Page 118 of The Quiet After The Fall

I roll my eyes, willing the blush to stay away from my cheeks. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

I shove his shoulder, and he catches my hand before I can pull it back, lacing our fingers together over the console like he’s done it a million times before. It still catches me off guard sometimes, how easy this is. How after everything, we ended up here, bickering about stupid shit instead of secrets and survival.

“So it’s you, me, my mom, and your mom tomorrow,” I say, steering us back on track. “Can you handle that many women at one table?”

He laughs my question off. “Don’t forget Gia. My mom invited her too. Said she likes her wild energy.”

“Oh, this is going to be a disaster.”

“Oh, definitely.” He pulls into Marcello’s lot and cuts the engine. “Especially if booze is thrown into the mix.”

“Maybe we can moderate that,” I say, thinking about a drunk Victoria in a room with Mom on her birthday and Gia egging them on.

“I’m on it,” he says, before brushing his lips over my knuckles.

Neither of us move to get out. Not yet. Sunlight spills across the dashboard, filling the space with a golden aura. It’s comfortable, being like this, just the two of us. I still get that knee jerk reaction sometimes that we have to avoid going out in public together. It’s hard to wrap my head around having the freedom to love each other openly now.

People will always have their opinions. He’s my boyfriend’s brother and always will be. But he’s so much more.

Let them have their stories and tell them across dinner tables and phone lines. Pass them around the country club and throughout cocktail parties. I’m sure whatever they come up with is far more sordid than reality.

The two survivors with their shared trauma who fell in love. Or maybe they’ll say the homewrecker who slept with her dead boyfriend’s brother. That’s probably a popular one. Or maybe it’s the rich socialite who took up with the town pariah, but his family ended up being the true villains.

The truth is far messier—grief and guilt and years of back and forth, four people who loved and betrayed each other in ways none of us saw coming, and one of them gone before he could ever choose his ending.

I used to think I owed the whole town an explanation. Now I know the only thing I owe anyone is the version of myself I get to have back—the one having lunch with Knox on a Friday afternoon, nothing at stake, a future that’s finally, entirely ours.

Broken tracks and nightmares are always going to be part of our story. They just aren’t the ending anymore. We’re choosing the free fall, together, with nothing and no one to catch us but each other.

Epilogue

Knox

Two Years After the Accident

Sawyer has her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, laptop balanced on her knees, typing furiously. “Just received the custody evaluations. Yes. I have everything here.” She pauses while her boss speaks on the other end of the line. “If he’s hiding income, we’ll find it before the hearing.” Her mouth curves, and voice trembles with excitement. “Great. We’ll get the bastard. I’ll have it in your email tonight.”

We said no work on this trip, but hell, I can’t blame her. She’s so damn happy helping her boss bring pieces of shit to their knees in a courtroom. After what she’s gone through, I’d want to burn it all down too. And I have in my own ways.

I linger in the doorway, eyes darting between her profile and the gorgeous crystal lake in front of us. Not Lake Mercer. We decided we needed to start a tradition somewhere new and landed on a rustic cabin at gorgeous Lake Tahoe. Another perk, it’s pet friendly, and our newly adopted black cat, Squish, is loving the fenced in back deck just as much as he’s loving stealing my girl. Major cockblock, that one.

Taking a deep breath to ward off the jitters, I watch her eyes light up as she types, a smirk curving her lips. Almost feel bad for the poor bastard she’s set her sights on. But damn, she’s never been more beautiful. I think that a lot, but every time it feels true. I’m the luckiest fucker in the universe.

I leave her to it and quietly head out to the Jeep. Seems like a good time as any to get what I need. Knowing myself, if I stand here watching her any longer, she’ll end up getting no work done at all.

It’s ten minutes into town, a small homemade ice cream shop called Swirls. I wait in line for ten minutes behind a family of four who sample every flavor. That would normally have me clenching my jaw, but today, nothing can piss me off.

I buy one large chocolate milkshake, smiling at it the moment the ice cream slinger slides it across the counter into my waiting hands.

When I get back, she hasn’t moved off the chaise, but her laptop’s closed and on the deck next to her and Squish has claimed the space instead, curled up in a black puff against her stomach. She’s watching the rippling lake, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, bare feet pointing toward it in a stretch. She’s wearing a slight scowl, probably something work related, which only makes what I’m about to do that much more exciting.

I can’t help myself from taking a few extra minutes to watch her, waiting to see if the scowl disappears. It’s my favorite hobby, after all.

It’s been two years since the accident. Two years of nightmares that come less often now, of her name in my mouth first thing every morning, frantically checking that she’s real. She is, and most days I can hardly believe we walked away scarred but whole.

We’ve helped each other move forward, win cases, start fresh. She was with me every step of the way as I started my own development company, with my mother’s financial help. We made sure every cent of Aldrich money was used to help correct my father’s fuckups, and two years later, I’m still not even close to scratching the surface. I know my mother’s spoken to him a handful of times since he’s been in prison, mostly to rub how well she’s doing in his face. I’m sure she’s told him that I’m thriving too. Not that I care what he thinks, he’s on borrowed time. If Moretti’s guys ever get him alone, he’s done.