Epilogue
One year later…
“Don’t peek or I’ll send it back,” I say, leading River out into the scorching summer heat down to the garage of our new house.
We’d closed a month ago on a four-bed, three bath modest little number (modest by my standards) that had a pool I didn’t want but River insisted on. It was the only thing he’d insisted on, other than we not spend a fortune on it.
“I want a home, not a house,” he’d said.
Couldn’t argue with that.
“You’re peeking, aren’t you?”
River chuckles, one hand over his eyes. “I’m not, promise. I’m actually scared to look.”
We arrive at the garage and my pulse kicks up a little. “All right, have at it.”
River pulls his hand away and then stares. “Holy shit… That’s a 1967 Pontiac GTO sports coupe,” he says in awe, walking around the rusted red eyesore that is going to be residing in our garage for the next six months. “Only about seven thousand ever made.”
He comes around beside me, his smile ridiculously beautiful. “Who’s is it? What’s the job?”
“No job. It’s yours.”
His blue eyes widen, and I could cry at how touched he is over this decrepit jalopy.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? To make you happy. What other reason could I possibly have to—?”
River hauls me to him and presses his mouth to mine in a deep kiss. I sag, falling into him instantly. They used to call me a vampire, but River’s kisses drain me of rational thought and leave me dizzy and weak, the sexy bastard.
“Thank you, Holden. I love it.”
“Then it’s the best piece of junk I ever bought.”
“When I’m done with it, it won’t look like junk.”
No, the faded red paint will be gleaming, and the rusted chrome will shine again.
Because that’s what he does, I think, watching River admire the car. He brings things back to life.
“It’s more for me than for you, anyway,” I add. “You spend so much time at the shop, depriving me of the pleasure of you in your work clothes, greased and sweaty, bent over a car…”
“I’ll bend you over this car right now,” River says, his voice gruff as he pulls me tighter to him.
My hand slips down the front of his jeans. “I dare you…” I squeeze.
He groans, then removes my hand. “That’s one way to introduce ourselves to our neighbors.”
“The fun way.”
River laughs as we head back to the house. “Don’t forget. We have dinner at Dad’s tonight.”
“Forget? You’ve reminded me at least ten times since this morning.”
“I know, but…”
River doesn’t finish his sentence. I narrow my eyes. “We have dinner at your Dad’s all the time. It’s not exactly life and death if we’re late.”
River runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I just…have a lot going on at the shop. Maybe I’m reminding you, so I don’t forget.”
“Uh huh. Should I invite Beatriz?”
“I already did.”
The plot thickens…
“I wasn’t aware you kept a direct line to my tia.”
“I love her too.” River grins. “You need to learn to share.”
Beatriz retired on the Holden Parish Pension Plan. She wouldn’t let me give her as much as I wanted but enough to live comfortably and visit family in Salvador, Brazil any time she feels like it. She’s a frequent guest at our dinners with River’s dad and sister and will be at our home too, once we’re settled in.
I start to make a snappy retort when River jerks to a stop. I follow his gaze and freeze.
Margaret and Reginald Parish are walking up the drive. Reg is carrying a large gift, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a light green bow. The day is hot, and he’s wearing a Polo and shorts; she’s in a sundress. They’re both wearing hopeful, nervous smiles.
“Is that them?” River asks in a low, angry voice.
“No, my parents would never look that human, even in disguise. That’s my aunt and uncle.”
After I returned from my self-imposed exile, I left the door open to talk and reconnect with Reg and Mags through Bernard. That had been a year ago and Bernie had nothing to report. Except the news that my parents had officially disowned me.
And made it public.
Gods of Midnight remained under my name, and I did the interview in which I revealed—in graphic detail—the conversion therapy program they’d sent me to.
My parents had retaliated by taking out a full page in the Seattle Times. I’d been a “destructive force” in their life since my childhood. Incorrigible. Promiscuous. An embarrassment. Alaska was a last attempt at discipline, but I’d continued to shame the family name, even after they’d generously granted me my inheritance.
They concluded their little exposé by declaring that I was heretofore disowned, and that no one in the Parish family should contact me ever again.
River had had to peel me off the bathroom floor in the early morning hours that week, holding me while I purged myself of them the way he’d grieved for his mother. Except where he grieved for what he lost, I grieved for what I never had.
After not hearing from them, I figured my aunt and uncle had sided with my parents, just as they had when the decision to send me to Alaska came down in the first place.
Why are they here?
River lets out a breath, and his hand slips into mine, warm and solid. When I say nothing, he clears his throat. “Hi, I’m River. I don’t believe we’ve met. You’re Holden’s aunt and uncle?”
“Hello, River,” Uncle Reg says. “Reginald and Margaret. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Wonderful to meet you, River,” Aunt Mags says with a soft smile. She nods
