.
“What are you doing?”
He drops down on one knee and the words die on my tongue and my heart starts to beat hard and fast.
“I had them bake the ring into the cake at the restaurant. I was going to ask you tonight, at dinner, with our family around us,” he says.
“Ask me?” I whisper, and the smile he graces me with, isn’t just the shape of one, but the physical manifestation of joy. I will never know what I did to deserve this beautiful man, but when he looks at me like that, I know that it’s a reward.
He straightens his spine and grasps my hand.
“You are the resounding, unequivocal answer to every single question I’ve ever asked, Beth. I’ve loved you from the minute I laid eyes on you and I will love you always. I would turn my back on heaven and walk through hell to have you. I want to give you my name and make a family with you. And when I take my last breath here on earth, I want to know that I’ve left every single ounce of my cum my body is capable of making inside of you.”
The sob I’d been holding back, dissolves as laughter, belly deep and soul satisfying pours out of me. He chuckles, a satisfied smile on his face.
“You are so crazy, Carter. What kind of thing is that to say when you’re proposing?”
His smile fades and his expression grows solemn again.
“Your eyes were filling with tears. A girl with a heart as bold as yours and a wellspring of love that is the very essence of her soul, should never cry. I know that’s possible and life will give many reasons to shed a tear. But it is my life’s mission to never be one of those reasons.”
“Baby,” I gasp, so overwhelmed by the beauty of his heart.
“I want to be your home and I want you to be mine. Will you marry, Beth?”
I nod.
He leans in and we seal our promise with a kiss.
Extended Epilogue
After Always
CARTER
TEN YEARS LATER
Houston, TX
The splash of warm water against my back is the only warning I have before I feel Beth’s soft body pressed against me. I turn and she loops her arms around my neck and uses the water’s buoyancy to lift herself up and wrap her legs around my waist.
I wrap her in a hug and then slide my hands to palm each of her ass cheeks for a squeeze.
Her lips move against my ear and I can feel the vibration of whatever she’s saying against my chest.
“I can’t hear you,” I shout over the music blasting from the speakers mounted all over this part of our backyard.
She says something in reply, but the music is too loud for me to make it out.
I tug her arms, but she holds on tighter. The sound she’s making resonates, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.
She resists my tug, but I’m strong than her. I peel her wet, bikini-clad chest off mine until I can see her face. She’s pouting.
“I can’t hear you,” I enunciate my words, but don’t bother raising my voice, she wouldn’t hear me, no matter how loud I spoke.
She reads my lips and her eyes wide in understanding.
“Ohhhh.” Her plush pink lips pucker to form the word. She turns her head almost 90 degrees to the right, then to the left, to look around our packed backyard.
Her hands slide up my water slicked shoulders and link behind my neck, almost absently, and I watch her while she takes in the carnival like atmosphere in our backyard.
She’s beautiful, even more so now than she was at twenty-one. I admire the tanned and creamy skin of her shoulders and make a note of the new freckles that have joined the constellation I’ve been mapping over the decade we’ve been married.
Her hair is short again. I love it. But I don’t let myself get too attached to it. My wife is a creature of habit. Except when i
t comes to her hair. She grows it long. Sometimes, all the way down to the middle of her back. And then every couple of years, she cuts it all off, again.
She’s had it like this for almost a year, and I think maybe she’s settled on the look. But, I’ve learned better than to try and predict what Beth Bosh will do.
When she looks back at me, she’s grinning. She takes in my unamused expression and her smile instantly turns upside down. She shakes her head as if she disapproves of the ruckus, too.
I roll my eyes and smack her ass and her grin reappears, bawdy and suggestive this time. “Let’s go inside,” she mouths. I nod and without putting her down, wade toward the steps.
Beth clings to me, rolls her hips and tightens her legs so that her wet heat is pressed to my hips. She drops her head to pepper my throat with hot kisses and my entire body responds to her silent command,
She gets turned on my crowds, and normally, I’m down to take her to the nearest bathroom or broom closet and make her come. But, in our backyard surrounded by hundreds of people, there’s no way. She’s kissed her way up my jaw and is almost to my mouth.
I growl and squeeze her ass under the water, but I pull her hips back and give her warning look. She steals a kiss and smiles mischievously, but stops humping me.
Unlike our yard, the pool is sparsely populated. The sun has gone down, and the two of us are one of the last to get out of the water. No one can see what we’re doing. But, if I get out of this pool with a boner, there’s no way I’ll make it all the way across the packed yard and into the house with no one noticing.
Just the thought of that being caught on camera shrivels my wood.
I put her down when we get to the steps and link our fingers as we climb out. The sun’s gone down, but it’s still almost eighty-five degrees. These hot summer nights are one of the only things I like about living in Houston.