Burn Like An Angel (Harrowdean Manor #2)

Epilogue

WHEN WILL WE BE FREE? – YOUNG LIONS

XANDER

Present Day

With Ripley’s parting words describing that first encounter over Thai food, the documentary credits roll. I close my laptop, leaning back on the bed to blow out the breath it feels like I’ve held for an eternity.

The full, unfiltered truth is out there now.

Being seen is an odd thing.

Perhaps one of the most divisive opinions among humans. Some will sacrifice everything for the chance to be heard. For the world to know their name. No price is too high for fame.

Then there are those who stick to the shadows. Who thrive on invisibility. Striving to be forgotten by the sands of time. History erases us all in the end, but some make it their mission to expedite that process.

I never cared strongly enough about either before. Other people’s opinions weren’t exactly my concern—not when I lacked the emotions to care about their scorn or praise. I simply lived for the next thrill, the endless chase for the most exquisite pain.

Life looks a little different now.

I can’t say I regret the road that led me here.

Stashing the laptop in the cluttered desk drawer, I catch sight of the faded military dog tags stuffed at the very back. Lennox never did quite summon the strength to toss them, but he hasn’t searched for them in years.

He doesn’t need that reminder anymore.

His family is right here in front of him.

Walking into our spacious living area, the three mismatched sofas we soon replaced Ripley’s sparse armchairs with are fully occupied. Phoenix and Eli dominate one, trading whispers with their fingers intwined on their crossed legs.

Everyone arrived while I poured over my laptop, unable to stand another second without answers. None of the others wanted to watch with me. Not even Ripley.

“You know, Kade’s winning the best husband contest,” Eli grouses, his gaze fixed on the TV. “We need to outsmart him.”

“How?” Phoenix moans.

“We get the others to have Logan and take Brooklyn out for sushi. You know it’s her weakness.”

“You hate sushi, Eli.”

The green-eyed recluse shrugs. “I’ll grin and bear it for her.”

“We should rope in Jude when he finishes work. He can help us conspire.”

“Late shift tonight,” Eli replies. “He’ll be a while yet.”

Casting my gaze around, I spot Raine plucking the violin in his lap while sitting with Hunter and Theo. Both men have a warm, healthy glow from their time in the Australian sunshine. It’s rare that we see them.

They’re back visiting England with Enzo and their newly minted fiancée, Harlow. The past decade since Sabre’s business exploded after Incendia was a bit complicated. They went through hell, but that’s a whole other tale.

“Come visit us after your concert in Melbourne?” Hunter suggests, a tumbler full of whiskey in hand. “We’ll put the four of you up for a couple weeks.”

“Oh, awesome.” Raine adjusts his rounded, black lenses. “I’ve got another show in Sydney the week after. I can get you all backstage passes if you want?”

Theo fiddles with his phone, engrossed in something. “Anywhere away from the crowds would be great.”

“Consider it done.”

“Xan?” Raine’s head cocks, his nostrils flaring. “I know you’re standing there. Can you get time off from work?”

“Haven’t exactly got a boss to answer to while I’m freelancing,” I reply easily. “As long as no major projects come in, it should be fine.”

“You can code software on an aeroplane, Xan. Just say yes.”

Sighing, I decide to humour him. “Yes, Raine.”

“Perfect!” He grins broadly.

Turning away from them, I head for the kitchen where Lennox is arm-wrestling Hudson and failing miserably. Who the hell would challenge that massive oaf? It’s giving Enzo and Kade some decent entertainment, though.

“Prepare to pay up,” Kade boasts.

Glowering, Enzo watches them intently. “Never gonna happen.”

“Double or nothing?”

Clasping his hand, Enzo shakes firmly. “You’re on. Hudson’s got this.”

I halt while passing. “Did you bet against your own brother?”

Kade shrugs, unrepentant. “Hudson needs his ego checked every once in a while.”

“Heard that!” the man in question grunts. “Fuck, dude. How are you so strong?”

“It helps to own a gym.” Lennox strains to hold his position. “I have to look the part.”

“I’ve got twenty on Lennox,” I declare.

He flashes me a smirk. “Is that a vote of confidence? I’m flattered, Xan.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

It’s only another thirty seconds before I lose the bet. Hudson slams Lennox’s arm down into the kitchen counter, much to his chagrin. With a series of imaginative curses, Lennox concedes defeat.

“How?”

Hudson grins smugly. “Wait until you’re chasing around after a kid all day long. It does wonders for your stamina.”

“Not sure that it’s on the cards for us.” Lennox chuckles, taking his hand to shake. “So I’ll take your word for it. Good match.”

“Come on then, Hud.” Enzo takes a seat at the counter. “Let’s see how you fare against a pro.”

Hudson rolls his eyes. “Whatever, old man.”

“Less of that. I’m in my prime.”

Lingering against the stove, I watch the next few rounds. Hudson loses his winning streak. A short-lived challenge by Kade only intensifies Enzo’s bragging. I decline a match, already certain of the outcome.

“That man’s biceps should be fucking illegal.” Lennox stops next to me, slurping a beer. “Like, shit. Reckon that’s what Australia does to you?”

“Enzo’s always been huge.”

“Not that huge.”

“You should take him down to the gym tomorrow. I’m sure he’d like to see the place.”

“You think?” Lennox arches a dark brow.

“Yeah. Last time he was in the country, you were still extending the new weightlifting section.”

“That’s true.” He nods to himself. “Alright, I’ll take him.”

“Good. Have you seen Ripley and the others?”

Lennox gestures towards the art studio. “Looking at some paintings, I think.”

Slapping his shoulder, I head for Ripley’s attached studio. These days, it’s more like organised chaos. The space gets messy when she’s having a bad week and can’t stop. That and the times she doesn’t have the energy to even move.

When those episodes hit, I come in and reset her workspace for her. We both work from home while Lennox is often at the gym he part-owns, and Raine makes use of a rented studio a few streets over to rehearse in peace for his upcoming tour dates.

Through the drying racks, I can see Ripley standing with Brooklyn and Harlow. Logan, Brooklyn’s chubby toddler, bounces on her hip. Both women are a few years younger than Ripley, but they became fast friends.

She learned to love Brooklyn through the friendship we formed with her guys while she was gone. What began with an awkward drop-in and Thai food slowly blossomed through bonding over our similar experiences.

As for Harlow and how she ended up in our extended family, that’s a whole other story. But having survived her own ordeal, she slotted into the close dynamic we’ve all formed over the last decade.

“How do you feel about the documentary airing?” Brooklyn asks.

A finished canvas clutched in her hands, Ripley stares down at the swirls of paint. “I’m glad the footage was salvaged from the memory cards.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Harlow runs a hand over her shoulder-length ringlets. “It’s okay to have mixed feelings. This is a huge step.”

“No… I’m relieved.” Ripley chooses her words carefully. “I knew I’d never feel at peace until I told our version of events. We never had that closure.”

Brooklyn coos over her little boy. “We just want you to be happy, Rip. Even if I didn’t do an interview myself, I respect your decision to sit down with the journalist.”

“You do?” Ripley glances at her.

“Of course.”

“I was a bit worried about your reaction.”

“No need to be.” Brooklyn flashes her an easy smile. “You have to do what’s right for you. We all heal in our own ways. I know I did. You’ve waited a long time to find your peace.”

“I don’t know if I’ve found it yet.” Ripley hikes up a curved shoulder. “But this feels pretty damn close. I needed to purge myself of all the things I did back then.”

“Are you worried about backlash?” Harlow asks fretfully. “I know firsthand how cruel the media can be.”

“You know what? I’m not. What can they possibly do to me that’s worse than what we went through?”

After Ripley puts the canvas back in its place, the three women embrace, all squishing Logan between them. He squeals loudly at all the attention. Brooklyn swipes under her silver-grey eyes when she steps back.

“I’m proud of you, Rip.”

“Thank you.”

Harlow rubs Ripley’s arm, a warm smile making the burn scars that cover her neck wrinkle. “The world needs your voice. I’m proud of you for using it.”

Letting them all hug again, I wait a second before interrupting.

“For the record, I’m proud too.”

Her head lifting, Brooklyn points an angry finger at me. “You! Who the hell sets fire to a damn recording studio?”

Harlow bites her lip while Ripley just smiles exasperatedly. I keep my distance so Brooklyn can’t slam her fist into my face. It’s happened once or twice. She has the firepower of a fucking nuclear arsenal.

“Erm, me?”

“What were you thinking?” she demands.

“I was… feeling some stuff.” I shrug it off. “Lots of stuff.”

“Lots of stuff,” Brooklyn repeats. “God help you, Ripley. You must have the patience of a saint to deal with this one’s emotional vocabulary.”

“Says the woman married to five men.” Ripley giggles.

“Point taken. Speaking of…”

Winking at me, Brooklyn hoists Logan on her hip then tows Harlow from the studio, giving us some privacy. I linger by the door, feeling uncertain.

I haven’t found the words to say since the documentary aired a few days ago. Hell, it took me this long to watch it myself. The backlash has been pretty fucking horrific. We’ve all had to turn off our phones to stop getting calls and emails.

But did the planet implode when the truth was laid bare for public scrutiny? No. Did armed assailants break our door down to throw us in some off-grid prison for escaped delinquents? Also no. The world did not end.

I can handle some assholes on the internet spouting half-baked opinions about things they’ll never understand. They’re irrelevant. Frankly, I don’t need them to like what we did or even understand it.

All I need is for Ripley to be okay. We coasted for a long time, struggling to find our feet in the aftermath of what we survived. It took a long time to establish a semblance of normality before starting to rebuild our lives.

But she never quite got there. Her artwork has always given her some solace, and for years, I feared it became a cocoon. One she could hide in when the memories and guilt became too much to bear.

She’s finally torn down all her barriers.

Ripley has told her truth.

Why did I ever doubt her motivations?

“Xan,” she coaxes, a finger crooked. “You can come here.”

“Wasn’t sure if I’m forgiven or not yet.”

“For running away from us to break into an abandoned building? Stalking a journalist? Or attempting to sabotage my interview?”

“All of it?” The words come out as a question.

Ripley rolls her green-brown eyes. “You’re forgiven. We all make stupid choices when we’re scared, right?”

“Apparently.”

I step into her arms, letting my face hide in the crook of her shoulder. Ripley cups my neck, holding me close. She smells the same as always. A fresh, tropical thunderstorm. All things sweet and fruity.

“Thank you for organising this. It feels good to get everyone in the same room.”

Abruptly straightening, I check my watch. It’s past eight o’clock.

“We’re short by a couple, but I’ve seen to that.”

“Huh?” Ripley frowns at me.

“Come and see.”

Taking her hand, I pull her from the art studio.

“Xan—”

“Just wait.”

Logan is now snuggled up in Eli’s lap, eating something he definitely shouldn’t be while Brooklyn bemoans her husbands. Enzo has dragged the others in from the kitchen to gather the whole group.

Tucking Ripley into Lennox’s side so he can hold onto her, I head for the front door. A flashy company SUV has pulled up outside the building. They’re already headed up to us.

I open the door before Warner and Jude can knock. Both look at me in surprise.

“You’re late by three minutes.”

“Hello to you too,” Jude remarks. “Where are my wife and son?”

Gesturing over my shoulder, I wave him in. He slaps me on the back as he passes, pulling off his medical lanyard to tuck it away. Warner follows him in, walking with a new, slight limp.

“You alright?”

He shrugs. “New prosthetic. Had a mishap with the last one.”

“Do I even want to know what happened to it?”

“Probably not.”

Smiling, I tug him into a hug. “You need to be careful.”

“Bullets just seem to like me, Xan.”

“Ripley won’t buy that bullshit.”

Admittedly, it took about six years for us to reach the touching stage. His steadfast presence in Ripley’s life cemented my trust for him, though thick-skulled, younger Xander should’ve appreciated his actions long ago.

“What’s kept you so busy?”

Warner releases me. “New client. Bit hard to explain. We’re wrapped up in some messy shit.”

“Sounds about right.”

“We’ll handle it.” He flicks his hand dismissively. “How did the doc airing go?”

“As expected. We need to give you our new numbers.”

He bites back a laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“It’ll die down.”

Guiding him into the bursting apartment, I watch for Ripley’s reaction. Warner is her confidante. They talk regularly, but his work at Sabre pulls him in all directions.

Their most recent case—some complex, human trafficking situation—has led him to be absent since her interview. He had to undertake a long-haul trip to Mexico as part of the ongoing investigation.

“Did I miss the party?” Warner calls out.

Her head snapping up, Ripley turns to gape at us. “You’re back!”

“I couldn’t miss seeing this lot altogether in one room.”

Ripley rushes to pull him into a hug. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Nothing could’ve stopped me, Rip.”

I catch Lennox’s gaze across the room. He’s smiling at the sight of our girl, happily surrounded by everyone we care about. People we didn’t know existed when we first set upon the road to this moment.

“Did I miss the live show?” Warner jokes, his eyes on Raine still plucking the violin in his lap.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No live show.”

“Oh, come on,” Enzo cajoles. “Give us a preview. Then we’ll all have bragging rights that we heard the great Raine Starling’s latest hit first.”

There’s a chorus of agreements. Silencing them with a raised hand, Raine grins ear to ear as he stands up in front of the room. Sobriety agrees with him. His career has hit the damn stratosphere in the last few years.

“I have something, but it’s rough,” he explains, placing the violin under his chin. “I’m not sure if it counts, but I wrote this for the anniversary of our first date, Rip.”

Sliding her arm around Lennox’s waist and kissing his cheek, Ripley perks up at her name. She immediately looks down to the black chain bracelet she still wears, even though the tracker broke about five years ago.

“You remember the date?” She chuckles.

“Well, it’s a rough estimate.”

Raine lifts the bow, coaxing it over the violin strings with precision that will never fail to astound me for a man without sight. He plays like the instrument is an extension of himself—a living, breathing body part.

It’s a complex song, layered with low, mournful notes that sound like deep sorrow. Then he flicks the bow with masterful expertise and adds lighter segments, blending the two contrasts into a seamless melody.

Light. Dark.

Hopeful. Devastating.

All of life’s vast complexities.

Perhaps this is actually the most divisive opinion. Whether we can contain these multitudes at once. Hold evil and redemption inside us simultaneously. Strike with love and hatred in the same blow.

Raine’s music is honest. Raw. Painfully realistic. A jagged blend of the two extremes. Just like Ripley’s artwork. Both of them have immortalised our stories in their purest forms. Our voices will live on.

For many, we were the villains.

But we fucking deserve this happy ending.

The End