Exposed by Kristen Callihan

Epilogue

Brenna

Rye findsme by the pool. I’m more of a burner than a tanner, so I wait until the sun is low in the sky to take a swim. I’ve had a long day, talking to prospective clients, coordinating with my new staff to set the business up—including wooing Jules away from Scottie’s employ. I’d feel guilty about that if he hadn’t given me his blessing to pursue her.

Now, all I want to do is drink my cocktail and hang out with my man.

When he stops at the end of the double-wide lounger I’m sitting on, I smile up at him. “Hey, buttercup. You done for the day?”

We’ve set up camp at his LA house. And it’s been surprisingly easy, living and sharing workspace together. I took the home office that overlooked the valley below, and Rye mainly spends time in one of the studio spaces. So far, he’s produced two albums this spring, and is working with a bunch of other artists for upcoming projects.

“All done.” He eases in next to me, his big bulk taking up most of the space. With a happy sigh, he leans down and kisses me, his hand cupping my cheek in that way of his that says I’m his world. I melt into the touch, humming in pleasure.

When he pulls back, his expression is relaxed and light. A far cry from how he’d been for so many months. The time off from the band had been hard at first; he’d felt like he was abandoning them. But then he started to heal, to expand his creativity with producing, and the tight lines of pain around his mouth and eyes began to ease.

“Want a sip?” I offer him my cocktail glass.

He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, and accepts the drink. “God, I needed this.”

Rye runs a hand through his hair, sending the bronze strands on end. Months in the sun have bleached the tips light gold. His free hand finds mine, and he threads our fingers together in a comfortable clasp. He smiles at me, a soft look, as his gaze moves over my face like he’s memorizing it. The mellow light of the late afternoon sun turns his eyes sapphire blue. “Needed you too, Berry.”

“Well, obviously,” I say, as if his words don’t make me giddy. We’ve been together for nearly six months now, and the man still has the power to make my insides flutter with just a look. “You’d be an utter mess without me.”

Of course, that goes both ways. I used to think needing someone was a weakness. But life is better, richer, more real with him in it. And I’m not weaker admitting this; I’m stronger.

Rye lifts our linked hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I would. I’d probably forget to tie my shoes, run into walls and not notice, be a blubbering lonely wreck. I definitely function better on a steady diet of stellar sex.”

Rolling my eyes, I reach over him to take my drink back. “Stellar, is it?”

He catches me around my waist and hauls me close, chuckling. “Spectacular.” His lips brush the crest of my cheek. I feel that touch deep in my belly. “Perfect. The very best ever.”

I sip my drink, suppressing a smile. “No one likes a kiss-ass, Ryland.”

Gently, he takes the drink from my hand and sets it on the side table before hugging me close and burrowing his face in the crook of my neck. “Roll over and I’ll kiss your ass right now.”

I laugh, half-heartedly trying to wiggle away. “No ass for you, big guy.”

He grabs said ass and gives it a fond squeeze. “Now, Brenna, you know we both win when you give me this fine ass.”

He’s not wrong. Flushing, I cup the square line of his smooth jaw. He shaved off his beard about a month into living in LA, not liking how it felt in the warm California sun. “Give me your fine ass in return and we’ll talk.”

His grin flashes wide. “Done. Now be a good girl and take this off.” He plucks at my bikini bottom.

“We can’t.” I stroke his cheek with my thumb. “I just got a text from Stella. They’re going to be here in ten minutes.”

We’d seen our friends on and off for months. Stella, Sophie, and Libby have been helping me set up our business. And while Libby isn’t a working partner, she’s been active in recruiting talent. The plan is for us to work out of both coasts, and we’ve had lots of FaceTime meetings. But this is the first time everyone is coming to stay with us all at once.

My birthday is tomorrow, and we’re all celebrating.

“Fine. I’ll claim that ass tonight.” Rye flops back with a long-suffering sigh, but his expression is happy. He’s missed his boys. A lot. It is no surprise to me that they’re planning to work on new material once they get here.

“We’ll see.” He totally will. I’ll make sure of it.

Rye grunts but then sits up straight as though startled. “I forgot something…” With a quick kiss on my cheek, he rolls over and hops up. “Don’t move.”

“Wasn’t planning to.” Smiling to myself, I lift my hands overhead and settle down with a sigh. But Rye returns quickly, carrying a black lacquered box big enough to hold a loaf of bread.

He appears almost shy as he hovers by the edge of the lounger. “Your birthday present.”

Hauling myself up, I eye him then the box, not having a clue what’s in it, but loving that he’s brought me a present. He does that a lot now, though mostly with little things: pastries from my favorite shop, fashion magazines he knows I like—the warming lube was really for both of us, but I appreciated it just the same.

“But my birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

“I know.” Again comes the strange hesitation in his voice, as though he’s nervous. Expectation lights his eyes as he hands it to me. “But I wanted to give this to you when we were alone.”

I run my hands over the silky, smooth surface.

“Go on.” He gestures with his chin to the box. “Open it.”

“I’m opening it,” I insist, fighting a smile.

He hunkers down next to me, thick thighs stretching his worn jeans. His nearness distracts me for a moment, and I find myself leaning into his warmth to press a kiss on his neck, but the impatient yet amused look in his eyes brings me back to the task.

Lifting the lid, I find the insides swathed in pink tissue paper. It takes me a moment to discover my prize but when I do, my breath goes short. Hands trembling, I lift out a perfect open-toed sandal made of pale pink leather with a slim rose-gold metallic heel. What makes the shoe utterly beautiful is the pair of delicate laser-cut leather angel wings covered in rose-gold glitter and rhinestones poised on the back of the heel as though they might soon flutter and take to the air.

“Oh, my.” I know these heels. They are Sophia Webster Evangelines. I’ve admired them from afar, but they seemed too frivolous, too ethereally pretty, to buy. And yet the fact that Rye bought me the loveliest pair of princess heels I’ve ever seen has my vision blurring and my heart swelling. “They’re perfect,” I get out.

His expression fills with tenderness as he runs a finger along my forearm. “Wings, Bren. So you’ll never forget how far you can fly.”

Oh, hell.

I set the magical heel back into the box, then grab him, hugging him fiercely, my face buried in his neck. “With you in my life, I’ll never forget how far we both can fly, Ryland Peterson.”

He squeezes me back in a grip so strong, it almost hurts, before rasping, “I love you too, Brenna James. I love you too.”

And that’s really all that matters.