And Luke knew they could.
They fucking had to. Because no way would he sleep easy knowing that fucker was sleeping, eating, breathing, fucking on the same planet as Rosie.
They’d get him.
And he’d die.
And Luke couldn’t fucking wait for that day.
Epilogue
Rosie
One Year Later
I hate to say things like ‘the end’ and ‘we lived happily ever after.’ Because neither of those things would be true, even if I could see the future. I didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know this wasn’t the end. No way, no how. And I was smart enough to know that Luke and I wouldn’t always be happy. Humans are never always happy. Even with the only person on earth they’re meant to be with, there’s going to be anger, pain, tears. But the joy, love, and laughter outweigh that.
But for the sake of it, it was the ending for the time being.
The ending, so far, had been soft.
Anticlimactic.
We got married about two weeks after we found the perfect house. A home. I didn’t care about marriage, really. But I wanted Luke to be mine. Legally. If that was one law I’d stick with for the rest of my life, I’d be happy.
Our lives were still chaos. We were a husband and wife team who doubled as bounty hunters and beat up lowlifes for hire. So chaos was the nine-to-five. And we liked it that way.
But in each other, we found peace.
There were dramas. Cupid wasn’t finished with the Sons of Templar, so there were dramas. Fucking big ones when we finally got Fernandez. And his death was proving to last a long time.
There were also other dramas. But they weren’t our own.
We’d had enough.
To fill up one lifetime. To fill up three.
So we deserved this soft—kind of—ending, for the beginning was hard and full of pain.
There was still pain. Because you can’t have life, can’t have love, without it.
But that pain was bearable. Because that pain was meant to be.
Because that pain was us.