Page 245 of Toxic Kiss

The wind moves through the cemetery, and the grass rustles as if a storm is coming. I glance once at Patrick’s grave, then back at Haven.

“Marry me, Butterfly. Let me love you harder than every awful thing I’ve ever done.”

For a moment, she doesn’t speak. My heart stops, actually stops. I’m sure of it. Then Haven drops to her knees in front of me and takes my face in both hands.

“You’re such an impossible, dramatic asshole.”

I laugh loud enough to startle some birds from a nearby tree.

“Is that a yes? I’m not sure.”

She presses her forehead to mine.

“It’s always been yes, Cy. When I hated you, when I ran, and when I didn’t know how to forgive you.” Her lips tremble. “It was always you.”

Her lips touch mine, and I’m able to take the first deep breath since we set foot in this place.

Breaking the kiss, I take the ring from the box and slide it onto her fingers with hands that won’t stop shaking. It fits perfectly. The black and red diamonds catch the last of the dying light.

Haven looks down and laughs. Then she practically tackles me to the ground. I cup her face, kissing her as tears I’ve been holding back break free and slide down my cheeks.

Beside us, Patrick’s grave is silent, but for the first time, the silence doesn’t feel empty. It feels like he is right here with us, laughing and cheering, and clapping me on the back as he tells me that it took me long enough to get my head out of my ass.

When I pull back, Haven places her hand over the tattoo over my heart.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I know, it was obvious,” I tease as Haven glares at me through her tears. I smile. “And I love you more than my own miserable life, so don’t start.”

She shakes her head. “Still an asshole.”

“Always,” I say, and then smirk. “And I’m all yours.”

“Is it too late to give this ring back?”

“Yes,” I growl, and pull her into me as we laugh.

We hold each other tight while the sky darkens around us. I used to see love as a punishment. A song written in the ugliest parts of me. But kneeling here with Haven in my arms and Patrick at our side, I finally understand.

Some songs never end. The melody just changes. And ours…ours is just beginning.

epilogue

THREE MONTHS LATER

“Someone once pulled me out of the dark. Now I leave the light on for others.” – Cyrus

CYRUS

The bass from the opening act bleeds through the walls, vibrates the soles of my boots, and seeps into my bones.

Three months ago, that sound felt like a countdown.

Now?

It feels like a heartbeat.

I lean back on the worn leather couch backstage, phone in my hand as the live ticks upward. Comments scroll faster than I can read. Names, hearts, and questions stack on top of each other.