Hayden found his way into my heart years ago without even trying. Without even knowing. And somehow, he never left.
Honestly? I wouldn’t want it any other way.
epilogue
HAYDEN
Four years later
The ocean hums just outside the window. The steady push and pull of the waves is soothing, the first sound I hear every morning now. Four years ago, I never could’ve imagined a life like this: with Riley, our little girl, and a house by the beach in California. I thought I loved my life in New York, but compared to this? I was merely existing there. Though maybe, at that time in my life, it was what I needed. I did have happy days, and I created a lot of good memories. Then, there’s Riley. If I hadn’t been in New York…hell, I don’t even want to imagine what my life would be like without her.
I nearly drowned in guilt and grief after losing Owen, but Riley saved me. She gave me a new purpose and healed me in a way I didn’t think would be possible. Then, when she got pregnant, my whole world turned upside down. Every day since, I’ve been filled to the brim with love and most days happiness too. I’m calmer, more thoughtful, and I’ll do anything for my family.
I still talk to Owen when I feel stuck, and when dark days come, I remember that as long as we remember him, he will continue to live on through us.
Fame is loud—it always has been—but my life with Riley and our little girl isn’t.
I’m still the frontman of Sabotage, still the guy whose face ends up on screens and magazine covers, but what happens behind our front door stays ours. We share what wechooseto share, nothing more, nothing less. A photo here, a line in an interview there. I’m not hiding that I’m a family man now, but the rest is off-limits. And somehow, thank God, people respect that.
Riley used to be terrified of the spotlight, of the stories, of the Sabotage fans. That’s no longer the case—the way she doesn’t flinch when my name trends, the way her hand stays in mine when we meet paparazzi. She knows she’s not public property. She’s my wife. My everything. Those are the only titles that matter.
A sudden snore from the floor rips me out of my thoughts. Shaking my head, I eye the little beast. If someone had told me two years ago a dog this small could snore like that, I never would’ve given him to Riley.
And to think, I caved and bought a second Pomeranian for Iris six months ago. Something is seriously wrong with me. My girls make me so soft; they have me wrapped around their fingers.
I bend down and rub the dog between his ears. “Archie, stop snoring. You’re distracting me.” He opens one beady black eye then closes it again and goes right back to snoozing, but thankfully, the snoring stops. “Thank you.”
Taking a deep breath, I focus on the sheet music in front of me. When Riley and I decided to move to California, I thought we would end up in LA, where our parents are, or in Santa Clara, where our siblings live. Yet, somehow, we found ourselves in a two-story house on the beach in Monterey.
We knew we wanted a place big enough for a music studio for me and a dance studio for Riley. This house checked all our boxes. And, as a bonus, Grant recently accepted a job offer from a financial technology company here, so he and Nastya, along with their three cats and an adorable two-year-old daughter, live close by.
I push away a note sheet, frowning. It’s impossible to focus on writing music when I’ve got so much to do for Riley’s birthday.
The tour ended four months ago. Now, I’m enjoying my time with my family. It was so damn hard to be away from my girls—eight months is far too long. Sure, they flew out to see me a few times, but Iris is too little to be on the road more than occasionally. She needs the stability and comfort our home provides, and I need them. Her, Riley, and the baby she’s carrying.
Laughter filters in from the terrace, officially ruining my chances of writing. I’d much rather see my girls. Riley’s voice is a low murmur, and then Iris shrieks about a sandcastle. I shake my head, stand, and head out to join them.
I drink Riley in, fascinated as always by how gorgeous she is. My wife is dressed in a light blue tee and jean shorts, her legs looking endless like they always do. Other than a little extra curve to her hips, her body hasn’t really changed since before she had Iris. She prefers more blue highlights than she used to, and today, her hair is up in a messy bun. She has sunglasses on, but the moment she notices me in the doorframe, she perches them on top of her head.
“Decided to join us?” she asks with an arched brow.
“Can’t think straight when the two of you are being so loud,” I tease.
An orange furball barrels at my legs, headed inside. My daughter giggles as she darts for me too, probably playing tag with her puppy, PowPow.
“Daddy!” she yells.
I crouch and catch her in my arms, ensuring PowPow makes it into the house safely so he can have a break. I stand and fix my focus on my little girl.
She has eyes the color of a light blue sky with hints of green, a pert nose, and a pouty mouth. She’s the perfect blend of Riley and me, blonde hair and everything. Today, it’s in two braids, the way she typically begs her mom to do it. She’s beautiful and funny and just a little bit naughty.
“What are you up to?” I ask her.
“Playing tag with PowPow.”
I shoot a glance at Riley, and she only shrugs. “She didn’t want to paint with me.”
“In this weather?” I chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to paint either.”
