Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(101)
And if I’m lucky, no matter what we do next in life, that’s the way it will be. Me and Rose.
We stop just behind the cars, watching the cottage, admiring its inviting glow. When Rose turns into me, I wrap my arms across her back.
“You ready?” she asks.
I lean down, pressing a kiss to her lips. She sighs against my mouth. How I ever lived so long without touching her, I don’t know. And now it feels like I’ll never get enough. When we pull away from each other, I sweep the hair back from her face, giving a final kiss to her forehead. “Probably not,” I say.
“It’s going to be great. A real ta-da! moment.” Rose squeezes my waist in a tight hug and then lets go, taking a few steps back. She smacks a bug on her bare leg and I catch sight of her scar on her calf. One I helped to mend. But when I meet her eyes, I know that even from that first moment we met, it was Rose who healed me. “I’ll go around to the deck and sneak in. You come in the main door,” she says, her smile soft and reassuring. “It’ll be great. I promise.”
I nod once, because it’s all I can manage. She picks up the squirming raccoon, then turns and jogs away to the front of the cabin. I’m left standing in the dark, watching her disappear into shadow.
When I’m sure she won’t see, I pull a box from my pocket. I flip open the lid. The ring catches the dim light. If I were to look close enough, maybe I could see the night sky reflected in polished gold and precious gems. When we look up to the stars, we’re looking back in time. But all I see is the future. And it’s richer and brighter than I ever thought it would be.
I close the lid. Slide it back in my pocket. I hike my bag higher on my shoulder and take a deep breath. I walk to the steps of the cabin, determination in my stride, love and hope alive in my chest.
I’m going to make up for lost time.
EPILOGUE 1
Maps
“What in the fuck is that?”
“An upgrade.”
Sloane sighs and cocks a hip, trying to look as irritated as possible. She does an admirable job, but I can tell she’s biting down on a grin. And she knows I know. She has to look away, probably in the hopes it will make it easier to keep up her disgruntled display. But it doesn’t work.
“You told me once that no boys were allowed in the woods unless they had scales and a breeding kink,” I say with a wicked grin.
“That was four years ago.”
“So …? I’m just making sure I’ve got clearance, you know? I don’t see what the problem is. We’re going to be in the woods.”
“Not in West Virginia.”
“It’s still ‘the woods,’” I say with air quotes. “And the last time I checked, you kind of enjoyed the Sol cosplay. I’m just taking it up a notch.”
“Up a notch,” she repeats with a snort. I shrug, and Sloane levels me with a flat glare. Her cheeks flush beneath her dusting of freckles. It’s still my favorite shade of pink. “You think this is just a single notch?” She waves a hand toward my polyester dragon suit, this one enhanced by layers of scales glued to the fabric and even my skin, and a shit ton of green and blue makeup. “This is at least twelve.”
My bottom lip juts out and she groans. “What, you don’t think I’m pretty anymore? Are you embarrassed to sit next to me?”
“Yes,” she deadpans. “Hard yes.”
My prosthetic foam horns graze the roof of the car as I shake my head in feigned disappointment. I let out a deep, dejected sigh and Sloane curses, crossing her arms. I pat the passenger seat but she doesn’t move, her feet still planted to the sidewalk. “Come on, Blackbird. Just get in the car. We’ve got places to be.”
“If you’re trying to fly under the radar—”
“Great pun, love—”
“—maybe showing up to the location of our annual game in a full dragon costume is not the way.”
“It’s a cabin. In the woods. In the middle of fucking nowhere. I’m sure we’ll be just fine, love. Get in. We’re going to be late and I want to chase you and fuck you on the forest floor before the others get there.”
With another long-suffering moan, Sloane tosses her bag in the back and slides onto the passenger seat. “You’re the worst.”
“And you still love me. Now give us a kiss,” I say as I lean over the center console with my lips pursed. She can’t help but giggle this time as I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her closer, laying a kiss on her cheek as she squeals a protest that has no real fight to it. My painted lips leave a green smear behind on her skin. As soon as I let her go, she flips the visor down and rubs at the mark.
“You did use actual face paint, right?” Sloane’s eyes slice to mine and narrow. “Please tell me this isn’t poster paint or some shit.”
“Of course,” I say convincingly, though her glare doesn’t soften. With a final grin at my wife, I key the engine, and we start making our way out of Boston. Do we get a few honks and hollers as we idle in the Friday afternoon traffic? Yes. Does Sloane groan and rub her forehead? Also yes. But every single time, it ignites her blush and summons her laugh. And I relish each flush of pink and every smile.
We stop once for gas and switch the driving responsibilities halfway through our six-hour trip, Sloane adamantly declaring that I’m either going to have to hold it or piss in a bush on the side of the road because she’ll “rough gouge” my eyeballs and leave “crusty edges” if I even think about walking around in public. When we roll into Linsmore, it’s nothing more than a gas station and a general store and a few dilapidated houses with weathered wood planks and cracked window panes and chipped paint. It’s beautiful in the golden hour, the kind of light that makes you feel nostalgic for a time and a place where you’ve never lived, but it still gives you an ache in your chest. The town seems deserted, though it’s clearly not with the mowed lawns and the stocked general store, but no one is around to prove it. A sign just past the town limits says BARN DANCE AND BARBECUE, EVERY FRIDAY FROM 7PM TO 11PM, 102 MAGNOLIA STREET, in retro lettering that appears to have been recently repainted.