Regrets - Chapter Forty One
Nicole has one last surprise in "What Comes Next", while Cam contemplates the future in "Different".
What Comes Next - Nicole
By the time most of the federal vehicles cleared the gravel lot, the sun was slipping low over the Tucson basin. The heat still clung to the stone, but the air had shifted. It was lighter, like a weight had finally broken.
The music had shifted too. Somewhere between the last burst of champagne and the last flash of federal taillights fading down the drive, Charles switched the playlist. Nicole hadn’t watched him do it, but she knew. He’d been waiting for the cue, the exact moment to drop the bass line and carry the night forward. Gone were the elegant string renditions and safe acoustic covers. Now it was pop, R&B, and dance remixes—Beyoncé, Bruno Mars, Lizzo. Something with bounce and bass…something that was alive.
People had stayed.
Not just her friends or Charles or the employees and friends who had always leaned a little rogue. The some of the old guard stayed too. Sam Huntington was near the fire pit, tie finally off, swirling something amber in a glass and letting Mitchell talk him into loosening up. Helena Price had even taken a slow turn on the dance floor with him, her posture formal but her smile easy. Frank Geller hovered near the edge, arms crossed like he wasn’t impressed, though his foot tapped every time the bass dropped.
Jim Watmore stood nearby, jacket folded over one arm, talking with Lorraine. She looked relaxed in a way Nicole had never seen, her shoulders loose, eyes softer, no headset, no clipboard. Just present. Laughing, even. Like she’d chosen to stay because she wanted to, not because duty said so.
Maddie and Harry danced in slow, sweet rhythm, wine glasses forgotten on the nearest ledge. Suzanne had pulled Tessa into some impromptu choreography, and even Brie had ditched her heels. Charles stood near the speakers with his sleeves rolled up, nodding in time. He wasn’t showboating, he kept the pulse steady, reminding everyone the night belonged to them, not the scandal.
Only the diehards remained. The ones who mattered. The ones who weren’t afraid to stay after the script fell apart.
And her mother.
Elizabeth hadn’t left. Of course she hadn’t. Nicole caught her at the edge of the courtyard, posture carved from stone, slate silk gleaming in the last of the desert light, pearls fixed at her collarbone. She hadn’t stormed out, she never would. She stayed, because hosts stayed. But for the first time in Nicole’s life, she wasn’t the center. She wasn’t even the frame. Her mother’s fury was right there, naked and sharp, and Nicole let it burn past her without backing off.
Nicole turned away.
She stood just behind the edge of the fire pit, bare feet pressing into the stone, the hem of her green dress brushing her ankles. Her hair had come loose from its earlier styling, curling around her cheeks in soft, fallen pieces. The dress didn’t have pockets, not really, but the side seam had just enough give to let her fingers curl around what she’d hidden there all night.
Across the terrace, Alexis stood alone near the railing. Hair swept over one shoulder. One hand curled around a lowball glass she wasn’t drinking from.
Nicole walked to the front of the stage, the same spot where she’d taken Aaron apart less than an hour ago. The same courtyard, but now the light was different. Softer. Less sharp. The world hadn’t ended. It had shifted.
She tapped a champagne flute with one finger.
The music dipped fast. Charles again, already ready. He didn’t even look up from his phone; the fade-out was seamless, practiced, waiting.
People turned.
“Hi,” Nicole said. “Sorry to interrupt the Charles Scott Spotify Experience, but I need about thirty seconds of your time.”
Someone snorted. Maybe Suzanne.
Charles raised his glass. “If it’s not better than Beyoncé, I’m cutting you off.”
“Fair.”
Nicole looked around. So many eyes. But the only ones that mattered were still on her.
“I didn’t plan this part fully,” she said. “Honestly, if you’d asked me this morning where I’d be right now, I’d have guessed crying in a corner. Or drunk under a table somewhere.”
That got a real laugh.
“But I did plan one thing. Badly.”
Her fingers closed around the string under her fingertips.
“I told Charles earlier this week that if I made it through this…if I got to the other side, I was going to do something reckless.”
Charles tipped his head like and I backed her anyway.
Nicole pulled the string from her pocket. A scuffed silver band looped loosely on a black cord.
“This was my dad’s. I found it in the junk drawer…between a busted flashlight and some dried-out superglue. It doesn’t fit right. It doesn’t sparkle. But it’s real.”
She stepped down. Crossed the space between her and Alexis.
The sun had nearly slipped behind the Tucson ridge, fire-pink clouds streaking the horizon. Shadows stretched long across the terrace as Nicole walked barefoot toward her future.
“I’ve run from a lot of things. You most of all.”
She paused. Steady now.
“But I’m not running anymore.”
She held out the cord and the ring.
“I choose you. Every day. Every hard, terrifying, impossible day.”
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“So... will you marry me?”
Alexis exhaled. Blinked. Her lips parted, like she didn’t quite trust the moment yet.
Nicole awaited as Alexis stared at her. “You’re barefoot.”
Nicole smiled. “I noticed.”
“You’re using a string.”
“I had ten minutes and a junk drawer. Don’t be picky.”
“You really didn’t plan this.”
“Nope.”
Alexis reached out. Touched the ring. Then touched Nicole’s cheek.
“Yes,” she said. “A thousand times, yes.”
Charles didn’t miss a beat. He tapped his phone, and “I Choose You” by Sara Bareilles flowed in with perfect timing. Not an accident. He’d had it queued, waiting for this exact answer.
From his spot near the fire pit, he raised a glass and shouted:
“Best engagement ever!”
Laughter broke loose. Applause followed. Not staged. Not polite. Just… full.
Alexis leaned in. Kissed her, deep and real and claiming.
From the corner of her eye, Nicole caught one last flash of slate silk and pearls retreating toward the glass doors. Her mother. Leaving without a word.
Nicole closed her eyes against the sting of it. Then let it go.
And for the first time in months, she let herself feel it.
She wasn’t surviving anymore.
She was here.
Different - Cam
Nicole was still in her green dress, barefoot and standing on the patio in front of Alexis, holding a ring on a string and proposing…as only Nicole could. And Alexis didn’t hesitate. She reached over and kissed her like no one else existed.
Applause erupted. The music shifted again, brighter now. Joyful. Someone from Nicole’s crew was crying. Elizabeth had vanished. Charles was smiling like he’d known this twist was coming.
Cam didn’t blink. She didn’t need to. The ache in her chest was expected. It was the right thing.
She stepped back into the shadows and tossed back the last of someone’s forgotten shot from a table near the railing. Cheap tequila. Bitterness and fire.
Out on the floor, Sam was dancing. Badly. With Maggie.
Cam’s mouth twitched. Maggie cleaned up like a goddamn dream. And Sam looked... happy. Light on his feet. Ten years younger.
She barely noticed the tap on her shoulder. “Jesus.” She turned. “You trying to catch a right hook?”
Harry just raised a brow. “You’ve had worse dance partners,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.
She didn’t argue. He led her to the edge of the crowd. They swayed without fanfare, two people with history instead of rhythm.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
Cam shrugged. “I will be.”
He looked her over once, then nodded. “It’s all gonna be fine.” He paused for a beat, then spoke, low: “So… you and Maggie?”
Cam let out a soft breath. “That obvious?”
Harry gave her that look. The one he got often, wry, fond, like he’d known all along. “Both of you aren’t as subtle as you think.”
Cam huffed once, almost a laugh. “It wasn’t supposed to matter. One night. Clean exit.”
“But?”
“She knew exactly what it was. Never asked for more.” Didn’t mean it didn’t hit anyway. Cam’s jaw flexed. That might’ve been the hardest part. Harry’s gaze slid to the dance floor. Cam followed it. Sam and Maggie were still moving, close enough their shoulders brushed. Maggie smiled at something he said, fingertips brushing his sleeve like it was second nature.
Cam exhaled. “I think Sam likes her. So I’ll bow out.”
They finished the song in silence.
Cam peeled off, leaving the courtyard and crossing the lobby on instinct more than intent. She didn’t want to go back out there, not yet.
Charlotte and the others had been comfort. Josie, a spark. Maggie... a mirror. Each cracked something open, but none of them could hold all of her. Maybe no one could.
But she’d just watched Nicole look like herself. Fully, completely herself. That was the memory Cam would always keep, not the loss, not the years. Just Nicole, natural in her own skin, like the world arranged itself around her without trying.
Cam stood in the shadows of the lobby, just feeling all of it. Loss, but more than that. Clarity. Maybe she didn’t want to be interpreted anymore. Maybe she just wanted someone who didn’t waver. Someone to move toward. Someone who wouldn’t turn back once they saw the whole of her.
She looked at the courtyard again, then towards the lobby when movement caught her eye.
Riley Burke. Posted near the front exit, black slacks, fitted blazer. Badge tucked away. Hair back like she meant business, even off the clock. Sharp jawline, mouth set in quiet control. That same focused stillness that always pulled Cam’s eye, like Riley wasn’t watching the room, she was holding it in place.
Cam didn’t hesitate. She tilted her chin.
Riley caught it. Walked over.
Cam straightened slightly, something reflexive, like her spine knew before her mouth did.
“So… you didn’t get the girl this time?” Riley said, teasing glint in her eyes.
Cam met her gaze, dry heat steady. “Nah. The right one’s got her now.”
Riley studied her for a beat too long. “I’m sure you will someday.”
Cam’s throat tightened, but she held her gaze. “Maybe.”
Riley’s mouth curved, almost-smile. “See you.”
“Yeah,” Cam responded, softer. “…maybe.”
Cam watched Riley Burke’s back as she walked down the hall, and turned back toward the courtyard.
Not empty. Not broken. Just… different.
And different was enough.
Authors Note: This is the end of Regrets, but not the end of the story for most of these characters. I want to thank all of you who read, subscribed and followed this exercise in trying to write something I would have loved to read, and I hope you enjoyed it. The idea of Queer Noir came to me and I’m curious, did it work for you? Any comments on any of the work would be greatly appreciated.