The television erupts with cheers behind us as the new year begins.
“Lovesong” continues playing while we leave the diner.
Me and my final girl survived it all.
That’s the only ending that ever mattered.
Epilogue One
Brooke
One Year Later
The reflection in the mirror barely looks like me.
I'm wearing a black lace dress, fitted like sin and stitched to my bones. The gown hugs every curve, off the shoulders, with a slit that shows my leg when I move. The train rests behind me in a dark spill. A single black rose sits above my left ear, pinned into loose waves.
My eyes look darker than usual, and calmer too. I still look haunted, but I finally feel at peace.
“Damn, Morticia,” Travis’s voice cuts through the silence as he steps into the room behind me, already lighting a joint. “Look at you all ready to marry Gomez.”
He offers it to me without ceremony.
I take a long drag, hold it, and exhale slowly. “Sure am.”
He grins. “Seth’s definitely giving John Wick meets American Psycho. It’s terrifying. And kinda cool. But mostly terrifying.”
I smirk, still watching myself in the mirror. “If we didn’t already get fake-married once, this would feel insane.”
“Oh, it still does.” Travis leans against the wall beside me, taking another hit. “The priest Beau got for this thing? I’m ninety percent sure he’s one of Beau’s hits. The man looks like he’s being held hostage.”
“He probably is,” I say casually.
“Some things never change,” Travis mutters with a laugh, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “This whole thing is like a fever dream.”
I turn to face him, narrowing my eyes with mock suspicion. “And what about you? You’ve been dating Naomi for how long now?”
Travis blinks, then squints at me through the haze. “Is this a setup?”
“Just asking.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “You two are disgusting together, by the way. In love, happy, cute. It’s sickening.”
He rolls his eyes but can’t hide the smile tugging at his mouth. “We may or may not be moving in together next week.”
“What?” I gasp, then launch myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck. “Trav! I’m so happy for you!”
He hugs me back tightly. “You deserve this too, you know.”
I feel it then, that sharp little pinch behind my ribs that used to mean I didn’t believe it. That I didn’t trust it. But this time, I did.
This time, it feels real.
Travis pulls back and gives me a look, the kind that says he is pretending not to get choked up. “Now let me walk you down the aisle to your serial killer husband before he decides to murder the priest out of impatience.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s died at one of our family gatherings.” I loop my arm through his. “Try not to cry.”
“No promises.”
We step outside just as the opening notes of “Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby” drift through the speakers.
