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Epilogue
One Year Later
Ayear. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long since the last day outside Phoenix when I got my money together, abandoned my car and took off with the two men who’ve been my world ever since. The two men who freed me the day they took me prisoner.
I can’t help but smile as I gaze out through the window over the kitchen sink, where I’m finishing washing vegetables for our salad. Outside is the wide expanse of beach I’ve been gazing at for the past year.
They’re out there now, and nobody with the slightest idea of what was on their records would believe it if they saw it: Hunter and Ryker helping a couple of kids from a few doors down build an epic sandcastle. I can hear them laughing as the waves crash against the shore.
Now that they’re free, really and truly, I’ve had the joy of watching them settle into normal life. We even hang around in bed on Sunday mornings reading the newspaper, drinking coffee, and eating breakfast together. I nag them about chores the way women nag their men, too, and I have the joy of seeing them roll their eyes when I ask that one of them empty the trash and take it out to the can rather than leave it outside the front door.
It’s so mundane, so average, and it fills my heart with a bliss I never imagined for myself. I never took the time to sit down and imagine what life would be like once Eric was out of the world and I was free to move on from the trauma he inflicted. I never visualized what my happily ever after would look like.
And maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t, because I couldn’t have come up with this scenario if I tried a million times to picture my future. Living on the beach in a comfortable house with two men I adore and who adore me ten times over.
Once I have the pasta drained, I call out through the open window. “It’s almost time for dinner! Better come in and wash up!” I watch with a smile as they say goodbye for now to the kids and jog up to the deck running along the back of the house where they use the hose to rinse the sand from their feet before coming inside.
“It smells amazing in here.” Hunter stands behind me at the stove as I stir the spaghetti sauce one last time before using it to dress the pasta. His fingers grip my hips firmly, but lovingly, and he growls against my neck. “You know how horny it gets me when you cook.”
“I cook every day!”
“Exactly.” He nibbles my neck, chuckling, before going to the sink to wash his hands.
“I never thought building a sandcastle would work up an appetite.” Ryker takes the salad bowl to the table, and Hunter follows with the pasta. I take the meatballs from their pot and carry them along with a plate of garlic bread.
It’s all so normal. Happy, and the opposite of what I would expect life to be like with two criminals. But I’m a criminal, too. I’m a thief and a murderer.
And I’ve never felt surer of myself or more comfortable in my skin than I do now.
I know it has a lot to do with the men heaping food on their plates, digging in with gusto. Now that we’ve settled into domestic bliss, I’m even learning things about myself. Like how it pleases me to watch people enjoy my cooking, even when it’s something as simple as spaghetti. I love knowing I can provide for them the way they provide for me. I love knowing I take care of them.
“These meatballs are the best you ever made.” Ryker spears one on his fork before taking a big bite.
“You say that every time.”
“And they’re better every time. You’re more and more excellent every day.” He winks before polishing off what’s left on his fork, then goes in for another.
“We should cuff you to the stove so you can never leave the kitchen.” When I roll my eyes, Hunter laughs. “Okay, lame joke.”
“Just a little.” I hold my thumb and forefinger roughly a centimeter apart, which makes them both chuckle. It’s hard to remember those days, when they treated me so roughly—then again, they also took care of me.
All that matters now is that we found each other.
I eat slower than they do, even though my appetite is raging. I can’t get enough food to eat lately, probably because I’ve been getting so much exercise with all the walking and swimming I do. My body feels healthier and stronger than it ever has.
Plus, I’m too thoughtful to wolf down my food the way they do. As I twirl noodles around my fork, I can’t help but think about what it means to be loved. I went so long without any kind of love in my life. No family, no friends. When I thought Ryker and Hunter were going to kill me, I knew nobody would care or even notice my absence.
That might as well have been somebody else. Another girl’s life, another girl’s empty heart. Because now, sitting with them and listening as they joke around and fight over who gets the last piece of garlic bread, my heart is so full I’m afraid it will burst.
Ryker finally notices how emotional I’m getting. “Sugar, what’s wrong?”
Hunter is by my side in an instant, kneeling next to my chair. “Are you okay? Do you feel alright?”
I shake my head, then nod, which I know only confuses them more than ever. I can barely speak for the lump in my throat. Ryker fills my glass with more water and hands it to me. A few sips make it possible to speak.
“I’m okay, really. Just a little confused right now.” I put the glass on the table, then use my napkin to dab at my eyes.
“About what?” Hunter takes my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles. “You know we can talk about anything.
