For Better or Hearse

Epilogue

One year later

“A ll these leg muscles I’ve built up on these damn hikes of yours,” Ash huffs as she climbs the steep, rocky terrain of the mountain. Stones crunch beneath her clomping boots. “Going to use them to snap your neck one day.”

Smirking, Nathaniel glances over his shoulder. His sun-bronzed skin is rosy from exertion. He looks like a sexy GQ model in hiking gear. “Best way to die. Your legs around my face.”

Ash rolls her lips against a smile. Adjusts the straps of her backpack, hefting the weight inside.

Nathaniel stops and turns. Eyes simmering with emotion, he reaches for her, pulls her into his arms for a brain-melting kiss.

“I’m sweaty,” she says, though her protest is weak. It only takes a heartbeat for her to go pliant and melty against his ridiculously hard body. Apparently, she’ll never stop swooning for her Very Tall Asshole.

“I love your sweat.” Amusement dances in his pale-blue eyes. “It’s very kissable. I never know where my lips are going to slip.”

“Mmm. We have a deadline,” she murmurs, as his mouth sweeps over her overheated skin.

“We’ll make it.” Her husband’s broad palms smooth over her hips, move to cup her face. “We always do.”

He’s right.

They do.

It’s week three of their two-month-long around-the-world honeymoon. And so far, she’s run through two airports to make connecting flights. She nearly got run over by a Vespa in Italy and chased down by a highland cow in Scotland. And still, she’ll take it. Every last death-defying memory. She’ll relish them all, because she’s making them with Nathaniel.

They were married seven months ago. Nathaniel never went back to the Sophia Marie . They were married at a boutique Fox Hotel, a small ceremony on the rooftop overlooking LA with their immediate family and friends. Augustus’s garden was the perfect location for their reception. Fairy lights, a string band, and a coconut wedding cake with bride and groom Bigfoot toppers.

They didn’t want to wait. They wanted to wed while Augustus was with them.

Two months later, he passed. It feels strange to say his passing was beautiful, but it’s the truth. They were all with him at the end. Claire and Nathaniel holding his hands. The memory of Augustus going quick, quiet, in his sleep, is now a part of her.

Ash sighs in Nathaniel’s arms.

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, he smiles down at her. “Ready?”

She inhales. “Yeah.”

He releases her, takes her hand. Together, they scale the last mile up the mountain. For one more adventure.

That’s what the last year has been. Never knowing what will happen, but taking it day by day.

They bought that little house on the beach. The best mix of the both of them. Minimalist morbid, she calls it. A traditional cottage painted black with white shutters. Every night, time disappears. Nathaniel smothers her in stern, serious kisses. They breathe in the salty sea air. Take midnight swims. They cook coconut pancakes on Saturday mornings, hike to the Hollywood sign. Sundays are for lunch with her parents or Nathaniel’s.

Her death doula business has grown. She takes on two families at a time. Despite the heartbreak, she adores her work. Assisting people in unearthing the love that wants to be expressed is her favorite part. There’s no blueprint for what she does, so she’s always recentering and refocusing on how to do it better.

Death has taught her that having the chance to say goodbye, to find joy in the sad, truly can change a life.

Per usual, Nathaniel slays at everything he does. As head of Cedars-Sinai ER, free time is a rarity. Their days fly by, changing shape, squeezing through their fingers. But they always make time for each other. Their life together feels perfectly crafted. Like the wait to get to this place, to find what she needed, was worth it.

This man who never fails to have her scoffing or sighing. Who calls her by her full name when he’s serious. Who has never asked her to change herself or put her life on hold. Who holds her dreams and helps her chase them. Every day, he makes her love herself better than she ever has.

When they reach the summit, they still.

“Fuck,” Ash breathes.

Nathaniel wraps an arm around her shoulder, his handsome face stern, his hair windswept. Ash relishes the sight. Commits it to memory.

They’re quiet as they stand near the cliff edge. Look out at the lighthouse below. The Pacific and its lazy, rolling waves. Her breath hitches. The Hawaii sunset is a brilliant and bold mix of oranges, pinks and reds. A fitting tribute to one of the best men around.

“I wish he were here to see this,” Nathaniel says, emotion choking his words.

She sends him a wobbly smile. Squeezes his hand. “He is.”

As she surveys the horizon, a rush of emotion sweeps over her. Like Augustus is here with them. Seeing what they’re seeing and feeling what they’re feeling.

It’s a sensation that’s stuck with her since he died.

Ash lowers her backpack to the ground. She kneels and retrieves the urn inside. Gently, she settles it on the ground. Nathaniel squats beside her.

“You go first,” she says, uncapping the urn .

A shadow passes over Nathaniel’s face, clears.

Reaching in, he grabs a handful of dust. Ash follows suit. On a sigh, Nathaniel stands and walks to the cliff ledge. Ash waits at a respectful distance while he speaks to his grandfather in hushed tones.

And then he lifts his hand and gives a fierce throw. Dust and sunset become one.

Ash rises, moving to stand beside him.

“I want a good toss,” she says. “Help me?”

He grasps her wrist. “Do it,” he says fiercely, despite the mild concern on his face. “I have you.”

Out in front, by her side or watching her back, he always does.

Smiling, Ash inches closer to the cliff edge. The sparkling ocean calls to her, the blue sky bigger than life.

Her vision blurs and her eyes sting, but with a steady heart, she leans out.

She hangs there, suspended partly off the ledge, into space, into the universe. Nathaniel’s hand, viselike, wrapped around her wrist. Never letting her go.

The wind carries and dips. Ash closes her eyes and inhales. Lets life wash through her. Lets the pieces of herself click together.

“I beat Nathaniel at chess,” she says to the nothingness. Her laugh is wet. “Barely. And just between you and me, I think he let me win. But god, Augustus, I adore that Very Tall Asshole.” She lifts her eyes to the sky. “I’ve never loved one like him. So thank you. For everything.”

Heart thundering, she opens her hand and lets go entirely.

Of Augustus.

If it’s possible for the ocean to get louder, the sunset more brilliant, the wind a fierce rush, it does.

She’s crying, and she doesn’t want it to stop. Tears stream down her face until her soul feels wrecked while at the same time at peace.

And then rocks crunch, and a warm, steady presence is behind her, pulling her into his arms. Back to him. On a gasp, Ash buries her face in Nathaniel’s muscled chest. They hold each other. Hearts, breaths, sighs in sync.

“Ashabelle.” He strokes her hair, calling her back to him.

She lifts her face. Her entire body, down to her bones, warms. “I’m okay. How are you?”

He tightens his hold. “I’m good.” His pained eyes move to the cliff edge. “He’ll miss a lot. But he gave so much too.”

Ash smiles.

He gave more than anyone expected.

The stunner of a surprise in Augustus’s will was the gift of his love of travel. Five years’ worth of reservations at his Hawaii hotels have already been booked, ensuring all the Whitfords can spend time together every year.

One more way he’s pulling the strings from the beyond.

“What time does everyone get in tonight?” she asks, slipping her leg between his.

A rough grunt falls from Nathaniel’s lips. “Six.” He cups the curve of her ass, primally pulling her closer. “My mother’s made reservations for a ten-course tasting menu.”

Ash groans. “You monsters.”

Kidding. Those monsters are now her in-laws. And she loves them, despite their annual turkey trot.

Claire’s thrived since she began working for Fox Hotel Group. Heading into her second year as co-owner, she plans to double the number of resorts worldwide. Tate’s on his third season of his Tater Talks podcast. This time the subject is the spice trade with a special emphasis on pirates. Delaney’s made a name for herself in the horror movie circuit. There’s never been a better final girl.

And Don—he’s still his belligerent billionaire self. Albeit tamed a little. He and Claire have made it work, and these days, he’s only an asshole 2 percent of the time. But they all reserve the right to ban him from activities as they see fit.

Ash lowers her gaze to her wedding ring—a brilliant dark blue sapphire, almost as dark as the pearls she wears—then looks up at Nathaniel. “Tell me the escape plan now.”

He sweeps a kiss over her lips. “We bail mid-dinner. Shimmy out the bathroom window with a very big bottle of wine.”

Ash strokes a finger over his cheekbone, marveling at how lucky she is. Monsters, myths, legends. She has never held someone so heavy in her heart the way she holds Nathaniel. “And do what?”

“Go live in a lighthouse.”

“Hmm. That’s the dream.”

His smile is smug. “Dreams have a way of becoming reality, Bigfoot.”

She gasps, twists in his arms. Narrows her eyes. “Did you buy a lighthouse?” She’s always shocked at the lengths he goes to make her happy.

“You never know,” he murmurs, stubbornly dodging her question, “what you’ll get in this big old universe.”

Pure happiness has her giddy. “I do,” she says. “I got you.”

The edges of his lips curve, a beautiful smile that steals the breath from her lungs.

And then he captures her mouth, kissing her deeply. Decadently.

Slowly, so slowly, Ash inhales him. Like there’s never been any kiss, any man, any love to exist except Nathaniel. She scrapes her nails over his back, rakes them through his hair. The heated rumble in his chest, his hardness down below are a promise of what’s to come when they make it back to their hotel room. If they manage to wait that long.

Ash growls, that delicious hunger blooming in her stomach. Nathaniel Whitford’s the absolute worst. In the best possible way.

Breathing heavily, Nathaniel pulls away. Need lives in his eyes. Those pale-blue irises that never fail to have her in a chokehold.

Ash lays a hand on his muscled chest, feeling the heart that thunders there. Thunders for her.

“Tell me a truth,” she says .

His eyes flare as they meet hers. “I love you. Absolutely. Desperately.”

“You’re a horny madman,” she breathes, nipping at his lips. Desire pricks and pulses in every warm part of her. “And I love you too. With every beat of my pulpy heart.”

Nathaniel angles in until their brows touch. His voice is low and rough. “Tell me a truth, my morbid little beauty.”

“Truth is overrated,” she says. Curling her arms around his neck, she yanks him toward her. “We only end with the cold embrace of death.”

Nathaniel laughs, tugging her closer. Into him. Meant to be. “I am wildly in support of that.”

Ash drinks him in, this memory, this speck of joy in time. The rush of the wind. The burn of the sunset as it settles its beauty for the night. Nathaniel’s heart, pounding against hers. His big hand on her cheek, his salty sea scent staining her skin.

The ebb and flow of life. Death. Love.

That’s the joy and the beauty of it.

The unknown in a world of certainties.

It’s all kinds of fucking perfect.

And it’s all theirs.