“You’ve got this.” Quinn slaps me on the ass.

MB laughs.

And I almost laugh too, but then I lock eyes with MB, and all I want to do is kiss her, and I want Quinn to see just because I want him to be part of everything we have.

Are we a couple, or are we now just finally whole in our grief and trauma?

Life, oftentimes, doesn’t make sense, so why does this?

The three of us.

I wonder if they’d freak out if I said I’m never letting them go, neither of them, that I don’t care what people say about us, about what happened in the past or could happen in the future.

“We’ll be late,” Quinn finally says. “You’re going to do great, Ambrose. Just speak from your heart.”

“I love you,” I blurt.

They both turn and look at me, MB’s lips tremble, and Quinn reaches for me.

“Both of you,” I say. “I love you.”

Quinn grabs one of my hands, and MB grabs the other.

Together forever.

We walk slowly down the stairs, and I realize that maybe I had it all wrong—this.

Is.

Perfection.

Chapter Forty-Three

Mary-Belle

He looks beautiful. His brownish blond hair’s falling longer against his chin, and his coloring is good despite still recovering from his transplant and walking slower. I can tell he’s trying to hold his head high, Ambrose.

I haven’t let go of Quinn’s hand. He’s taken care of me not because we’re in a relationship but because he knows I need a place to stay away from Ambrose before he makes his choice.

I stare straight ahead while Quinn rubs his thumb over my skin back and forth back and forth.

I turn toward my left and whisper in his ear. “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always…”

It’s a joke we’ve had ever since binge-watching Friends when Joey does his special reading, and I know he needs to relax right now; he’s worried about Ambrose just like I am.

He lowers his head and smirks. “…As long as I’m living, my baby, you’ll be.”

Normally we both laugh, but today’s different. Today he kisses my hand and squeezes it.

I don’t know if Ambrose sees, but suddenly he’s up at the Catholic Church where the funeral is being held.

We have standing room only. After all, he’s royalty here in this town. He’s worth nearly seven hundred million dollars—at eighteen.

He owns everyone.

He has everyone’s secrets.

The weight of what he has—must be damning, and yet still he holds his head high. “I didn’t prepare anything.”

People start whispering.