Epilogue: Jade - A Very Good Bad Idea

EPILOGUE

Six months later . . .

I’m awakened by the growl of a starting diesel engine that rattles the walls and makes the bed vibrate. It’s joined by the crunching scrape of a front-end loader scooping a pile of debris into its bucket, and the drumming boom that follows as it’s dropped in the box of a dump trunk.

I cover my face with a pillow. “Whose bright idea was it to live in a construction zone again?”

“That was all you, baby.”

“I think you’re misremembering.”

The pillow is tugged away, and Damon’s handsome face and morning blue eyes fill my line of vision. He slides on top of me, his weight pressing and perfect, shifting his hips and settling between my legs—his fingertips skimming my hairline.

“I distinctly remember suggesting a trailer offsite and your fancy ass, delectable as it is, said, I’m not living in a tin can, Damon. I wrote it down, for just this occasion—had Riley notarize it and everything.”

“I guess you think you’re pretty smart, huh?”

“Yep, brilliant and hot. You really hit the jackpot.”

And then I’m laughing. I do that a lot these days. Giggle and tease, purr and whisper.

Damon dips his head, covering my mouth with his in an unhurried, searing kiss that makes my toes curl.

My days are filled with those now too.

Then the shriek of a power saw joins the cacophony outside—followed by the whack of a hammer against the exterior wall of our current, temporary bedroom, where the cedar shake shingles are being replaced. Damon rolls off me and onto his back with a sigh because, despite the shades, he doesn’t want to risk giving the workers a peep show.

I really should’ve opted for the tin can.

Living in a house while it’s being gutted and restored top to bottom isn’t fun. It’s ridiculously noisy, there’s only one fully functioning bathroom and shower, there’s spotty electricity, no refrigerator so we’re back to eating out of coolers, and the last time I looked, the stove was sitting disconnected in the middle of the kitchen. There’s also a constant flow of people coming and going, so if you want to be alone, you basically need to hide in a closet . . . if any are still standing.

The single upside is that Damon and I are sleeping in an actual bed this time.

With my body still tingling, I get up and wrap myself in my satin robe while Damon pulls on a pair of navy sweats—leaving his torso phenomenally bare. We grab opposite ends of the comforter, dragging it to the headboard and adjusting the pillows, making the bed together.

Then I pull up the shade on the front window, filling the room with summer sunlight and coming face to face with the wielder of the hammer on scaffolding outside.

“Hi, Stanley,” I tell him through the glass.

“Morning, Mrs. Burke.”

Mrs. Burke.

A silly smile springs to my lips and my blood turns to champagne. Because that’s me, that’s my name now.

I glance over at the gold ring on Damon’s strong hand, then down at its mate on mine. We said our vows four months ago, at the courthouse—it was a simple ceremony, witnessed by the people dearest to us. And then we had a party. Everyone from Damon’s firm was there and practically the whole town—on the beach with bonfires, an elegant, tent and ivory fabric-draped gazebos, amongst the magical glow of string-lights and lantern-lit paths.

Halfway through the night, Damon told me someone was asking to see me—but that he would handle it if I wanted him to. He held my hand as we walked to the far side of the tent, to find Bailey waiting outside. I hadn’t seen him since the day I walked out of the office building; I hadn’t seen any of them.

“Are you here on a reconnaissance mission?” I asked, not unkindly.

“The opposite, actually. I was hoping to keep my presence on the down low.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”

And I nodded.

“I just . . . you look beautiful, by the way. And really happy. And I wanted to tell you . . . that I’m glad for you, Jade. You deserve this.”

My eyes got misty and I hugged him.

“Whoa,” he said, not sure what to do with his hands. “Okay, I guess we’re huggers now. That’s not weird or anything.”

But then he hugged me back.

“Come inside,” I told him. “Get something to eat, have a drink.”

Bailey toddled his head, then grinned. “All right. One drink.”

Later, in the early morning hours, when I lay blissfully wrung-out and boneless in Damon’s arms and we were talking in hushed tones about the day, he asked me why I’d welcomed Bailey in. And the truth was easy to share.

“Because when you’re as incandescently happy as I am right now, the old hurts disappear. And you want everyone around you to feel as good as you do.”

In our bedroom, Stanley heads away from the window and farther down the scaffolding, and I take in the view of the massive construction site. Because it’s not just our house that’s getting a makeover—Shore Haven on the Sea is coming to life.

Without Block 42, Lot 17 for the massive underground utilities and service lines, the project was downsized—made more intimate than Damon and the guys originally envisioned. The gigantic high-rise condos will now be quaint townhomes and charming duplexes with shared community spaces. The concert venue has transformed into an outdoor amphitheater and park. Some luxury boutiques and high-end restaurants are still in the works, but now they’ll be interspersed with unique individually housed shops, cafés, and casual dining. The boardwalk is getting a full facelift with new walking and biking paths, and a promenade extension. It’s going to be a hugely profitable venture for Burke Developers, and an amazing reinvigoration for the town.

When I turn back from the window, Damon is watching me—his eyes hooded and hungry as they drift slowly over my body, his teeth scraping at his bottom lip.

He really likes hearing my new name too.

“What’s on your schedule today?” he asks.

Damon wanted me to come work with him. He’d offered to start a restoration division at the firm, just for me. As much as I loved him even more for the offer—going from my father’s firm to his wasn’t what I had in mind. Instead, I started taking courses and specialized workshops in historic millwork training through local heritage organizations. And I’m currently an apprentice to a master craftswoman. It’s mostly grunt work, not glamorous. I wear jeans and flannels to work instead of suits and cashmere, and I frequently come home with sawdust in my hair. But carving my own path and learning new things is exciting—fulfilling—making every day feel like even more of an adventure.

“I’m over in Hammonton.”

“When do you need to leave?”

Something about the way he asks the question gets my stomach swooning and my knees going wobbly. “Not for an hour.”

“A whole hour? I could do a lot with an hour.”

I nod slowly. “I was going to take a shower.”

His tone is teasing and low, but I’m caught by the intensity of his gaze—captive to the raw desire radiating from him.

“Even better. I’ll join you. This bathroom is my favorite.”

“I’m pretty sure this bathroom is our only at the moment.”

“But it’s still my favorite. Want to know why?” Damon tilts his head and lowers his chin, bringing that wonderfully skilled, dirty mouth closer to mine.

“No windows” . . . closer . . . “just four awesome walls” . . . closer . . . “and total” . . . “privacy.”

Then we’re kissing, deep and desperately. I squeak when Damon lifts me at my waist and spins us around. Then he carries me into the bathroom and kicks the door closed behind us.

This is our life now, our every day. Our foundation is strong, more solid than concrete and sturdier than brick. And, like all the best homes . . . Damon and I are built to last.

* * *

DAMON

Two years later . . .

“Why are you being so frigging stubborn about this?”

Usually Jade and I flow as effortlessly as the tide. Our relationship is steady, predictable, and consistent in the best kind of way.

“I’m not being stubborn—you’re acting like a bossy bastard.”

But neither of us is exactly meek. And sometimes there’s a storm offshore that makes the tide change pattern—the waves surge higher, pound harder, roiling the rocks and stripping the sand.

“You’re sick every goddamn day, Jade!”

“I’m not sick. I’m four months pregnant—it’s normal! And the nausea’s only bad first thing in the morning, then it passes. You know that.”

Our arguments happen infrequently . . . mostly when she’s totally wrong but insists on being stubborn about it. They’re always clean—they don’t draw blood, inflict wounds, or leave a single scar behind.

“You’re on your feet constantly.”

“Which the doctor said is completely fine.”

“I don’t give a shit what the doctor said!”

Jade throws up her hands. “Well, that’s brilliant. So you’re the expert now—do you want me to start calling you Dr. Burke?”

But there’s usually some yelling, shouting, cursing, and the occasional breaking of a vase or a plate or something equally unimportant.

“No, I want you to take a leave from work and stay home for a couple months. That’s not unreasonable.”

“It’s completely unreasonable, Damon. I’m taking six months off when the baby is born. If I step away now, I’ll be out for over a year.”

“A year is not a big deal,” I scoff.

Then we’re back to shouting.

“It is a big deal!”

“So is having a fucking baby!”

Inevitably, things turn intense . . . heated . . .

“You want me to force the issue? ’Cause I can.”

Jade moves nearer, her expression willful and daring and wildly fearless.

“What are you gonna do? Lock me in a room?”

I can dream. Jade here in our home, safe under lock and key, warm and willing and waiting to satisfy any whim I can conjure.

I curve over her, our mouths so close I can already taste her.

“I was thinking more of tying you to the bed. See how things go from there.”

Her lips part and her breathing shallows—the quivery pulse point at her throat calling to me. Slowly, she lifts my shirt, sliding her hand down my abdomen, following it with her eyes like she’s fascinated by the way the muscles contract and string tight beneath her touch.

Then she smiles, taunting and tempting as sin.

“Promise?”

I sink my hand into her hair, twining the strands around my fist at her nape and tugging just enough. Then I envelop her mouth with mine, shoving my tongue between her lips, licking the purr of her moans and swallowing every argument.

My fingers dig into her ass, carrying her to the bureau against the wall, knocking aside a few frames without breaking them, to make room. We’re in the parlor—our parlor now—with durable walls and draftless windows, adorned in warm whites with cozy cream and crisp ocean-blue accents.

I grip one of Jade’s wrists and press it against the wall above her head—my movements quick and rough, but my hold not overly harsh. Just enough to make her gasp and writhe. To make her feel how much she’s wanted and needed—more essential to me than air.

I graze my teeth across her jaw and down her neck. “You make me crazy.”

Those pretty fingers deftly open the button on my pants. She slips her soft hand past the zipper and wraps it around my throbbing cock, pumping and stroking until my breath hisses from my lips.

“I make you hard,” she rasps against my ear. “We should do something about that.”

Clothes are stripped and wrenched away—jeans shoved and panties tugged and shirts torn—buttons popping across the hardwood floor. When I slide the crown of my cock through her folds, Jade is already soaking wet and hot for me.

I push inside, all the way—feeling her muscles clamp down around me, sucking me in. I drive into her, steady and hard. My palms hold her ass—gliding her forward and back to meet my thrusts. And the room fills with the heady harmony of our grunts and moans and skin slapping against skin.

My hips rotate and my pelvis presses against her clit, rubbing and grinding there, taking her right to the blissful teetering edge.

And keeping her there. When I stop, buried so deep.

Jade whimpers—a high-pitched keen—and her hips twist, reaching for the release that’s so close. But it’s not enough.

I tug her head back—brushing my lips lightly against hers.

“I could make you swear anything right now, couldn’t I? Make you promise to do whatever I told you. You’d do that for me, baby, wouldn’t you?”

She nods, fraught and needy. So exquisite in the palm of my hand and at my mercy . . . and loving every second because it’s her favorite place to be.

“But I won’t do that, Jade. I’ll take and take everything from you—but only if you give it.”

I’d slice off a limb before depriving or denying Jade anything. Every want or wish is right there for her at my fingertips. And she knows it. But she’s so damn pretty when she begs.

“Damon, please. Please, please, please.”

And that’s all she ever has to say.

I slam inside her, making her back arch and her mouth open. She moans long and loud, her pussy squeezing tight as she comes. I wrap my arms around her, holding her to me, pumping wildly, until I go over with her. My face twists and my body tenses as I pulse inside her and the scorching pleasure courses through me.

Still panting, I lift my head and brush the damp strands of Jade’s hair back from her face, pressing a tender kiss to her ravaged lips.

“I love you.”

Jade’s eyes are a little hazy, her expression a little drunk and a lot happy.

“I love you so much too.”

I carry her to the couch, take the blanket from the back of the couch, and spread it over us, tucking the corners in around her. And we lie tangled together for a few languid, peaceful moments.

Until I break the silence. “Call out tomorrow. Take a three-day weekend with me. We’ll watch movies and sit on the beach and hang out on the porch swing. And you can rest.”

She yawns, slow and wide. “Okay.”

I glance down at her, chuckling. “That easy, huh? Do I just need to fuck passivity into you every day?”

Jade wiggles her eyebrows adorably. “Maybe.” She presses kisses on my shoulder. “It’s not passivity. But I am pretty exhausted, and being lazy for a long weekend will be nice.” She lifts her head, catching my eyes. “But you know I always take breaks when I need them, right? I don’t want you to worry.”

Jade doesn’t have nightmares anymore. Dark, closed spaces don’t terrorize her the way they used to. But I still want to save her. Hold her and keep her—it’s ingrained in my soul now.

I kiss her knuckles. “I know.”

She takes my hand and guides it down, resting it on the barely perceptible outward curve of her lower stomach.

“And you know that I’m taking really good care of us? That it’s the most important thing to me?”

And I kiss her forehead. “Yeah. Even when I’m acting like a bossy bastard, I know that too.”

My faith in Jade, my belief in what we have and what we are, is enough to overcome any worry and swamp any fear. That’s just how we work. Trust is the crux of us—the heart of us—given and taken fully, without waver. Always.

* * *

DAMON

Five years later . . .

Jade walks out of the dressing area adjoining our bedroom with her hair pinned up in an elegant twist, accentuating the loveliness of her neck. The dress she’s wearing is red silk, with a bow at one shoulder. It hugs her body and slinks over her curves in a way that makes my breath catch in my lungs.

“God, you’re beautiful.” I kiss her gently, then whisper for her ears only, “Forget the sugar plums—visions of peeling this dress off you will be dancing in my head all night.”

Her eyes skim down my silver-gray dress shirt and black slacks.

“Definitely same.”

Our daughter twirls around us, the color of her dress matching her mother’s, with a floppy bow in the back and a sparkly skirt that fascinates her—flaring out every time she spins.

We named her Clarabelle Christina—for Clara and my mom—but we call her CeeCee for short. She has my dark hair and Jade’s gorgeous green eyes, and her personality is sweet and precociously smart—the very best of us entwined.

I swoop her up and kiss her plump cheek.

“And you . . . are as pretty as Mommy.”

CeeCee giggles, her little arms wrapping around my neck as she presses her cheek against mine—and my chest feels heavy with warmth and the purest tenderness, like it has since she was born.

Then the three of us head downstairs.

We go big at Christmas. The exterior trim of the house is laden with bright, white lights and each window is adorned with a crisp red bow and greenery, making it look like a beautiful present just waiting to be unwrapped. Jade’s workshop—a whitewashed, one-story, gable-roofed structure we built at the rear of our property—is strung with lights and a huge wreath. Fragrant evergreen garlands decorate our walls and are draped up and around the gleaming staircase bannisters. Every fireplace glows with warm, golden flames and bejeweled Christmas trees stand in the corners of the parlor, living room, and music room. The largest is in the foyer, so tall that the shining star at the top kisses the second-floor landing, greeting guests with its long, decorated branches as they step in from the cold.

While it’s not technically a white Christmas, the wind is strong and the temperature low enough that moisture off the water turns into shimmering flecks of ice that swirl magically in the air. And it’s not just me and Jade who go all out—everybody who shows up arrives with arms full of presents, bottles of top-shelf liquor, delicious homemade dishes and decadent desserts.

By the time everyone is here, Cujo’s ready for a nap—and he curls up on the tree skirt in the foyer between the presents.

We’ll head into the dining room for dinner soon, but we start off in the music room, Clara’s old record player spinning “A Holly Jolly Christmas” while everyone talks and laughs, dances and drinks.

Well . . . almost everyone’s drinking.

The second Jade turns down a glass of champagne, Piper squeals and happy dances—

announcing two news flashes at the same time. “Oh, my God, you’re pregnant again too! We get to be knocked up together this time. I’m so happy!”

Ian grins and pounds my back with the hand that’s not holding Benjamin—his and Piper’s ten-month-old son—a sweet, mellow baby who could be Ian’s twin.

“Congrats, man.”

“You too, Ian. Congratulations.”

Ian tells Riley and Gage, “You guys better get moving. You’ve got catching up to do.”

“I don’t know, dude,” Gage, wearing an oversized Santa hat, wonders. “One is awesome . . . two seems scary.”

Ian bounces Benny, eliciting a string of delighted giggles. “When you win the terrific kid lottery, you’ve gotta have more. Of course, Benny’s not really talking yet, so I might be counting my chickens before they fly.”

Piper’s really rubbed off on him.

Gage slides his arm around Anya, the red-headed nurse he’s been dating for the last year. She has a fifteen-year-old son, a kid she had in high school, who’s with his dad tonight.

And Gage gets this expression on his face that I’ve never seen on him before. It’s tender and hopeful, like he’s imagining a future he can’t wait to make happen.

“What do you think about that, babe? About more?”

Anya smiles up at him softly. “I think more would be good. Really, really good.”

“All right.” Riley lifts his hands. “The children have waited long enough, and so have I. It’s present time!”

Riley turned out to be a kid whisperer . . . or, a kid spoiler is probably more accurate. He’s great with them in both baby and toddler form—and they adore him right back.

He heads out of the room and a few minutes later, comes back in, dragging a gigantic elephant stuffed animal behind him. It’s so big, I don’t even know how he got it through the front door.

“Merry Christmas, Benny-boy!”

Benjamin’s eyes go as wide and round as ping-pong balls and he immediately wiggles to be put down. Then he crawls over and starts scaling the trunk like a mini–mountain climber.

“Thanks, Riley.” Ian laughs. “Gonna need a U-Haul to get home, but thank you.”

“And where’s my best girl?” Riley calls.

I’m almost nervous—if it’s anything that needs a stall to live in, it’s gonna be a problem.

CeeCee runs from the far side of the piano into Riley’s arms. “Are you ready to open your Christmas present?”

When CeeCee nods, flashing a smile of pearly baby teeth, he sets her on her feet and pushes in a giant box from the hallway. It’s wrapped in shiny Christmas green paper, with a red bow on top that’s larger than she is. He shows her how to pull one of the ribbons on the bow, and when she yanks, the four sides of the box fall away . . . revealing a kid-sized, battery-powered, white Escalade inside—with special sand tires specifically for beach riding.

CeeCee jumps up and down, pointing her tiny finger. “Look! My car!”

And she climbs all over it.

“I see, baby!” Jade coos. Then she turns to me, lowering her voice. “I thought we agreed to hold off on an actual moving vehicle until at least next year?”

“We did.”

And we both look at Riley.

Who is completely remorseless.

“Cees and I were talking, and she really wanted the car.”

“Sure.” I shrug. “A two-and-a-half-year-old really wanted something—that changes everything.”

“Being Uncle Riley means never having to say no,” he preaches. “It’s not my job to make sure she grows up to be decent person—that’s on you two.” He puts a hand on each of our shoulders. “I believe in you.”

“Less go!” CeeCee yells from behind the wheel.

Riley pumps his arms in the air. “Yay!”

And off they drive.

Wheee, thump.

Wheee, thump.

“Kiss those walls goodbye.” Gage chuckles. “Hope you wrote down the names of the paint colors.”

Wheeeeeeeeee . . . thump, thump, thump.

“Keep her off the—” I’m about to tell Riley to keep CeeCee off the staircase, which is our real concern. But then I remember he has the fortitude of Jell-O around her, so it won’t do any good.

Beside Jade, Bailey lifts his hand and guides his girlfriend toward the entryway. “We’ll make sure she stays off the stairs.”

Ilias may have been the captain of Buchanan Industries, but Jade was the glue. It all fell apart after she left. Bailey jumped ship a year after our wedding. He’d grown up a lot, matured—he works under Ian now and is a rock-solid engineer. He lives in a townhouse a little ways down the beach, his girlfriend is a hairdresser in town, and he and Jade are pretty close.

Elmer’s bank account must’ve finally hit the magic number, because he decided to retire about six months after Bailey left. He packed his shit, bought a penthouse in Hawaii—stepped off the plane, and dropped dead from a massive heart attack right there on the tarmac.

A year later, the company got rocked by an embezzlement scandal—with Beckett at the center. He was arrested, indicted, made bail, then split town, and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.

Jade doesn’t think of her father, but every once in a while he comes to my mind. In that monstrosity of a house on the other side of town—so alone, he might as well be at the top of Everest.

And it feels like justice. Like eventually we all get the ending we deserve.

Facing the room, my wife leans back against me and my arms encircle her waist from behind, resting my hands on her stomach. And for a few moments, we stay right there, content and peaceful.

When the record changes to Judy Garland singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” I place a soft kiss on her bare shoulder, then her cheek, and the shell of her ear.

“Dance with me, Jade.”

She turns in my arms, gazing up at me with sparkling green eyes—as happy and shining as the lights on the tree.

“Always.”

We dance together slowly around the room. Ian and Piper join us, while Gage holds little Benny and talks to Brother Mateo near the fireplace—and Bailey, Riley, and CeeCee’s voices travel down the hall to us.

And it’s all so damn good.

I think about the photographs that rest in frames on the bureau in our parlor. The images of Jade and me at our wedding; Cujo looking feisty; me and the guys at the Shore Haven ground-breaking; Jade when she finished her first solo restoration project; a group shot from Ian and Piper’s wedding; one of me carrying Jade over the threshold after the renovations here were finally done; and another of her and me holding CeeCee in the hospital the night she was born.

There are a lot of photos, but there’s still space for more. And we’ll fill it. The same way we’ll fill every room and corner of this house, with the memories and moments of our family, our life, and our love.

The End

Continue reading for a sneak peek of GETTING SCHOOLED, the first book in the THE LAKESIDE series.