I catch Lindsey’s gaze across the dining room. She’s got this big, happy smile on her face, like she knows how cool it is that Beau just called me Aunt Emma.
I just became an aunt.
We haven’t started eating yet, but I’m already full.
Full of love.
Full of gratitude.
Full of this bone-deep contentment I’ve never experienced before.
Milly has clearly worked her magic: the table is set with gorgeous floral arrangements, and the china, glassware, and cloth napkins all sport a matching lavender-and-peacock blue theme.
Sitting next to Samuel at the table, surrounded by our family and friends, I feel safe. I feel seen.
I feel loved for who I am. And that might just be the best kind of love of all.
Samuel reaches under the table and grabs my hand. “So do I call you Emma now, or V, or Lady…”
“Why choose?” I flash him my shoes. “I’m all three.”
“You’re you.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “And you’ve shown me how to be me.”
I arch a brow. “How much are you gonna show me tonight?”
His eyes flash with a familiar heat. “How much you wanna see?”
“All of it. Whatever’s real.”
“It’s yours,” he says. “I’m yours.”
A few hours later, he makes good on that promise right there on the dining room table. And again in the kitchen. And twice in his bed, and three times (yes, three) in the shower.
If that’s not a happy ending to Blue and V’s story, I don’t know what is.
THE END
Epilogue
Hank
I have to get the fuck out of here.
Yanking my sweater over my head, it’s the first thought I have when I walk into my house after Sunday supper. I’m a little drunk and a lot worn out from playing nice.
From pretending that seeing Samuel and Emma so damn happy together doesn’t make me feel like dying.
I grab a fifth of Appalachian Red whiskey from my liquor cabinet and take a pull straight from the bottle. It burns a trail of fire down my throat.
It does nothing to lessen the intense ache inside my chest.
Doesn’t stop me from taking another swig before I set down the bottle and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
I glance around my pristine, silent kitchen. Not so much as a glass or napkin out of place. Probably because I don’t really live here.
Sure, I sleep in the bed every night and get ready in the gleaming master bathroom every morning, but otherwise, I’m hustling around the resort.
Work has become my life. And it took falling in love with my brother’s girlfriend to see how much I’m missing out on.
So fuck it. What do I have left to lose? I’m gonna stop putting my family first and give myself the top spot instead. I’ll do what I want when I want to do it.
I want to travel.
I want to fuck around.
I want to meet people who’ve never heard of Blue Mountain.
Tomorrow, I’ll get with my team and work out the details of my leave from guest relations. Then I’ll get on the phone with my travel agent and book a private jet to—
Where?
As far away as I can get, I guess. Thailand? South Africa? Madrid?
All I know is my broken heart ain’t gonna heal if I’m anywhere near this place.
I can’t stop thinking about how Emma looked at Samuel over the dinner table tonight. She was lit up. Eyes glowing and full, like she was so happy she might cry. I heard them flirting, talking about all the ways they’ll fuck tonight.
A slice of searing, urgent pain rips through my torso. I grab the bottle and drink, and drink some more.
“Hey.” I startle at the voice behind me. I turn to see Rhett looking at me, his brow furrowed with concern. He gently takes the bottle from my hand and sets it down. Crossing his arms, he leans his back against the counter. “I’m sorry that happened, and I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Me too.”
He dips his head toward the whiskey. “Please tell me you aren’t going to cope by drinking yourself into a shame spiral.”
“I’m giving the shame spiral twenty-four hours, max. Then I’m hitting the road.”
“Oh? Where ya going?”
I lift a shoulder, eyeing the bottle. “Not sure yet. Someplace where there’s a bar on the beach and beautiful women.”
“The best distractions in the world.” Rhett nods. “Let’s start in the Bahamas. Paradise Island.”
“We?” I arch a brow. “Who said you’re invited?”
Rhett grabs the bottle and takes a swig, smacking his lips. “I did. I have three months until training camp starts. Besides, someone needs to babysit you at that beach bar. You won’t be able to pick up all those beautiful women if you’re wasted.”
I laugh, the tightness inside my breastbone loosening ever so slightly. “Stop. You just wanna be my wingman.”
“Well, yeah.” My younger brother grins. “If I happen to meet a lady or two while I’m making sure you don’t give yourself rum poisoning…well, I won’t hate it.”
“Okay.” I take the bottle from him. Take a sip. “The Bahamas. Then where?”
“We’ll go around the world, obviously. Hop from the Bahamas to Ibiza. Then Mykonos, and the Seychelles…Bangkok. Australia. Hawaii. Final stop—”
“Vegas,” I say.
Rhett’s grin deepens into a smile. “My adopted hometown. Perfect.”
He plays for the pro football team that recently moved from California to Las Vegas. Rhett’s got a definite wild streak, so the new location suited him just fine.
Me? I’m an old soul. While I had my fun in Sin City, I never really got why my teammates and college friends were so obsessed with it.
Maybe this trip will change that.
I hold up the whiskey. “Let’s do it. Think you can leave tomorrow?”
“Hell yeah, I can.”
I take one last pull of whiskey before handing the bottle back to Rhett. He drinks too, and for several beats we stand there in silence.
I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but as usual, I’m thinking about Emma. How I don’t want to go on this trip, and I don’t want to leave Blue Mountain, because she’s here. She’s been the bright spot in my days. The reason I jump out of bed in the mornings more excited and invigorated than I’ve felt in years.
It happened really fucking fast, me falling for her.
I don’t fall easily. Not like that. Not for someone who doesn’t want me back.
But it happened, and now my head won’t stop spinning, and I can’t stop hurting. The embarrassment is real. So is the pain. This is horrible.
I never, ever want to feel this way again.
I want to forget.
“Make me a promise,” I say.
“Shoot.”
“Don’t let me do anything really stupid.”
“Like?”
I look him in the eye. “Like fall in love again. That shit—Rhett, it hurts something fierce.”
Rhett frowns. “Hank,” he says softly. “You can’t punish yourself like that. Yeah, you obviously need to give your heart time to heal, but don’t cut yourself off that way. You’re a good guy, and you deserve to be happy.”