Christmas With the Convict (Bringing Home Trouble)

Epilogue

CHASE

One Year Later…

It’s ten days till Christmas, but I’ve got an early present I’m afraid to open. Well, it could be a present or another kick in the gut. The envelope practically burns in my hand as I head up the stairs to our apartment.

I remember that day when we drove to Denver to get things from her old place. Her building had an elevator. She had a huge place with big windows and fancy appliances. Calling our first place together a downgrade would be a massive understatement.

Parking is a pain. The stairs are slick with water that drips off our neighbors’ boots. Our living room is about as big as my old prison cell.

It’s the coziest, safest place I’ve ever laid my head.

As soon as I walk through the front door, I feel at home among the books, countless candles, and Wendy’s smiling face. She’s sitting across the couch, glasses on and face buried in her laptop.

When Richard Bettencourt threatened to cut Wendy off if she didn’t abandon me and come home, when he tried to hold her graduate school tuition around her neck like a leash, Wendy laughed, told him that she’d never take another cent of his money, and hung up the phone. She applied for student loans the next day.

That was the last time they spoke.

Wendy makes some money as a teacher’s assistant and does tutoring. I, against all odds, did not get a job fixing motorcycles or trucks. I got a job at a bookstore.

It surprised the hell out of me when they immediately offered me the position during my interview, but Wendy explained the phenomenon well. You are a big, hot, soft-spoken man. Bookshops are filled with dreamy-eyed girls, like myself, who would love to steal glances at a big, hot, soft-spoken man while they read their fantasy and sip coffee.

I suppose it helped that she knows the owner. The pay isn’t great, but we do get discounts on books. I’ve got my own little shelf now, filled with my own favorites. Things that inspire me, that change the way I write…

It pains me that I can’t help her pay for school, that we barely have enough money to live, but it’s just a flicker of hurt. It doesn’t sear. It doesn’t burn. It’s there beneath layers of love, warm and unburdening.

And maybe, just maybe, the envelope in my hand can change all that.

“Hey, baby.” Wendy stretches out on the couch and closes her laptop. “Finally, an excuse to stop studying.”

Behind her, snow drifts past the window.

It’s picture perfect, our little cozy living room, our tiny Christmas tree overloaded with lights, Wendy on the couch in just a hoodie and thick socks. I could stand here and stay in this moment forever.

“Hold on, is that another one?”

Wendy jumps up and tries to snatch the letter out of my hand.

“It’s from Penguin, ” she shrieks and jumps up and down. “Open it!”

“Can’t we just leave it for now? I’m not sure I can take another rejection…”

“This is how it goes.” She throws her arms around me and pecks my lips. “A hundred rejections to find the one winner.”

“Then I guess we’re due for a winner,” I sigh. “I didn’t even know what I was doing when I wrote that thing. I’m not even a competent writer.”

“Ah, but you have one major advantage.”

Wendy leans slowly in for a kiss. I close my eyes to surrender to it.

She snatches the envelope out of my hand and jumps onto the couch like a cat stealing a toy.

“You had a total book nerd edit your manuscript!”

My heart drops as she tears it open.

I get down on my knees and bury my face in the cushion at her feet.

The sound of paper unfurling in her hands makes me cringe.

She doesn’t say anything.

“I knew it,” I groan. “Another one—“

“Oh, my God.”

I peek up at her, losing myself between her fine legs.

“Oh. My. Shitting. God,” she says.

“What? What? ” I grab her thighs and squeeze. “What is it?”

“Dear Chase Oliver. Thank you for submitting Sunshine Inside for consideration. I am pleased to inform you that we would like to move forward with publishing your manuscript pending minor revisions and title review… Chase, they want it. They even want to give you an advance . They want it!”

I lift Wendy into my arms. She hooks her legs around me, holding the papers up for us both to see. “Look! Look!”

“Title review?” My voice cracks. “What does that mean? What the fuck is even happening right now?”

“It means they think your title is awful,” Wendy laughs. “And, to be fair…”

“They want it!?”

“YES!”

We crash over our coffee table. Our poor downstairs neighbors probably think a truck just hit the building. Wendy rolls on top of me, the letter still in her trembling hands.

I’m crying.

She starts crying.

Our tears soak into our kiss.

And before either of us can say another word, our hands do exactly what they want.

“Put the fucking letter down,” I growl and pull her hoodie up her hips. “Safely, please. Now. ”

“You did it. You did it,” she moans as she kisses my neck. “I’m so proud of you.”

“It never would have happened without you,” I huff and rip her panties off. “I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts. Marry me. ”

Wendy sits up in my lap, staring down at me with her bra half off and hair over her eyes. She blows the strands off. “ What? ”

“I was going to wait. I’ve been saving for a ring, anything I could every month.” I grab her by the waist. “But, I don’t know. Everything is just exploding out of my right now… Marry me. Say yes. ”

Wendy’s smile could melt an icecap.

“Yes,” she squeals. “Obviously. Yes. Yes. YES!”

I moan as she slides down my body, kissing my chest, abs, and all the fuzz leading to my shaft.

“We can go to the courthouse tomorrow,” she huffs. “I don’t need a ring. We’ll get cheap plastic things from the dollar store.”

“And our honeymoon?”

“Here. Anywhere.” She slowly pulls my raging cock from my pants and gives it a slow, lingering lick. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

“This is a dream,” I moan, lying back and staring at the ceiling.

Our Christmas lights cast wonderful shades above us.

More beautiful and welcoming than any mansion could ever be.

We share our small space well, and I thank the cramped walls of this apartment for keeping us so close together.

“It’s not a dream, baby.” Wendy kisses and strokes me, feet kicked up behind her. “It’s real. I promise…”

If it was anyone else, I’d call it a lie.

I’d realize I was dreaming and wake up back in my cell.

But my dreams could never create something as perfect as this.

Wendy Oliver .

My sunshine inside.

The end…