Chapter 15 #2
I think about it. "I want to rebuild Building 3 better than before. I want to help Mrs. Parsons and other residents of her age with dignity. I want to make Hibiscus Harbor a place where people take care of each other."
"That's work. What about life?"
"Work is my life."
"It doesn't have to be."
"Says the man who's been at the station for fourteen hours straight multiple times this week."
"Fair point." He shifts to face me fully. "Okay, let me try again. Where do you see yourself in five years?"
"Where do you see yourself?"
"Nice try, Kendall. I asked first."
"I asked second."
He sighs. "Fine. Five years? I want to make detective. I want to help train new officers to be better than just by-the-book. I want to matter to this community."
"You already matter to this community."
"I want to matter more. And..." He pauses. "I want to get married, buy a house, get a dog, and have a family."
My heart stops. "Family?"
"Kids. Maybe two or three. A big dog. Soccer practice every night and science fairs on the weekends. All of it."
"You've thought about this."
"Haven't you?"
I have, but it's been abstract. Someday dreams that never had faces or names. "I'm scared I'd be terrible at all of it. My own parents were disasters. I didn’t have suitable role models."
"Your grandmother was an excellent role model."
"Yes, but—"
"Buts. You practically raised yourself, and you turned out incredible. Imagine what you could do with an actual chance to be a mom." He takes my hand. "You take care of everyone, Kendall. You'd be amazing at taking care of your own kids."
"Our kids," I correct quietly.
"Our kids," he agrees, and the smile on his face could power the whole town.
"But not yet," I add quickly, pointing at him. "There's too much happening. The rebuilding, the trial—"
"Of course, not yet. But someday?"
"Someday."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment before he speaks again. "We should probably talk about the trial."
My good mood evaporates instantly. "Do we have to?"
"William's lawyer is going to come after you. Character assassination, trying to make you look incompetent or vindictive."
I sigh, "I know."
"Morrison and Valerie will testify against him, but they'll try to shift blame to you too so they don’t look as bad as he does."
"I know." I nod as I stare at the floor.
"The prosecutor wants to prep you starting next week."
"I know, Jax. I know all of it." Frustration clearly in my voice.
"I just want you to be ready." He squeezes my hand.
"I'm as ready as I can be." I stand, needing to move. "Can we talk about something else? Anything else?"
"Like where my neon sign is going?" He looks like a kid when he asks.
"It's not going anywhere except into storage." I’m holding firm on this one.
"What about the garage? It would look great in the garage."
"We don't have a garage. We have an assigned parking space."
"The bathroom?"
"Absolutely not. That’s where you want to put the fishing poles."
"You're no fun."
"I'm plenty of fun. I just have taste."
"Ouch." He clutches his chest dramatically. "My vintage sign and I are wounded."
I throw a pillow at him. "Your vintage sign will survive."
He catches the pillow, then lunges, tickling me until I'm gasping with laughter. "Take it back!"
"Never!"
"Say the sign is beautiful!"
"The sign is hideous!"
He tickles harder. "Say it!"
"Fine! The sign is... aesthetically challenged but personally meaningful!"
"I'll take it." He stops tickling but doesn't move away. We're tangled on the couch, breathing hard, and the air shifts.
"Hi," I whisper as I run my fingers through his hair.
"Hi."
He kisses me, slow and deep, and I melt into him. Ten years of lost time, but we're here now. That has to count for something.
My phone buzzes, breaking the moment. It's a text from Sawyer.
Sawyer: Foundation inspection complete, and we passed with flying colors. We can start framing tomorrow.
"Building 3 is moving forward," I tell Jax excitedly.
"Good. That's good news."
Another text, this time from Captain Ramirez.
Captain: William's lawyer filed a motion to dismiss. Judge denied it. The trial moves forward as scheduled.
"That’s also good news," Jax says, reading over my shoulder.
A third text, from Gladys.
Gladys: FBIs meeting tomorrow at 0800. You should be there. Bring donuts and that hunky man of yours. We're discussing security for the trial.
"Less good news," we say in unison.
"They mean well," I defend weakly.
"They're going to show up in those silly costumes."
"Probably." I nod with a smile, remembering how they looked in them.
"To federal court." He emphasizes.
"Almost definitely."
"We're going to be on the news."
"'Local Heroes or Geriatric Vigilantes? Story at 11.'" I use my best news anchor voice.
He groans. "We need to stop them."
"You want to try telling the Walking Ladies they can't do something? You’re on your own, dude."
"Good point." He pulls me back against him. "Let them have their fun. What's the worst that could happen?"
"Jax Masterson, did you just ask, 'What's the worst that could happen?' when talking about The Walking Ladies? What happened to Officer By-The-Book?"
"He fell in love with a woman who wrestles goats and fights HOA presidents. He's learning to be flexible."
"I didn't wrestle Gertie. I contained her."
"Semantics."
"Legal distinctions."
"You sound like me now." He laughs.
"Terrifying, isn't it?"
He kisses my temple. "We're really doing this, aren't we? Moving in together, facing the trial, building a life together?"
I nod. "We're really doing it."
"And what about your three rules?"
"I’ve replaced them with better ones."
"Like?"
I think about it. "Rule one: Trust the people who show up. Rule two: Let them help. Rule three: Love is worth the risk."
"Those are great rules."
"Better than the old ones?"
"Much better."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's a photo from Mrs. Parsons—Gertie wearing a hard hat at the construction site.
"That goat is everywhere," Jax mutters.
"She's the mascot of the rebuild. Sawyer’s talking about getting his own someday. I don’t think Charli’s onboard, though."
"Gertie’s a menace."
"She's both."
"Like someone else I know."
"Hey, I'm not a menace!"
"You took down a property owner and got an entire town to rally against a conspiracy."
"That's not being a menace. That's being effective." I sound righteous.
"And menacing."
"I'm getting a goat and getting rid of you."
"No, you're not."
"No, I'm not," I agree, snuggling closer.
Outside, I can hear construction noise from the building site down the street. Inside, we're surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, disputed decorations, and the comfortable chaos of two lives merging into one.
"Hey Kendall?"
"Yeah?"
"The neon sign would look great in the bedroom."
"I'm getting Gertie to eat it."
"She'd probably try."
"She'd definitely try."
We laugh, and it echoes through our apartment—our home—filling the spaces inside ourselves that were empty for far too long.
Tomorrow there will be construction meetings, trial prep, and the Walking Ladies to manage. But right now, we're here, arguing about furniture and planning a future that seemed impossible just weeks ago.
"I love you," I tell him.
"I love you too. Even if you have terrible taste in décor."
"Says the man with a neon beer sign."
"It's vintage!"
"It's staying in storage or, I don’t know, don’t you have friends that own a bar where that thing can live?"
"Actually, I’m part owner of Hooplas." He has the decency to look ashamed for not telling me sooner.
"Jax—"
“I know, I know. I should have said something earlier. But in my defense, things have been a bit chaotic lately.”
Chaotic is one word for it. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” I point at the offending sign. “That thing is going there tomorrow. No arguments. You can visit it there.”
He kisses me quietly, and I let him. We've got time to figure out the details. Time we thought we'd lost but somehow found again.
And this time, we're not wasting a single moment.
Three nights later, we're at Hudson and Kate's house for what they're calling a "casual dinner" but feels more like an intervention. All the couples are here—Hudson and Kate, Kane and Grace, Declan and Riley, even Ian and Mia made it back from Palmera.
"So," Kate says, passing the salad, "how's living together?"
"It's been three days," I point out.
"Three very educational days," Jax adds, smirking. "Did you know Kendall organizes her spices alphabetically AND by expiration date?"
"Did you know Jax has seventeen different bottles of hot sauce?" I counter.
"Flavor profiles," he defends.
"Control issues," I shoot back.
"And they're off," Hudson laughs. "This is exactly how Kate and I were."
"Were?" Kate raises an eyebrow. "You still complain about my book organization system."
"Genre, then author, then publication date is insane!"
"Says the man who arranges his tools by frequency of use."
Kane leans back, bouncing Emma. "Grace and I skipped this phase. I just agreed she was right about everything."
"Liar," Grace laughs. "You hid your action figure collection for three months."
"They're collectibles!"
"They're toys," all the women say in unison.
Ian clears his throat. "Mia made a spreadsheet for my belongings. With photos. And subcategories."
"It was that or divorce," Mia says sweetly. "His 'system' was chaos."
"My system was intuitive!"
"Your system was 'wherever it lands,'" she corrects.
Riley sets down her wine. "Declan tried to bring his mother's couch."
"It had sentimental value!" Declan protests.
"It had bedbugs!"
"Alleged bedbugs."
"The exterminator confirmed bedbugs."
"One man's opinion."
I look around the table at these couples who've figured it out, who've made it work despite the hot sauce collections and bedbug couches and action figures.
"How?" I ask. "How do you merge two whole lives?"
"You don't," Kate says simply. "You create a third life. Together."
"Some stuff from before fits," Hudson adds. "Some doesn’t."
"The important things aren't things," Grace says, looking at Kane. "They're the patterns you build. Sunday morning coffee. Thursday date nights."
"Fighting fairly," Riley adds. "No below the belt hits."
"Separate bathrooms," Ian says firmly. "Trust me on this."
"We only have one bathroom," I point out.
"My condolences," Mia says solemnly.
"The point is," Hudson says, raising his beer, "you two have already survived the hardest part. Ten years apart. Compared to that, some throw pillows and storage disputes are nothing."
"To Kendall and Jax," Kate toasts. "May your hot sauce collection and spice organization system coexist in harmony."
"To second chances," Grace adds.
"To not screwing it up this time," Kane laughs.
We all drink, and I realize this—this table full of friends who've become family, who share their struggles and solutions—this is what I was missing all those years alone.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "All of you."
"Don't get sappy on us," Mia warns. "We're here for the gossip, not the feelings."