Epilogue

EPILOGUE

YORK

Seven Months Later

I was quietly working in my office, where the silly Christmas decorations Quillon had hung up were still on the walls, when the front doorbell rang. Who could that be? Maybe Fir or one of my other friends?

I was the first to admit that Quillon had been right. Staying in Forestville had been the right decision. The ghosts of the past had vanished, and one cherished memory after another was taking their place.

After putting extra security measures in place, I'd been cleared to work from home three days a week and only make the commute to Seattle twice a week. I could live with that. And when Auden had a position open for a new deputy, Quillon had applied and been hired.

We spent time with my friends, and yes, they were my friends now. It had taken me a while to accept that, but in this, too, Quillon had been right. While they might initially have invited me out of a sense of guilt, we had forged bonds of friendship, and I was so grateful.

Marnin and I played chess regularly. I had taught him, and he'd proven to be a quick study. The student wasn't surpassing the master anytime soon, but he was becoming a worthy opponent, much like Gabe. The teen had managed to beat me fair and square for the first time a month ago, and we'd celebrated that momentous occasion. He hadn't managed since, but that was okay.

Fir and I had grown even closer, and he'd convinced me I needed therapy. I had fought the idea but capitulated in the end. As a doctor, Fir knew what he was talking about. I had weekly sessions with Clarissa, and it made a difference. Fir had been right that it would do me good. At first, I'd cried almost every session, but slowly but surely, the pain had subsided, and now I had truly let go of my brother.

Quillon and I had looked into becoming foster parents. We'd have to get married—which wasn't a hardship because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this amazing man anyway—and we'd have to take the necessary courses, but we both felt this was something we wanted to do. We'd agreed to revisit six months from now, giving ourselves a little more time to grow closer in our relationship before taking on such a big challenge.

"York?" Quillon called out, knocking on my door. "Can I disturb you for a moment?"

Always so respectful of my need for uninterrupted work. "Of course."

I spun around in my chair to face the door. He came in, and one look at his expression and my smile faltered. "What's wrong?"

He closed the door behind him. "Your parents are here, nerdy."

"My parents?"

"Yeah."

My mouth ran dry as I got up. "Why?"

"They asked to talk to you."

"I don't know if I…"

He held his arms open, and I stepped into his embrace. "You don't have to talk to them, but you may want to consider. Something about them is different."

"Different?"

"I can't put my finger on it, but they seem…contrite."

Had hell frozen over? "That's hard to believe."

"I know, and maybe I'm wrong, but either way, you won't know unless you face them. I'll be right next to you the whole time, nerdy, and I won't allow them to hurt you again."

I took a deep, shuddering breath. Quillon was right. I needed to face them, or I would never get that closure I was hoping for so desperately. "Okay."

They were still at the front door, my father leaning heavily on his walking stick. Their faces were as white as the January snow on the lawn, and holy shit, they looked like they had aged a decade in the few months since I'd seen them. "Do you want to come in?" I asked.

"It would be better for your father," my mother said quietly. "Thank you."

We settled in the living room, and Quillon poured them some water, which they both drank eagerly.

"What can I do for you?" I asked.

My parents looked at each other, and then my mother spoke. "We sold The Lodge."

My eyes widened. "For real?"

"The new buyers just received the keys. Your father and I are moving into the senior living building on Watts Street. His health is deteriorating fast, and he needs assistance I can't offer anymore, so this seemed like the best option."

I was at a loss for words. They'd talked about selling it for a long time, and now it was finally happening. "What will happen to Essex's room?"

My mother hunched. "We dismantled it weeks ago."

"You did?"

"We should've done so twenty years ago," my father said. "I don't know why we couldn't let go of him, but we couldn't."

I had nothing to say to that.

"After what you said at the cemetery, we were furious with you," my mother said. "We didn't understand why you would tell such lies. But then…" She looked at my father. "Your father said we should at least look into it. So we called Essex's old classmates, the ones we still knew how to reach, and even some of his old teachers, and asked them. All of them said the same thing. That he was the class clown, always the first to make a joke or pull a prank. But they also said he was rash, arrogant, and a bully."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You believe me now?"

For the first time since he'd come in, my father met my eyes. "I do."

The use of the singular didn't escape my notice, but I would take my wins. "Thank you."

"Not something you should ever thank me for. I failed you as a father. Spectacularly."

My throat tightened. Not in a million years had I expected to hear those words out of my father's mouth. But hell if I would deny it and, by doing so, diminish my pain. "You did."

He didn't wince, holding my gaze. "I know."

I didn't have to reach for Quillon's hand because he already took mine, threading our fingers together in quiet comfort. "Why?"

I couldn't even find the words to make a whole sentence out of it, but apparently, my father understood. "You were always different from Essex. You were so smart, even as a kid, and it was easy to see he felt threatened by you. You could read when you were four, beat him in any board game at six when he was thirteen, and you outpaced him at everything except sports. We felt sorry for him. It's no excuse, but that's how it started. We felt sorry that his younger brother was doing better in school than he was, so we tried to make up for it."

"By forcing me to make myself smaller while you exalted him," I said bitterly.

"Yes, though we didn't see it as such at the time. And then it became a habit, and when he died and you lived…"

"You blamed me for being alive and beating him even at that."

"Yes. I can't tell you how wrong that was, and I'll never forgive myself, but yes."

Here was the answer I had been searching for all that time, the why of what I had done to deserve to be treated like this. Nothing. I had done nothing except exist and be smart. I had survived, and Essex hadn't, and that had been it. I'd known all along. Still, sweet relief filled me. "Thank you for being honest."

My mother cleared her throat. "Do you think that…over time, perhaps…you could forgive us?"

Quillon squeezed my hand. If he was worried I'd impulsively assure them that, yes, everything would be hunky-dory, he was wrong. I wasn't tempted in the least to make that kind of promise. "I don't know."

My mother inhaled as if she wanted to say something else, but my father spoke up. "We respect that. We're not in a position to put any demands or pressure on you, so we won't. You know where to find us if you're willing to stay in touch. If not, we won't bother you."

He struggled to his feet. "Thank you for listening to us."

I had no answer.

"When we heard about your kidnapping…" He took a deep breath. "We were worried sick about you. I know you'll find that hard to believe, but we were. It drove home what it would cost us if we lost you too."

They had already lost me a long time ago, but I didn't say another word as they left. Quillon closed the front door behind them with a soft click. My head was spinning after this unexpected development. "I don't know how to feel," I said to Quillon, who pulled me in for one of his long, tight hugs.

"You don't have to feel anything, nerdy. Give yourself time to process. This came out of nowhere."

It had. "I never expected this."

"I know. Me neither. So let's let it sink in for a while before you make any decisions, hmm?"

"Yeah."

I snugged closer, and a soft chuckle reverberated through Quillon's chest. "I know what you need."

He did. We'd both discovered my response of wanting sex after emotional upheaval. Or maybe needing it was a better expression, a more accurate formulation. I needed to feel Quillon's love for me in moments like this, and he understood. I'd even talked about it with Clarissa, who had assured me there was nothing unhealthy about it as long as I was honest with myself and Quillon. And as long as he could say no.

Well, duh. We were talking about a man who never did anything he didn't want to. When he dug his heels in, good luck with that. But I loved him for it because he was unafraid to stand up to me, even when I outargued him.

"I need you," I whispered.

"And you have me, nerdy. You'll always have me as long as I live."

"Then take me to bed, Quill. Show me you love me."

He gently lifted my chin and kissed me tenderly. "Always and forever."