EPILOGUE
SLOANE BARSTOW LIES ON THE bank of the river, her forearm over her face to block the summer sun. It was getting too hot, and James promised to take her somewhere to escape the weekend heat. Realm and Dallas were off on another secret mission, so they were out of town.
But even though Sloane’s at the river, the same river where her brother died, she still doesn’t entirely love swimming. She opted to roast on the blanket instead.
As if she conjured him up, she hears James approach from where he’s been in the river. Sloane lowers her arm and looks at him, one eye squinted against the sun. James stands at the edge of the blanket, staring at the water as he drags a towel over his bare chest, his hair golden in the sunlight. He senses her watching him, and he glances down at her with those arresting blue eyes.
“You checking me out, Sloane?” he asks, exactly the same way he asked her years before when she first realized she liked him.
“No,” she replies easily, trying not to smile.
James nods like he believes her and goes back to watching the water. He tosses the towel aside and lowers himself onto the blanket next to her.
Sloane’s face is turned in his direction, waiting. She can feel the coolness coming off his skin from the river water. James looks sideways at her, his eyes impossibly blue, as he runs his gaze over her swimsuit.
They’re quiet for a long moment, Sloane’s heart speeding up, a smile creeping over her lips.
James curses at his lack of self-control and turns to wrap his leg over Sloane’s hip, rolling her against him and making her laugh.
“It’s so wet,” she says with a quick shiver from his damp suit on her skin.
James snorts a laugh, and Sloane smacks his leg. “Not what I meant,” she says, laughing anyway.
They both chuckle for a few moments, and then they settle on the blanket. James stays wrapped around her, their faces close as they watch each other.
Sloane can’t stand to look at him sometimes, especially this close up. It seems ridiculous . . . but she loves him too much. She loves everything about him, and she knows he feels exactly the same way. They’re both helpless in that love. She leans in and kisses him softly.
James hums out his approval, his hand sliding up her back and under her hair, resting on her neck as his tongue glides against hers. He moves his leg to bring it between hers, and the kissing leads to more, his fingers under her swimsuit, her hand inside his.
“Car or tent?” James murmurs at Sloane’s lips. “I don’t want sand getting—”
“Car,” Sloane says, but doesn’t stop. James breaks the kiss, burying his face in her hair as she brings him close, and then, when she’s finished, he stays against her, once again helpless in his love.
“Still car?” he asks, out of breath. Sloane laughs.
“No, I’d prefer the tent,” she says. She isn’t in such a hurry to get naked, though; she just likes being near him. She almost lost him this time. She never wants to feel that again.
“Now?” James asks, getting up on one elbow, his eyes heavy lidded. He looks so sweet and happy that Sloane sits up to give him a quick kiss before tossing him the towel.
“Later,” she says, looking at the river to check the current. “And for a lot longer.”
“Don’t you worry,” he says, and smiles broadly.
“I never have to,” she replies. That certainly is never one of their problems.
“But I was thinking,” he adds, reaching to trace his finger down her back as she stares at the water. “Now that things are normal, or at least normal for now . . . I have ideas.”
“Yikes,” Sloane says jokingly, flashing him a smile.
“I know, right? But anyway, these ideas . . .” He pauses, and his expression grows serious. “They’re not in Oregon,” he finishes.
Sloane turns around on the blanket and sits cross-legged, facing him. “What are these ideas?” she asks.
“You, me, California. Some super-cute beach. Maybe formal wear.”
Sloane stares at him, heat creeping onto her chest. “Anything else I should know about this idea?” she asks.
James licks his lips, lowering his eyes like he’s self-conscious, and reaches to play with her fingers.
“Not really,” he says. “Just a couple of friends, a man of God.” He lifts his blue eyes. “A ring that’s not made of plastic.”
Sloane and James have been through so much, and Sloane always knew they’d end up here. She knew it when they first started dating years ago. She even knew it when she didn’t remember him at all. And yet . . . and yet . . . she’s not prepared for how her heart aches at this idea. How all of the misery somehow got them here, and that means she can let it go. She’s not prepared for that.
Sloane’s eyes well up, and she looks down to where James is pressing his fingers between hers, opening and closing his hand. “What if I like the plastic ring?” she asks, not meeting his gaze.
“We could upgrade to platinum,” he suggests. “One that has, I don’t know, our initials or something. Maybe some kind of rock.”
Sloane tries to bite back her smile.
“River rock?” she asks, just to mess with him.
James laughs and tugs her hand so she’ll look at him. She’s surprised to see the glassiness in his eyes, the red high on his cheeks.
“Maybe one like this?” he asks, and then leans over to grab his backpack. He pulls out a clear plastic bubble with a yellow top, the kind that comes out of a quarter machine. The same kind he’s given her before with sparkly rings in them.
She holds the plastic in her hands, and when she looks at James, he shrugs like she should open it.
“I love you,” she says first, straight and to the point. “You know I love you madly, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. “Yeah, I know you do.”
Sloane slides her thumb under the lid of the plastic bubble and pops off the top. Inside is a silver ring with a princess cut diamond set in the middle. She stares at its sparkle in the sunlight. She looks up at James and sees him impatient for her response.
“It’s bigger than I thought,” she says, taking it out of the plastic.
“I get that a lot,” James returns, eyes still impatient. Sloane laughs and studies the ring, finding their initials connected with a heart. James reaches for the ring and then takes her hand.
Sloane and James stare at each other as James waits for permission to put it on, his confidence only waning when it comes to the possibility of Sloane not feeling the same.
“Well?” Sloane whispers. “I think this is your part.”
James’s lips flinch with a smile, and then he shifts to get one knee down on the blanket in front of her. Sloane gets to her knees in return.
They’re both in damp bathing suits with sand sticking to their skin, but Sloane can’t imagine a better place. A more important place than next to the river.
“Will you marry me?” James asks suddenly, his voice tight with emotion. Sloane watches as tears slip onto his cheeks, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
It’s all come to this. The pain and grief are over; they’re free.
Sloane blinks and feels her own tears drip down. James slides the ring onto her finger, but she doesn’t want to look down. Doesn’t want to look away from him.
And the weight of the ring feels natural; it feels right.
Sloane brings her arms over James’s shoulders, threading her fingers through the back of his hair.
“Yes,” she says simply. “The answer was always yes, even when you were just joking.”
“I was never joking,” James says. “Because it’s always been about us.” He leans in and kisses her, laying her back on the blanket. Their tears fade away, evaporating from the heat of their skin pressed together.
“It’s us forever, Sloane,” he murmurs. “Just like I promised.” It’s a promise he’s never broken.
• • •
And so later, when Sloane stares at the top of their tent, James between her legs as her fingernails dig into his back, she knows he was right.
It has always been about them. And it always will be.