Tomlinson takes my brother into custody, dragging his sorry form up the lawn with the help of two other MBTS officers. Tommy follows, giving a statement to one of the policemen.
Jo and I stand together by the boathouse, watching Cormorant House disappear. Beams crumble, falling to the ground in an eruption of embers. Vintage furniture, draped in flammable sheets, goes up like kindling. Heavy draperies, doused with Jaxon’s gasoline, spread the flames from floor to ceiling, leaving no inch spared.
Soon, there will be nothing left.
“A world without the Valentine estate,” I murmur, watching the ceiling collapse. “It’s the end of an era.”
“No,” Jo whispers. “Not the end.”
I look down at her. My lips skim hers, the whisper of a kiss. “You’re right. It’s the start of something better.”
She pushes up onto her tiptoes, deepening the kiss. Sliding her arms around my neck. I close my eyes and hold her close, shutting out the rest of the world. With each passing moment our mouths move together, a bit more of the past burns away. All the darkness, all the damage. I feel it lift, rising off my shoulders and into the sky, drifting away on clouds of smoke.
Leaving space for light.
For love.
For life.
Our life.
The one we begin to build in this moment, on the fire-razed ground of everything we have endured. A future full of promise, instead of pain. I don’t know what that future will look like. But I know, so long as I have Josephine by my side, it will be well worth the struggle it took to earn it.
“Let’s go,” I tell her softly. “Let’s get out of here.”
She doesn’t ask where we’re going. She merely smiles at me — a smile of so much sunshine, it makes me smile back — and laces her hand with mine. So tight, it makes my finger bones crunch.
“Together?”
“Together.”
epilogue
josephine
SIX MONTHS LATER
The sand is hot beneath my bare feet. A light, tropical breeze stirs the hair around my face as I stare out over the crashing turquoise waves.
I’m going to miss this.
Two tan arms wrap around my midsection without warning. I’m pulled back against a warm chest. Archer’s deep voice rumbles in my ear as he bends his head to nuzzle my neck.
“You ready to go back to cold New England?”
“Not at all.” I sigh. “But spring semester starts on Monday.”
We’ve spent my winter break here, on the sun-kissed beaches of Vieques. Riding horses with Miguel, cooking delicious meals with Flora. Laughing and loving each other far from the snowdrifts of Rhode Island. The frigid waves of Narraganset Bay seem a world away, as we stand here on the precipice of the Caribbean, our toes in the sand, warm sea-foam frothing around our ankles.
“We’ll come back next winter,” Archer promises. His chin hooks over my shoulder. “Maybe we’ll bring Tommy. He’s going out of his mind with boredom, now that he’s retired. The man joined a bowling league for god’s sake.”
A laugh tinkles from my lips. “We should invite him. I’d pay good money just to see that stubborn old fart in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts.”
“That would be quite a sight.”
I turn in his arms, looping my wrists over his shoulders so we are face to face. His eyes scan down my body with appreciation, lingering on every curve beneath my bright yellow bikini.
“Don’t you look at me like that, Archer Reyes.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re planning to eat me alive.”
His grin is wolfish. I have no more than a second to brace myself when he drops suddenly, ducks his shoulder into my stomach, and hitches me up over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I protest, spanking his butt. I can barely get the word out over my laughter.
He runs headlong into the waves. They crash around us, a warm embrace, as we fall into them in a tangle of limbs. When our heads break the surface, I wind my legs around his waist and bring my lips to his in a lingering kiss that sets a fire inside me.
“Remind me again why we have to leave?” I whisper.
“You can’t miss your classes.”
“Right. Classes.” I bump my nose into his. “Plus, you have your new coaching gig.”
Archer smiles. “As soon as the diamond is thawed, we’ll start spring training.”
He doesn’t talk about it much, but I can tell he’s thrilled by this new venture. Last fall, at the urging of Chris Tomlinson, Archer called his old coach at Exeter Academy to ask if he knew of any coaching opportunities. His tee-ball camp was over, and he wanted to find a way to keep baseball in his life.
Coach Hamm offered him a position as assistant coach on the spot — one Archer gladly filled all autumn, while I was away in Providence. It was a perfect fit for him. The long practices kept him busy while I was in classes during the week; the games occupied him on the rare weekends I wasn’t able to make it home. He did such a great job as assistant coach, he’s been put in charge of the entire JV team this spring.
It doesn’t pay much. Archer still heads out most mornings to check his traps on my namesake, The Josephine. Lobsters keep the lights on and the rent for our new apartment — a modern loft overlooking Gloucester Harbor, a stone’s throw from the docks and a four minute walk to Tommy’s place — covered each month. But Archer doesn’t coach for the stipend. He coaches because he loves the game.
Baseball is a part of him. It’s in his soul. And getting out on that field again has brought so much light back into his eyes, sometimes it nearly blinds me.
It hasn’t been all sunshine, of course. After Jaxon’s arrest, after the fire, we had some dark days. It’s not easy to shake off the past and start anew. We had so much baggage to unpack.
His brother.
My parents.
Our year of distance.
But with him by my side, I have no doubt we’re going to make it. There’s no question in my mind. We were broken, once, so badly I feared we could never be rebuilt. But the damage only made us stronger.
At my neck, the fisherman’s knot necklace catches the sun, glinting gold.
True love does not break.
It only strengthens.
And so will we.
I stare into Archer’s face. A face I know as well as my own in the mirror. I could trace its lines by heart. I could draw it in total darkness. It is the face of the man I love. The face of my best friend. The face of my oldest confidant. The face of my lover. The face of my someday-husband.
One day, we will build a family together — one with children and a house and maybe a dog. There will be too much laundry and a stack of dishes in the sink. Baseball cleats of many sizes will line the mudroom. It will be loud and messy and chaotic.
And I can’t wait for it.
But until then — until we’re ready — I will be content with what we have.
This.
Us.
This moment.
This man.
Together, in the sun.
Forever.
THE END
playlist
The Medicine — Sam DeRosa