Page 104 of H E R
I leave him there yelling for us to go back–crying foranyoneto finish him.Beggingfor a swift end that won’t come. And a burden lifts off my shoulders. His cries replace my parents’, melting away the ancient weight of grief and brokenness. Dylan gives instructions to the men and then we walk to a nearby bar.
The warm air breezes past us and causes the flowers to sway playfully, sending a delicious aroma about the air. We opted to sit outside when the inside of the bar grew too noisy and hectic. Thankfully, I’d already stuffed myself, and the outside was empty and peaceful. The sun set glows behind Dylan, illuminating his silhouette and highlighting his features. He reaches for my arm and turns my palm up, then draws slow, lazy circles on my wrist.
I smile, encased by his presence in a sheer bliss I haven’t felt in years.
“I love you, Niki.”
My breath catches and I stare at him blankly for a couple of unhurried seconds. I want to say something witty, but I can’t think past the beating drum in my chest.
“‘Til death?” Ohmigod. I didnotjust ask that!
Dylan snorts. “You think something like dying will stop me from loving you?” He moves a few loose strands off my face and tucks them behind my ear. “Infinity.”
I try to swallow past the dryness, and I regret shooing the waitress away before asking for a double shot of tequila. But the next words leave my lips easily, and I know I won’t regret saying them. I don’t even know how I held back this long.
“And I love you… infinity.”
∞
Epilogue
Justice
Seven Months Later
“You grew uphere?”
Dylan chuckles at my bewildered expression. It’s freezing, and the ground is covered in white, fluffy snow. His enormous childhood home is at the edge of a cul-de-sac, in a town fifteen minutes outside of D.C. The front has elegant, gray brick, white window trims, two giant, wintergreen doors, and when he rings the bell, it sing-songs a chipper tune and my knees clatter together.
Max can’t possibly be more excited and barks until the door finally opens, and he bursts in. An older gentleman with auburn burnt hair streaked with gray chuckles before he faces me. “You must be Justice.”
“Niki, this is my dad, Daniel Jacobs.”
I take his hand and he gives me a warm smile. “It’s my pleasure,” I say, and I hope he doesn’t notice the slight nervous tremble in my voice.
“No, the pleasure is definitely mine. Welcome home. Here, let me take your coat.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“I’m right here–Oh, Quin, she’s absolutely beautiful.”
Quin?
A woman maybe in her late fifties, with dark, mid-back waves and bright hazel eyes, meets up with us at the entrance, and she smiles a big contagious grin. I barely hand off my coat to Dylan’s dad when she pulls me into a hug. She smells like a cinna-bun and freshly brewed coffee. I like her.
“And this is my mom, Isadora.”
“Ay, Quin,tu siempre tan serio. Call me Isa. It’s so great to finally put a face to our text threads.”
“It’s great to meet you, Isa. Both of you.”
“Come, let’s sit down and chat. I made snacks.”
Dylan takes my hand and we follow his parents into the large kitchen, open to a connected dining area. The space is elegant but homey and warm. The ice in my lungs begins to melt. I’m not fond of the cold. I’d never left California until Dylan took me all over the world to his favorite places and then we explored new places together. We’d been ice fishing in Alaska, sun bathing in Malaga, and cave diving in Quintana Roo.
We sit at the large, oval mahogany dining table, and Isa gives each of us a plate. Dylan packs his with fried plantains, bollitos de yuca, arepitas, and chicharrones de pollo. I grab two of each and thank Daniel when he serves me sangria. Isa suddenly reaches over the table and yanks Dylan’s wrist to examine it. She smooths her thumb over his newest addition–a small, black, majestic-looking fox.
“Another tattoo, Joaquin?”