“Why’s it sound like you’re about to get on a plane?” I ask.
“You should have fucking told me about Ian.”
“Man, he’s fine.”
Driving Tyler absolutely nuts, but better himthan the Bratva.
“The O’Connells don’t have many friends here,” I remind.
“I’ll see you soon, Trevino.” The phone call ends.
I’d be lying if I didn’t think this would happen. But between making sure Isolde is okay, keeping my business running, and moving, I’d pushed it to the back of my mind.
“Fuck me,” I whisper to myself. Best case scenario, Ciaran O’Connell comes by himself. Worst case—he brings his uncle.
“Tris?”
I drop my phone on the table, no longer caring about Ciaran and his brother.
The love of my life is waiting for me.
Epilogue Two
ISOLDE
Three Years Later
The room is dark. The ceiling fan makes a whirling sound. The large T-shirt I wore to bed is now tangled around my torso, I’ve slept so hard.
I’m not sure if it’s the cat jumping up that wakes me first or the urge to go to the bathroom. It doesn’t matter, my eyes open.
A black and white cat slinks between my legs, heading toward Tristan’s side. The other one, aptly named Calico, is most likely hidden under the bed, in her favorite spot.
It’s peaceful in the night, and when I check my phone, I’m delighted to note there are still several more hours to go before I truly have to wake up.
“Isolde,” Tristan mumbles, his arm stretching across the bed, fingers spreading to indicate I should take his hand.
“Hold on.” I go to the bathroom, keeping the light off and my movements quiet.
I tiptoe back to bed, the sheets rustling as I climb back in.
Tristan—eyes still closed—grabs me, tucking me to hisside. I allow it, not even minding his body heat as I curl up against him. My hands smooth down his arm, resting over a tattoo right above his inner elbow.
Cursive script reads: Sammie.
Tristan got it done years ago, showing up one day with it. Most girls wouldn’t be pleased if their man showed up with another girl's name on them. I was delighted, this seemingly small tattoo holding significance that I can’t always explain.
What is it like moving on without someone you loved?
Some days are hard. Reminders poke into you, making you realize that your shield doesn’t always protect you. But on other days, life is a blur of laughter and goodness.
It’s easier to mention my sister, but I also don’t feel as guilty on the days when I don’t.
I never see her anymore. Not her phantom image.
I think about the tarmac. About the image of Sammie. Sometimes I get mad, thinking that was the last time I saw her ghost. I had to explain to my therapist, and later on to Tristan, that in the aftermath of the Spider, I was more upset that this was the final time I saw Sammie than the fact that I got shot.
I thought they would make fun of me. But they didn’t judge me for my feelings—they just listened. And in Tristan’s case, he pulled me into a hug.
