Roscoe and Wynezra sprinted into each other. They collided like snap bracelets, wrapping around each other, squeezing fiercely, crying. Wynezra’s face was buried in Roscoe’s chest as she clung to his shirt. Roscoe cradled her head in his hand, his thick fingers in her hair.

Meanwhile, I had my arms wrapped around myself. Kinda wishing I had someone to hug as well. Definitely wishing I had a tissue. I was a mess.

A great big happy smiling mess.

You couldn’t buy happy endings like this—not from Disney, not even from the Hallmark Channel.

Flash.

Suddenly, my face was mashed in fabric and muscle, and I was clinging to Roscoe as if to a rock wall or a cliff face, and I definitely had snot coming out of my nose, and oh boy, this was embarrassing.

Not a second later, Wynonna hug-attacked me from behind. She squeezed me between her and Roscoe like the dulce de leche in a stuffed churro.

“Get in there, Slevin!” said Wynonna. “Just let it happen.”

“Whoa, wait,” said Roscoe. “Did something happen?”

“I’m me, and she’s her now,” I mumbled into Roscoe’s shirt.

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yep,” said Wynonna. She rested her head on my shoulder. “Just like that.”

I sighed. Embraced the awkwardness. Released all the tension in my body and let myself be hugged.

I wasn’t gonna lie. It felt fucking amazing.

TWENTY-NINE

THERE WAS ONLY ONE question left to be answered.

“We saw you packing,” said Wynonna. “And your neighbor told us you moved out. What was that all about?”

Roscoe laughed nervously. “I could tell you. But it might be easier to show you.”

Four hours later—as we fell asleep in turns—we pulled into a quiet neighborhood, in front of a quiet house. Morning had finally punctured the horizon, spilling orange light across the sky, casting everything in a dreamlike hue.

“We’re here,” said Roscoe, quietly.

“Here?” said Wynonna. She was just now waking up in the passenger seat, blinking desperately for clarity. “Where’s here?”

“My new house.”

Wynonna kept blinking because that didn’t make any sense.

“Our new house,” he said. “If you’re interested.”

Wynonna stopped blinking. Rotated her head slowly.

It was a small white thing, single story, with a tiny little porch, and a tiny little garden—all of this encased in an actual tiny little white picket fence.

“It’s two bed, one bath,” he said. “I know it’s small, but—”

“You bought a house?” said Wynonna.

Roscoe shrugged. “It’s Theo’s, actually. He was selling, and I’d kind of decided I was staying here for good, so… why not?”

Before Roscoe could even finish, Wynonna was nodding her head desperately.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I’m interested.”

Roscoe’s face broke into a smile. “Great! I mean… I’m still checking myself back into rehab today. But a month or so from now, if you’re still interested…”