EPILOGUE
STORM
“Mr. Prescott, Mr. Prescott. What are your thoughts on the verdict?”
The glass revolving doors of the courthouse acted like a lens, magnifying the media standing outside.
When they saw us, the press surged forward in a tidal wave of flashing cameras and shouting mouths.
They were like locusts, an aggressive, twitching mass that didn't give a shit about personal space. It was like an abrupt, aggressive invasion of privacy, and I hadn’t been prepared for it.
Microphones were thrust toward us like spears.
The strobing effect of the cameras turned my vision into a series of sharp, blinding snapshots.
I stumbled, and my fiancé wrapped a heavy arm around my waist. “Watch it,” Reed growled, his free hand thrusting away a photographer whose lens was inches from my face.
The two security guards who’d been assigned to us were soon swallowed by the crush, their black bomber jackets disappearing.
“What are your goals for the remainder of the season?” Interesting. That wasn’t even about the case.
“Is it true that you guys are going for a spring wedding?” someone questioned, their voice cracking. I rolled my eyes behind my oversized glasses—the absurdity of that question in the wake of the trial we’d just left was nauseating.
“Do you believe Louise Palmer’s comments about David’s abuse?”
“What’s it like working with Coach Tom Ryerson?”
So, this is what it’s like to be famous.
So far, Reed and I had kept our relationship out of the limelight, but not that day.
Another wave of questions circulated as they continued to talk over each other. Luckily, Reed’s car was only yards away.
“Do you think the Palmers got what they deserved?”
Finally, the Bugatti appeared through a gap in the crowd of people. Reed didn't run; he moved with purposeful calm. As he opened the passenger door, his frame blocked the view of the cameras as he turned around, shielding me.
“I want to thank the public for their support,” he announced, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that made people sit up and listen. “And the only comment I have about the trial is that justice has been served.”
“Do you have something you’d like to say to the Palmers?”
“No comment,” Reed replied, motioning for me to get in the car.
Reed pushed the door closed with more force than necessary. I could tell he was wound up, but he hid it well. The sound of the door slamming was like a gunshot.
I watched him through the windshield as he walked around the front of the sports car. A reporter tried to block his path, but a security man wrenched him backwards.
The door opened, and Reed slid in. He didn't speak immediately. He just gripped the steering wheel, clearly frustrated.
“Sorry about that,” he finally rasped. “Are you okay?”
“Is it always like that?”
“Sometimes. It depends on how juicy the story is,” Reed explained, his eyes scanning the mirrors as he accelerated carefully through the lingering crowd. “When I broke Kyle Anderson’s nose on the field, they practically camped in my driveway for weeks.”
I took a deep breath as we left the press behind. “How are you feeling?” I asked, finally clicking my seatbelt into place. “Any sense of closure?”
Reed didn't answer immediately; his jaw remained stiff. In the rearview mirror, the courthouse where the Palmers had been prosecuted dissolved into the distance.
“Some,” he admitted. Reed's smile was tight, a thin line that didn't quite reach his eyes.
I knew he had found it hard coming forward about his trauma with the Palmers, having to relive that shit again.
The case had been a marathon of misery, but Reed’s speaking out had led to other victims coming forward.
In conclusion, fourteen felony counts were brought against David and Louise Palmer.
Child cruelty and torture, false imprisonment, and neglect.
They had been sentenced to twenty-five years in prison.
“Thank you for everything,” Reed said, his voice dropping. “I know I’ve been a nightmare lately.”
“Not at all,” I teased, trying to make him feel better. “I think Phoenix bore the brunt of your mood swings.”
Reed snorted, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he asked, “Is he still bitching about that?”
“Reed, you drove over his foot,” I pointed out. I bit my lip to keep from giggling; the image of my mountain of a brother hopping around in pain had been funny at the time.
“It was an accident! And it didn't even do any real damage to his ridiculously large fucking clown feet.” Reed shook his head, then glanced at me. “Anyway. You hungry?”
“Starving,” I replied.
He cut me a glance. “You mind if we hit The Tavern? I told the guys I’d meet them there.”
I cringed internally. Yes, I was a bar snob, and I hated The Touchdown Tavern—the Sawyer brothers' favorite haunt. It was loud, greasy, and smelled of stale beer and body odour. Not exactly my scene. “That’s fine,” I teased. “I take it your health insurance is up to date?”
“Cute,” Reed shot back, a flash of the old, cocksure Reed returning.
I watched his profile as we merged onto the freeway. Even worn down by the NFL season and the grueling courtroom drama, Reed had navigated the trial with poise and strength—two of his many qualities.
Over the last few months, Reed had also launched The Sawyer Foundation.
It was a charity that raised money for children who were victims of neglect and abuse.
He had purposefully used his family name instead of the name he was famous for.
Reed wanted the charity to be about the kids, rather than his fame, and in just eleven weeks, it had raised over a million bucks.
Stretching my legs out, I rested my hand on Reed’s knee as we merged onto the freeway. My engagement ring caught the afternoon sun, casting a glitter of light across the dashboard. This one fitted my finger perfectly.
This time, I was going to do it right. There were no doubts, no darkness—just a man I intended to wake up with for the rest of my life.
We had kept all the best parts of our relationship alive, the memories of the fun times, and shelved the darker ones.
“You fancy going out on the bikes this afternoon? Blow off some steam,” Reed suddenly asked.
I grinned at him. After winning that motorcycle at the Save the Bay Charity Gala, Reed was teaching me to ride.
We now went out on our bikes most weekends when the weather was good.
I loved the sense of freedom it gave me, hitting the open road with my man by my side.
“Absolutely,” I replied.
Our world had finally settled into a rhythm that didn't feel like some crappy soap opera. I could be myself again. We were both living in my family home, but our weekends were now spent viewing properties near Newport, hunting for a place that would finally be ours.
Reed’s contract with the Rhode Island Patriots was now official, and his aggression on the field was under control.
No more headlines about locker room fights with the other players.
Reed had become the heartbeat of the team, and I’d become the woman who finally understood what being in a real, happy relationship felt like.
The toxic weight of the past was gone. Jasper and Theo had gone back to Connecticut, silenced by a gag clause and the shame of their own deceit.
Daddy could have destroyed them—nailed them to the wall—but he’d chosen mercy and forgiveness over drama and punishment.
Dominic Summers had paid a generous sum of money to buy out Theo’s side of the business, ensuring they could do no further damage to its future.
Giving Jasper his wedding ring back had felt like strolling out of a jail cell after a life sentence.
As far as our family and friends, everyone’s lives seemed to be so much more on track.
Ma Sawyer was planning a Christmas wedding with her partner. Hudson and Molly were finally buying their own place, and in recent news, I found out I was going to be an aunt. Harper was pregnant, and she and Phoenix couldn’t have been happier.
As for me, my work as a sports psychologist felt more vital than ever. I was spending more time with Alex, Nix’s half-brother, helping him iron out the creases of a troubled childhood. I had also started teaching psychology at the college where Hudson worked as a Coach.
After everything that happened with the arrangement with the Remmingtons, my mother and father had become closer.
Phoenix and I had relinquished our shares in Remmington Summers Consultancy, and Daddy had sold them as a bundle to one of the most respected board members, giving him more time to commit to his wife and other pursuits.
Daddy now spent most of his time on the golf course with Reed and Phoenix or with his wife on vacation.
To keep the coffers up, he occasionally undertook freelance work with his old company.
Everything was going in the right direction.
My hand tightened slightly on Reed’s knee. The four years we had been apart had been ugly, fraught, and painful, but something beautiful had grown from the wreckage. Reed and I decided not to dwell on those lost years anymore; instead, we used them as the foundation for the future we were building.
They say you don’t know what you’ve got until you’ve lost it. Well, I didn’t take a single breath for granted anymore.
And as for that future I mentioned. I couldn’t wait to see what the hell that looked like.
THE END