35. Epilogue

Coop

Five months later

"Mel's gonna fucking kill me. Angie too. They're gonna team up and fucking kill me." I'm sitting in a hot tub outside on the deck at the place we're renting for the week in Monterey, California, and I just can't stop staring at the dark metal band on the ring finger of my left hand. It's all fucking surreal. Married. "Shit, we're fucking married."

From across the hot tub, Josh laughs, and then he pushes away from the other edge and floats toward me. When he reaches me, he's grinning, and he lifts his hands out of the water to let them slide up my chest as he slips into my lap, straddling me.

"Well, at least Mel can't threaten to fire you anymore?" he says, rubbing his open palms up over my nipples. I groan and close my eyes at the sensation. Fuck, that's good. His lips brush against mine, and I can tell he's still grinning. "And if they want to kill you, they're gonna have to go through me first. As your husband, it's my job to protect you."

"Protect me, huh?"

He's grinning, and he nods. "That's right." He looks like he's going to say something else, but instead, his eyes darken with some serious look and his grin fades. "You don't regret—"

"Oh, fuck, no." I let my hands settle on his hips, and I tug him closer, lowering my head to his neck. His skin is damp from the water in the hot tub, and he tastes slightly salty. It's intoxicating. "I just can't believe we got married."

Josh groans and tilts his head sideways. "I was surprised we were able to—ahh, god, babe, that's good right there."

"Able to...?" I ask, my lips still against his neck. His hands are in my hair now, gently tugging to encourage me to continue, and he groans again.

"Um, get the marriage license so quickly and then—ahh, god—"

I suck on the same spot on his neck again, and his groan turns into a moan that's as sexy as the ring on my finger. Fuck, I love him. I lift my head, and his eyes are closed, his mouth parted slightly. He's fucking gorgeous. And he's all mine.

My husband.

It's not even something either of us had planned. It just sort of happened. Our cute little California vacation turned into a fucking honeymoon. Shit.

There's a shiver that runs through me as I hear his voice from this morning—his low, deep whisper of "Marry me."

"Fucking sexy. My husband. I love you so much," I murmur as I lean forward again to taste his skin. I kiss his throat, my tongue tracing a trail up to his jaw, and his hands are doing something else now, smoothing down my sides to my hips.

I'm warm all over, and my heart's pounding, and I'm throbbing with need already. Although, given that it's been at least a full twenty-four hours since we've made love, I guess it's not that surprising, really.

I settle my head on his shoulder and reach between us, slipping my hand under the waistband of his swim trunks. He's hot and hard, too. I grasp him just how I know he wants it, low and firm at his base, and then I squeeze gently and stroke upward slowly.

His moan sends another rush of heat to my dick. "Ahh, fuck, how have we been married for, what, five or six hours already, and we haven't made love yet?" My voice is raspy, and I feel him shudder as another groan rumbles in his throat.

"I don't know," he replies, and his hands slide down low around my back and under my swim trunks, teasing me. Then he presses his hands into my back and shifts his hips farther up my thighs. "God, I want you. I want to make love to you, to my husband."

Hearing him say those words, feeling his hard shaft swell in my hand along with the pulse of need in my groin, and fuck, I don't want to wait another minute. I release him, laughing against his shoulder as he whimpers a protest, and then I slip both of my hands under his thighs and hold him to me tightly as I stand.

He gasps in surprise, and his arms wrap up around my shoulders. "Coop, what the—"

"Mmm, need you. Bedroom. Now."

"Yeah, but . . ."

He's laughing as I carry him out of the hot tub and into the rental house through the open sliding door, straight into the bedroom. We're both dripping wet, and I suppose we should probably rinse off first, but that sounds like it'll take way too fucking long.

"Coop, don't—"

He doesn't get to tell me whatever he was going to because I capture his lips in some deep, searing kiss as I lower us onto the bed. Yeah, we're fucking wet, and I don't fucking care. I settle between his legs and immediately rock against him and thrust my tongue into his mouth. God, I love the feel of his mouth. Hot and silky and—fuck.

He pushes me over onto my back, and I groan and close my eyes as he straddles me and grasps my dick through my swim trunks.

"You got the bed wet," he murmurs in my ear, leaning over me. I'm throbbing, and every slow stroke of his hand is driving me closer to the edge.

"Mmm, yeah, yeah, I guess I did—fuck, that's good."

His lips cover mine, and before I know it, he's tugging my swim trunks off and tossing them to the ground. His own swim trunks follow, and then he's next to me again, pulling me onto my side and kissing me. And his fucking magical hands are everywhere, burning my skin.

He grasps my dick, and I swear I feel him grin into the kiss as he strokes me with a deliberate slowness.

"Ahh, shit, you know I love that. Fucking slow," I rasp, and he laughs.

"I know. And you're gonna love this too," he says, lowering his voice. And it's fucking sexy. His lips brush against mine as I moan loudly, and he laughs again. "Where'd you put the lube?"

"Outer pocket of your suitcase."

His warmth disappears for a moment, and I collapse onto my back again. I reach down and grasp my own shaft, pumping as slowly as he had been. It's only a few seconds when I feel the bed shift with his return. Thenhis breath is on my stomach, and his hand traces up my inner thigh. I open my eyes to watch him. It's one of my favorite things.

"You're gorgeous, Coop," he breathes, now just above my navel. His tongue does something, and his hand replaces mine on my dick. "God, I'm so lucky. I'm so in love with you. How are you my husband?"

"I'm a pretty fucking good catch, aren't I?"

He glances up at me from where he's now poised, his mouth just over my tip, and his eyes soften with a gentle smile. "You are. You're amazing."

I'm really not. I'm just barely getting my act together, and only now with his help. But he makes me feel so fucking good. Like maybe someday I can be the man my mother wanted me to be—like maybe someday I'll be a man she'd have been proud of.

"You are," he says again, like he can hear my internal monologue.

I screw my eyes shut, resisting the urge to shake my head. Way to fucking ruin the mood, dumbass. He strokes me once more and then lets me go, shifts up next to me, and wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight against him.

"I know what you're thinking," he whispers, his voice soft and filled with love. "And you know what I'm going to say."

I nod against him, but I still don't say anything.

"And I'll just say it again, because I know you need to hear it." His hand rubs my back. "You're amazing. Kind and good and smart. The program you're helping me start at the hospital—damn, babe, it's brilliant. Just wait, you'll see. We're going to help so many people, and it's only happening because of you."

"It's not—"

"It is. You got the hospital board to listen and consider the possibility. And then you did all that fundraising to get the capital to start the program and everything."

"But it was your idea, and—"

"No, it was something you said that gave me the idea," he interjects, and he's still rubbing my back, still holding me. He lowers his voice. "Remember at Sarge's? When you told me how much you wished the hospital had some sort of program that might have helped your mom? And now, we're building that program. And it'll be amazing. And it's because of you."

Ahh, fuck. Fuck, he's... something else. I love him. I bury my head into his shoulder. "You'll probably have to tell me again, I'm sure."

"I will. I'll tell you as many times as you need," he says. "I'll spend forever telling you. Just like how I'll spend forever showing you how much I love you." He kisses my forehead and then carefully pushes me onto my back again, settling over me. "My love. My husband. My best friend."

Then, he's kissing a path back down my chest, his mouth open, his tongue hot. And my body fucking responds like we hadn't just had some intense emotional discussion, my dick twitching with want. I moan as he pauses to dip his tongue in my belly button, and he chuckles, a puff of air warming my stomach. Then his hand is back on me, working up and down my shaft slowly.

"Let me love you," he murmurs, and then heat courses through me as he presses a kiss to my tip. So fucking good.

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

He strokes me with his hand one more time before taking me in his mouth, all at once. Decisively, but slowly. And his mouth is hot and wet. And it's fucking good. I'm moaning again and crying out something, probably his name, and he's sliding up and down my length with this fucking confidence that he's always had, since that first time. It somehow makes me feel like he's here just to pleasure me, just to love me, just for me. Like I'm the most important thing in his world.

And maybe I am. He's certainly the most important thing in mine.

"God, yeah. Fucking good," I choke out, and then I'm moaning again as he does something with his tongue. It's fucking divine.

I'm right on the edge in just a few more seconds, my whole body full and tight and tingling. Just before I'm about to come, he pulls back slowly and lets me slip from his mouth. It's dizzying. And fucking incredible. I groan and tug him up to me so I can kiss him. His lips are warm and wet, and it's more of the same—some deep, intense love and all this trust and hope. All those feelings I never really expected I'd ever feel again.

He lets out some strangled whimper this time and breaks the kiss, breathing hard. Then he twists around to grab the bottle of lube he'd set on the bed a few minutes ago. "Turn over?"

"Hmm? Oh, right." I'm foggy, and everything's fucking buzzing. I roll away from him, onto my stomach, but he settles his hand on my hip and tugs gently.

"No, on your side," he says. And I comply, shifting to face away from him. His hand runs along my outer thigh as he scoots up closer to me and kisses my bare shoulder. Why that touch feels like so much more than just a kiss, I'm not sure, but my whole body's on fire now.

"Ahh, fuck, I want you."

He laughs. "Patience. Slowly, right?"

I'm groaning again, biting back some silly retort about how he could still fucking hurry up. He kisses me again, at the base of my neck this time, and my dick throbs with anticipation.

"Bend your knee." His voice is soft, and when I follow his instruction, he kisses me again. "Perfect, yeah."

Then his fingers massage into me, slick with lube. Everything's suddenly hot and bright, and he's got me moaning his name and pushing my ass back into him as his fingers circle my entrance. His other hand presses into my back, and he continues kissing my neck.

God, it's all so fucking much.

"Please, I need you," I beg, arching back into him again.

Fuck. I know to be patient. It feels better when he's taken his time. But right now, I'm still on the edge, still feeling like I'm about to crash. And patience is the last thing on my mind.

"Shh, almost ready," he murmurs, and fuck, that's hot. He's fucking taking care of me, isn't he?

One finger dips in, stretching me slightly, and I moan.

"It feels good?"

"Fuck, yessssss."

And then maybe he pushes into me with two fingers. Fuck if I know. All I know is he's hitting whatever that perfect spot is that he knows how to hit, and it's fucking magic.

"You're ready for me now," he says finally. And it's not a question, but I nod because that's all I can manage. Fuck, yeah, I'm ready.

There's a moment where his fingers leave my ass, and then he's stroking my back with his free hand while breathing kisses along my shoulder. His rigid shaft presses against me, rubbing between my ass cheeks before he scoots a little lower and shifts to guide himself in. He goes slowly—because he knows that's how I want it—and he fills me, inching his thickness into me until he's fully sheathed. Then his arm comes around to grip my chest, and his hot breath blows on my back with a shudder.

"God, you feel good. So, so good."

I grunt some sort of agreement, and he holds me tighter as he starts to pull back out. Not quite all the way, then he's back in again. There's a rhythm to it. A fucking good rhythm. Slow and all that shit.

Fuck, he loves me.

That's all I can think as I twist slightly, trying to reach him for a kiss. Somehow, without losing the contact we've got, he makes that happen, and his lips capture mine. We're both moaning together, and then I break the kiss and arch back into him as he thrusts into me again and again. Faster. Just a little.

"Godddddd, yes. Fuck. Harder."

"Ahh, you don't mean that," he teases, his voice rough. He pauses with his dick all the way inside me, his hand pressing into my chest, holding me still. He whispers, low and sexy, "You like it slow."

And yeah, he's fucking right. I do. I can't help it as I moan again, and I think I'm fucking shaking too. He starts moving inside me again as he kisses my back, and it's maddening and incredible and fucking powerful. He does speed up, just a little, and I hear him moan too, even as I'm losing myself. There's an intoxicating dizziness, some edge, some peak that my body now knows and craves. And I'm almost there.

"Ahh, god, yeah. Fuck. That's—that's it. Ahh—" I hope he's with me, because I'm gone, crying out his name as it crashes over me. Huge waves of pleasure, my whole body pulsating with this intense relief and release and—fuck, it's just so fucking good.

When the buzzing finally calms minutes later, I'm still shaking and trembling, and he's in front of me, holding me to his chest, his lips pressed against my forehead and his hand rubbing my back. It's fucking intense for him too, I guess—his release but also my reaction. He says he loves to hold me as I come back down. And I'm fucking glad, because this is the best place to be. There's never anywhere else I want to be.

"You're beautiful when you come," he whispers.

He says that sometimes too, and I thought I'd be self-conscious about it, but I'm not. He's also fucking beautiful. Our love is a beautiful thing. Shit, I'm such a softy. When the fuck did that happen?

I try to come up with something sentimental to say. But all I manage is to press my lips into his and hold onto him tighter. His hand comes up to brush my hair back off my forehead, and then he touches my cheek.

"I love you," he says quietly, and he kisses me gently and then pulls back to look at me, his eyes so full of this deep tenderness.

God.

It's all I need. That's all I need. He's all I need.

"Tell me again?" I say, and I settle down into his arms, my head resting in the crook of his shoulder—that space that was somehow made just for me. My arm wraps around his waist, and then I feel his breath against the top of my head.

"I love you . . . Always have, always will."

I tilt my head back, and he's watching me with this soft, fucking gorgeous smile that might be reserved just for me. Then he leans in and kisses my forehead again.

And there's this fullness in my heart, this feeling of safety that I'm not sure I've ever really felt before. It's everything.

I nod, rest my head in its spot again, and close my eyes. "Always have. Always will."

***

Josh

One month later

Coop squeezes my hand as he reaches out to pull the door open. "Remember, I'll be right here with you, no matter what happens," he says quietly. "And we don't have to stay if you're not comfortable. In fact, we can just turn around right now. Go back to the hotel."

I nod but don't say anything as I step ahead of him into the restaurant, the bright lights and warm air a contrast to the chill of the dark night outside. His hand slips out of mine and finds its spot low on my back, and the familiar touch lends me some strength, as it always does.

Taking a deep breath, I scan the room ahead of us. The space is small—intimate is maybe the better word—and it doesn't take long for me to find them. They're sitting at a booth in the back corner. My mom's staring at her phone, swiping at the screen like she's sending a text, and my dad's reading the menu, his mouth set in a tight scowl.

My heart starts racing, and my stomach drops. This was a bad idea, I can feel it already.

Coop squeezes my hand again. "Really, we can leave. We don't have to—"

I stop him with a shake of my head. "No. No, we drove all the way here. I'm going to do it. I need to." I try to make my voice sound strong or defiant or something, but I'm sure I'm nowhere near masking my uncertainty.

I've avoided my parents for the last six months. Told them I was too busy getting settled at my new job in White Hills. Told them I had to work over the holidays. Told them all manner of excuses any time they'd reach out to me and ask about... things. But when Coop and I got married in California last month, I knew I couldn't keep avoiding them for much longer.

We talked about it a lot, and Coop assured me it was still my decision. Brenna too—we're still close, still good friends, and every time the topic comes up, she always repeats what she told me when I first came out to her. "It's still your choice. If and when and to whom."

And I know I'm not really ready for this. The way my stomach is churning and how lightheaded I feel are pretty obvious indicators. Honestly, part of me is hoping it's quick—they'll just see us together, and there'll be some sort of immediate rejection, and Coop and I can just take off, back to White Hills. Then at least they'll know. And I can keep avoiding them.

I'm happy now. So much happier than I ever thought it was possible for me to be. Coop is amazing and supportive, and the community in White Hills has embraced us like I hadn't expected. So I don't need to do this.

At the same time, it seems like some sort of final thing I actually do need to do to really, really be free of the last bit of the old me—the super-closeted me who suppressed my true self for so long. I've told Coop this, and he still assures me that I don't ever have to come out to them.

But I'm through lying. Really. Even if that means we're eating takeout back in our hotel room because my dad won't be able to stand seeing me here with my husband.

Despite all this resolve I'm trying to talk myself into having, my feet stick to the ground as my mom chooses that moment to look up and across the room. Her eyes are dull and tired-looking, but for a short moment, I see a flicker of something in them. Something different. Something I maybe wouldn't have recognized six months ago.

I see love.

It's only there for an instant, and then it's gone, replaced with something like confusion as her eyes shift to the man standing just behind me.

His hand is still on my back, but he's not pushing me. He's just there. To be whatever I need him to be—my encouragement and support, or my protector, or my get-me-the-hell-out-now pass.

The host steps up and asks us how many are in our party, and Coop responds for us, telling them we're meeting someone who's already here. And then we're moving, somehow. My mom's eyes widen a little, and she purses her lips. My dad still hasn't looked up, still hasn't seen us.

And I think I'm going to be sick. I feel Coop's hand press into me, and I realize I've slowed down.

"He can't hurt you," Coop murmurs, "but we can still leave."

My heart's pounding now, and when I watch my mom bite her lip and glance at my dad with some measure of distress in her expression, I think again that this is a mistake. But it's too late now, because my dad looks up at us then.

We're still only about halfway through the restaurant, yet I feel the second he registers that we're not here as just friends. It's obvious in the slight narrowing of his eyes and in the way his jaw ticks and in the tension in his shoulders as he sets down his menu.

I stop walking altogether, and Coop stops next to me. I force myself to take a breath and then another, and I can't figure out what to do. I'm about to bolt, I think—turn around and leave, after all, that seems to be the easiest thing right now—when Coop leans in slightly.

His breath is warm against my skin as he says, "I'm here with you, but it's your call. And also, I'm fucking bigger than he is now. So, you know, you're safe. He won't fucking lay a hand on you."

I close my eyes as I hold back a laugh. He's right, though. Dad can't hurt me. Physically or emotionally. I don't need him. Or my mom. I don't need them or their approval or their support.

I already have everything I need.

This is just... a way to let go? Maybe. Make things more final.

I open my eyes, and my mom's still staring at me, clearly worried now. She's set down her cell phone, and her hands are wringing together. And my dad... he's scowling and angry, his face tinged red. It's a familiar look, though one I haven't seen in years.

And I'm surprised when it doesn't really affect me. At least, not like it used to. It doesn't send me into a near panic, doesn't make me dizzy with fear, doesn't fill me with shame. I hold his gaze for a moment, then I blink and look down. Coop's hand rubs low along my back, but he doesn't say anything else. He's waiting for me to make my decision, I guess.

So I do. I lift my eyes and meet my mom's gaze, and I give her a small smile. Then I start walking again. Coop is right there with me, his presence sure and solid. And when we get to the table, I don't move to sit. I'm still looking at my mom, avoiding my dad's eyes, but I can feel his anger.

"We can't stay, Mom, but I wanted to..." I falter for just a second. It's easier than it used to be, coming out. I've had to do it a lot of times now, since it's not just a one-and-done thing. But this is different too. Because these two—my parents—they're the reason it took me so long to get to where I am now. I take a deep breath and lean back into Coop's solid chest just enough. And then I smile again. "I wanted to introduce you both to my husband, Coop." I slip my arm around Coop's waist, and he brings his hand up to my shoulder. "You might remember him from when we lived in Garrington. We got married last month."

My heart is full as I think about our trip to California and how Coop had made me the happiest man alive when he'd said yes to my impromptu proposal. I realize I've dropped my eyes, but it's because I'm grinning—for a different reason this time. I blink and look back up.

Neither of my parents has moved or responded. My mom is as she's always been—resigned and reserved, staring at her hands to avoid giving any indication of what her real feelings are. And my dad's response is predictable. He's glaring at me and then at Coop, and there are hints of anger and something else in his eyes. Disgust, maybe. I'm not sure I even want to know.

"Jackson, I remember you, you—"

"We're just leaving now," I cut in, because I don't need to hear anything from him. We don't need to hear anything from him. I shift my gaze to my mom. "I just—I wanted you to know that I'm happy. I'm very happy. And I'm... good."

I'm not sure what else I'd intended to say. It seems like there's a lot to say, but at the same time, I've said all I really need to.

From behind me, Coop clears his throat, and his hand tightens on my shoulder. "Let's go, hon. It was good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Miller."

We turn and start to leave, Coop providing the little bit of direction that I need to get my feet moving. But before we can get too far, I hear my mom's voice call quietly from the table.

"Josh, dear, please wait," she says, and there's something in her tone that tugs at me.

I close my eyes and stop, but I don't turn back around. I think I hear her scoot out from the booth and step closer. Then Coop's arm loosens from around me, and my mom's small hand touches the back of my elbow. She doesn't try to hug me or even step in front of me to face me and look me in the eye. But she's there, and that's something, maybe. There's a brief pause, and then she lets her hand drop away.

Her voice is soft and a little shaky as she whispers, "I'm glad you're happy. That's... that's all I've ever wanted for you." And a moment later, she's gone again, her footsteps retreating back toward the table.

I hear a low huff of something from my dad that doesn't sound all that happy. But Coop's arm shifts back around my shoulders with a gentle squeeze, and I realize I'm still okay. Maybe I'm even more than okay.

I lean against him for just a second, and then, together, we make our way back out of the restaurant.

It's chilly outside, and a stiff breeze hits us just as we step away from the restaurant's entrance. Coop stops us when we're a little ways down the sidewalk, and he shifts in front of me and wraps both of his arms around me. It's warm and comforting, and I let out the breath I'd been holding and then close my eyes and rest my head against his shoulder.

He kisses my temple but doesn't say anything, and maybe I'm imagining it, but I think I can almost feel him trembling.

I straighten to look at him, and there's something in his expression that I can't quite place. I give him a small half-smile and stretch up to him, and he meets me for a brief kiss. His lips are soft, his kiss loving. It reminds me, soothes me.

When we part, I bring my hands up to rest in the middle of his chest. "Are you okay?" I ask.

A low laugh rumbles through him, and he grins as he leans down to kiss my forehead. "Me? Fuck. Of course I'm okay. I should be asking you if you're okay. That was... intense. Shit, I'm so fucking proud of you."

I'm suddenly warm all over as one of his hands rubs low along my back. And I'm shaking my head and laughing lightly. "Well, you know, you had me a little worried. There were decidedly very few ‘fucks' from you for a few minutes there," I tease, and I'm grinning right along with him. And it feels good when he laughs again and his eyes light up with amusement.

Ah, god, I'm so lucky to have him, and I'm so in love. He's everything I need and everything I never thought I'd have.

He bends down to kiss me again, and this time it's a little deeper and it lingers a little longer. When he pulls away a moment later, he laughs and tightens his arms around my waist.

"God, I fucking love you," he says, and I feel it, just as I had when he first told me six months ago. It's this powerful thing, this connection we've always had, and it's even stronger now. It's just... everything.

I smile up at him, and he's looking at me like I'm the only thing in his whole world that matters. My heart stutters, and I take a deep breath, reach up to frame his face with both hands, and whisper, "Tell me again."

His eyes soften, and he closes the rest of the distance between us, his lips covering mine in another tender kiss. A kiss that tells me all I need to know.

It's everything.