After some time, she pulls into the driveway of a tiny beach cottage that I assume is a rental. I park my own car a few blocks down from the house and get out to continue the rest of the way on foot.
As I approach the front hedges, the door opens.
I freeze in my tracks, and I swear my heart stops.
“What took you so long, Ellis?”
“Appearances,” she responds, suddenly all smiles, and I’m thinking it has something to do with the baby in Saint’s arms.
Saint, the dead guy that brought us all back to Angelview to celebrate his life.
Saint, the motherfucker who’s very much alive and with a baby that can’t be more than a few months old.
Closing the space between them, she leans down and presses a kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Hello, my little angel, did you miss me?”
The kid coos and blinks up at her with wide eyes.
“Your shirt’s all wet,” Saint says with a smirk, and she glances down at it before snorting.
“Because someone’s hungry and missed his momma.”
I wonder what they named him. Knowing Saint, probably something pretentious like Lord or Cherub.
“I missed you,” Saint tells her, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into him. He grabs her ass. “I’m hungry.”
She grins up at him, but then her expression turns serious. “You know how dangerous it is to be here just to stroke your ego, don’t you? Unless you’re ready to stop all this and—”
“I’m not.” He shrugs. “Freedom from the Angelle name and all my father’s bullshit is good and all, but do you really think I’d miss my own memorial service?”
“You weren’t even there.”
“Still, I felt the hero worship, Ellis.” He taps his chest and closes his eyes. “I felt it right in here.”
I can only shake my head and chuckle at that, and I’m careful to stay hidden and quiet. It’s oddly comforting to know that Saint hasn’t really changed.
That he’s not gone.
Even if it does piss me the fuck off that they’ve let us grieve for him.
“Jesus, if you’d really died that day, you’d have found a way to come back as a ghost,” Mallory says with a roll of her eyes. “You’re that obsessed with yourself.”
He smiles and dips his head to press his lips to her temple.
When he pulls back, he says, “I love you, little masochist.”
Her smile is radiant when she replies, “I love you, too, Saint.”
I consider making my presence known then but decide against it. They’ve remade themselves, and their lives. They’ve worked hard to free themselves from the shackles of their family names and the bloody legacies of their parents. They deserve their peace now.
I turn my back to the cottage, tuck my hands in my pockets, and walk away.
THE END
Thank you so much for reading the conclusion of Saint & Mallory’s story! Click HERE to sign up for notifications for the Angelview Legacies series, coming 2021. Click the link below to join my group on Facebook.
Turn the page for 2 bonus epilogues that take place between Chapter 38 and the Liam POV epilogue.
Bonus Epilogue 1
Mallory
In the end, it was Gabe who pulled me back.
Gabe, whose strong arms closed around my waist just seconds after I raced into the flames.
Gabe who dragged me, kicking and screaming, out of the Angelle’s house as he growled into my ear, “What the fuck are you trying to do, Ellis? Kill yourself?”
Gabe who saved me just moments before the chandelier came crashing down.
Now, whenever I close my eyes, I see that fucking chandelier and I smell the stench of ash that makes my stomach churn because I hadn’t been able to save him.
The worst part? That at first, I was convinced he made it out. Even when Loni or Henry gave me that sad look when I pointed out that I’d survived, that I was supposed to have died years ago and look how my story turned out, I swore that Saint was alright.
I hadn’t given up hope that first week or the week after it.
I hadn’t given up hope even when Laurel and her army of bitches came after me in the D-Hall, calling me a murderer because I’d heard it all before and honestly? They could all fuck themselves.
I hadn’t even given up when the truth started coming out in the papers: That there were bodies—or at least, what was left of them—buried in the creepy ass tunnels below the Angelle’s mansion. I kept telling myself that Saint was okay because he hadn’t been identified. Because Jameson hadn’t been identified either.
It wasn’t until the phone call that I realized he wasn’t coming back, that he was gone.
The call came shortly after midnight, two weeks before finals because I’m a masochist who wanted to see things through after all the death and destruction and heartache. My phone vibrating beneath my pillow had pulled me out of a restless sleep, and I’d stared down at the words RESTRICTED for a long time, my heart hammering in my chest, a flutter of hope in my belly.
When I finally answered, I was met with a pause and then a familiar voice.
Only, it wasn’t Saint’s drawl.
“I need a favor, little Jenn.”
My lips had curled into a snarl as my shoulders curled in defeat. “The cops are fucking looking for you, motherfucker. Your precious Nora—”
“You don’t think I already know, bitch?” Ghost had cut me off, and I could almost picture him staring down his nose at me. “I need to know what you told them about me.”
“Nothing.”
And it was the truth. I hadn’t said shit about Ghost because I’d wanted Nora to burn and the first thing that she’d done when she was arrested was place the blame on him.
When I was questioned, I’d claimed I had no idea who she was talking about.
A week later, she sent me a letter from jail claiming that she was glad that Saint was dead, so I stopped checking my mail.
“You’re lying,” Ghost had finally said, and I’d shrugged and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Believe whatever the fuck you want. I’m done.”
And I truly was because his call had extinguished the last of my hope.
Saint was gone and I was done.
A week later, I’d come back from my study session with Loni and Liam to find my door unlocked and a big envelope on my bed full of names and locations—graves, I’m assuming, though that still hasn’t been confirmed—that Ghost had left me. I knew it was from him because I recognized the handwriting on the note laying nearby.
Guess you’re set for life now, huh?
He’d left the empty pregnancy test box on my mattress as a special touch. Because why wouldn’t the sick bastard go through my trash? Why wouldn’t he rub it in that he was privy to my newest secret? Why would he give a fuck at all?
I’d cried myself to sleep that night, but the next morning, I pulled myself back together and turned his evidence over to the police, lying that I had no idea who it came from.
As long as it fucks Nora, I’ll keep up the façade.