Epilogue #2
"More than okay." Coin leans against the doorframe, and I notice the way his body angles toward her. Unconscious. Instinctive. "The girls like you. Sadie Jo's been talking about the time you let her listen to a heartbeat with your stethoscope for weeks."
"She was a good assistant." Leah's smile warms. "Very serious about the job."
There's a pause.
The kind of pause that means something.
The kind of pause that's thick with possibility.
"That's healing up nice," Leah says, nodding toward Coin's face. I follow her gaze and see the scar cutting through his eyebrow—still pink and fresh, maybe a month old.
Bar fight, I think.
Or maybe something with the club.
I don't remember the details.
"Yeah, well." Coin touches the scar self-consciously. "Doc at Ruby said I was lucky I didn't lose the eye."
"That would've been a shame." Leah's voice is light, teasing. "It's a nice eye."
Coin blinks. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. "Just the one?"
"I haven't decided about the other yet."
She's flirting.
My little sister is flirting with my friend, and Coin is flirting back, and I should probably feel some kind of way about that but I don't.
I just feel... hopeful.
Leah deserves happiness.
She's spent so many years taking care of everyone else—me, the patients at the hospital, the family she's slowly rebuilding with Vanna.
She deserves someone who sees her.
Someone who appreciates her.
Coin's a good man. The best kind of man. He'd treat her right.
I smirk to myself and keep walking.
Near the pool table, I spot Venus.
She's hanging back from the main party, nursing a drink, watching the room with an expression I can't quite read.
When she sees me looking, she straightens.
Sets her shoulders and walks toward me with purpose.
Here we go.
"Bloodhound." She stops a few feet away, chin lifted, eyes wary. "I wanted to—look, I'm not good at this shit, but I need to say something."
I wait. Give her nothing.
"I was out of line." The words come out stiff, practiced, like she's been rehearsing them. "With Vanna. The things I said, the way I acted when she came back—it wasn't right. I was hurt, and I took it out on her, and that wasn't fair."
"No," I agree. "It wasn't."
Venus flinches, but she doesn't back down. "I'm not asking for anything. I just—I'm glad she's okay. After what happened. I'm glad you got her back."
I study her for a long moment.
Venus has been part of this club for years.
She kept me company during the long, lonely stretch when Vanna was gone—not love, never love, but warmth.
Comfort. Something to hold onto in the dark.
She deserved better than what I gave her.
And Vanna deserved better than the way Venus treated her.
"Thank you," I say finally. "For saying that."
Venus nods once. Then she turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd, and I let her go.
Some wounds take time to heal. Some bridges take time to rebuild. But at least she's trying.
That's something.
It's late when the party finally winds down.
Wrenleigh has been sent home with Coin and a car full of presents.
The prospects are cleaning up, grumbling about balloon disposal and glitter that will probably never fully come out of the carpet.
I find Vanna on the back porch, sitting on the old swing, looking up at the stars.
"Hey." I settle beside her, and she immediately curls into my side, her head on my shoulder, her belly pressed against my hip. "You okay?"
"More than okay." She takes my hand and places it on her stomach, and I feel Waylon kick against my palm. Strong and steady. Alive. "I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"About how different everything is." She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of my hand. "A year ago, I was in that hospital bed, wondering if I'd ever get clean. If I'd ever stop wanting to die. And now..."
She looks up at me, and her eyes are wet but she's smiling.
"Now I have this. A family. A future. A son." Her voice breaks on the last word. "I never thought I'd get this, Garrett. I thought I'd end up like my mother. Dead in some trap house, alone and forgotten."
"Never." I cup her face in my hands, tilting her chin up so she can see the truth in my eyes. "I would never have let that happen. You were never going to end up like her, Vanna. You're stronger than she ever was."
"Because of you."
"No." I shake my head. "Because of you. All I did was hold on. You're the one who did the work. You're the one who fought. You saved yourself, Van. I just loved you through it."
She kisses me then—soft and sweet and tasting of the punch Aunt Ellie made.
When she pulls back, she's crying, but they're good tears. Happy tears.
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you too. Both of you."
I hold my wife in the quiet of the night, our son kicking between us, and I think about the journey that brought us here.
Twenty-two years.
That's how long I've loved this woman.
Through high school and marriage and addiction and separation.
Through trap houses and hospitals and a cabin in the woods where I became something I never wanted to be.
Some trails lead you through hell.
But sometimes, if you're lucky, they lead you home.
I found my home in her.
In the life we're building.
In the son who will carry our name into the future.
And I'm never letting go.