Write Me Off | Complete

extended epilogue

THREE YEARS LATER

He left.

I have no idea where he went. The last time I saw him, he was down by the pool, trying desperately to save us from being absolutely demolished by Luke and Micah in beer pong. He was single-handedly keeping us alive, but since I didn't make a single shot, we died a quick, sad death. Luke had a smug grin as he watched Tristan down the final cup, a grin that only grew when Tristan flipped up his middle finger at his old teammates as he swiped his thumb across his lips to catch any errant beer.

I tried to blame my terrible game on the sweet white wine I'd been sipping on since the party started, and when he leaned down to taste it on my tongue as if to check the validity of my excuse, his lips pulled up into an amused smile when mine eagerly parted for him. His arms wrapped around me, tugging me close as the chilly sea breeze pulled past, blowing at the hem of my unbuttoned, knit cardigan. His tongue brushed mine, slow and soft as if he really was taking his time tasting me, and the low groan that vibrated in the back of his throat sent a wave of goosebumps down my arms. The muted cough that sounded beside us pulled us apart, and when we both looked over, James was standing a few feet away with Jax held securely in his arms, the toddler's fist gripping the toy truck he'd been carrying around all day. His blue eyes, the same shade as Jenny's, peeked up at his dad while James cleared his throat and glanced down at his watch pointedly. Tristan's arms tightened around me as he leaned back down, trailing his lips across my cheek before whispering in my ear that he'd be right back.

That was thirty minutes ago.

I've spent all thirty of those minutes lying here on this lounge chair beside Jenny and Nia, watching the sea reach out to the shore while the golden glow of the impending sunset warmed the beach. But now that the sun is dropping low on the horizon, casting the sky in a mosaic of oranges, reds, and pinks, I'm two glasses deep into the bottle of wine Nia brought out for us, and my sun-warmed skin is practically humming, curiously searching for the feel of Tristan's hands wrapping around me while he tastes the sweet wine on my tongue again. Standing up from the lounge chair on the deck, Jenny and Nia smile up at me before their eyes find the coastline again, content to stay out here and watch the sun's slow descent below the horizon.

I rock up onto my toes, trying to find him in the small crowd hanging out on the deck, but even stepping up onto the stairs leading into the house, I can't spot him anywhere. Since James and Jax also seem to be missing still, I have a feeling they slipped out together, opting to get away from the chaos of my graduation party for a little while.

Turning to search the yard near the pool, I freeze, disbelief flooding my senses as I blink a few times to ensure I'm not hullucinating. My eyes widen as I watch my mother, Victoria I-don't-touch-it-if-it's-not-two-hundred-dollar-wine Weisman-Ryan, pick up the ping pong ball from the table and roll it between her fingers, testing the weight as she eyes the beer-filled cups on the other side of the table. I have to bite back a laugh as she looks down, double-checking that her Louboutins aren't standing in a frothy puddle of spilled beer before she looks back up and focuses on the cups across the table.

When the last remnants of the setting sun illuminate the tousled blond hair of the man standing beside her, a broad, magnetizing smile pulls at his lips as he points to the other side of the table, and suddenly, it all starts to make sense. Of course, only Luke McConnell would be able to convince my mother to play beer pong. A shocked laugh bubbles out, lost in the music and palaver around me, but as much as I want to go down and join the game, I search the crowd behind me, still hoping to catch those dark curls in the crowd.

He's not out here. Pulling open the French doors, I savor the icy rush of AC as I peek into my mother's house. Glancing around, I spot Mr. Beck, Garrett, and my bothers reclining back on the couch, their attention fixed on the baseball game on the TV while Dan, my mother's new boyfriend — yes, boyfriend — chats happily, most likely recounting his glory days of when he played baseball in college. The irony of my mother dating a college athlete doesn't escape me, and I knew she knew it, too, because when she introduced me, she didn't even try to hide her reluctantly comical smirk, the one I knew was meant to say, don't even say it, Abigail.