The couch surrounds us, but it’s him I’m lost in. Every thrust, every groan, every promise. My orgasm builds sharp and fast, my mind going white.
“Emma, give it to me,” he commands, forehead pressed to mine, his voice breaking.
And I do. I shatter in his arms, crying out his name, as he follows me over the edge with a guttural groan, collapsing against me.
His lips find my ear, trembling with confession. “I love you.”
I cradle his face, his vulnerability wrecking me more than his hunger ever could. My voice shakes, but it’s steady with truth. “I love you too, Gargoyle.”
Epilogue.
The last time I saw my father was at Silas’s wedding—two years ago.
My mom begged me to talk to him, but I shut her out.
Now... my wife’s the one asking me to talk to him, and suddenly it’s not so easy to ignore.
“Luca, he’s at the door. You can’t just leave him out there,” Emma whispers.
She’s wearing that paint-stained apron she uses in her studio—one of the rooms in our house, that’s all hers. It’s splattered with color, and she’s got that same bandana on her head, the one I stole from her all those years ago. Ever since she became my wife, she’s been able to relax a little more with work. She’s been spending more time on her art, and in a few months, she’s having her first gallery show in Miami.
I’ve never been prouder.
“I absolutely can leave him out there,” I mutter, closing my laptop and standing from my office chair, stepping closer to her.
Her hands are on her hips. She’s pissed.
When the doorbell rang a few seconds ago, the security camera showed my father, standing outside in a plain white tee and some old shorts.
“Please,” she says. “Talk to him. Give him a chance to own up to what he did.”
I take a deep breath and look into her green eyes. There’s a smear of green paint on her cheek, and it pulls a smile from me. My hand cradles her face—massive compared to hers. “How can you forgive him so easily, Em?”
“Because we all make mistakes.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she keeps going, raising her voice a little.
“Yes, your dad made a lot of them…”How the hell did she know that’s exactly what I was about to say?“…but if we never give a second chance to someone who hurt us, we’ll spend our lives carrying resentment. And I know you don’t want that. That’s what all those books in your library are about.”
I smile.
“Ourlibrary. There’s a whole shelf of art books in there now, too.”
The day Emma proposed, I did exactly what I promised. I put her on a plane, and we flew straight to Vegas. It wasn’t romantic. Definitely not classy. But I wasn’t about to waste the sliver of momentum life handed me. That one perfect second where everything aligned.
I married her.
We spent two days in Vegas, locked in a hotel room—rediscovering each other, feeling like we belonged again, like we did when we were kids. When we got back to Miami, I packed her things and moved her into my house.Ourhouse now.
These days, I wake up and instead of missing her in silence, I get to run my hand across her skin while she sleeps beside me.
Every day, I wake up smiling. Every day, she brings light into my life.
“Go,” she says, nudging me toward the door. “I’ll be in the studio so you two can talk.”
I nod because seeing her smile when she wins a small argument is one of my favorite things. I live to make her happy, and if this is what she wants today, then I’ll do it. I kiss her quickly, then open the door to face my father.
The great Thomas Walker is standing on my doorstep, inspecting the house like it’s a museum. “I’ve never seen this place,” he says, eyes scanning the walls.
