Epilogue #2
“Okay, everyone, time to head outside. The food’s almost ready,” Chase’s mom, Sophia, calls, ushering people out the back of the house. I turn around, looking at the untouched platters of hors d’oeuvres Rory and I have created, then slump and groan.
Chase wraps his arm around my waist and starts walking with me to the back door as I see Rory stuffing her face full of the pint-sized croutons with our smoked salmon salad construction on top. I guess if no one else is eating our creations, Rory may as well.
Chase threads our fingers together as he leads me outside into the garden, the one space in this whole world that feels entirely mine. The air is warm with that early dusk glow, everything soft at the edges, gold brushing the tops of the hedges as the sun begins its slow descent.
This place is more than a backyard. It’s my sanctuary.
When I moved in, Chase handed it over without hesitation, told me to make it whatever I needed it to be. So I did. I poured myself into it, every corner, every bloom, every color. And now, stepping onto the stone path that curves around the pool house, my chest swells with something quiet and full.
Flowers bloom in deliberate chaos along the edges, their colors a living tapestry that winds through the garden.
Chinese carnation bushes reach up with unapologetic vibrancy, dotted among clusters of filler blooms I’d picked for their softness and scent—lavender and alyssum—each tucked into the spaces between the larger plants.
The decking is edged in wild beauty, petals catching the breeze and tumbling gently toward the pool.
And of course, Doughnut is here, mouth full of my poor roses, chewing with zero remorse as his short little tail twitches behind him. I sigh, but it’s fond, not frustrated. That goat’s got more personality than most people I know.
Rip stands near the edge of the deck, his arms folded, his expression unreadable in the fading light.
Autumn, his Old Lady, is tucked beside him, radiant in her quiet strength, a beer dangling loosely in her hand as she talks with another one of their Defiance brothers.
The LA Defiance MC has a presence that can’t be ignored—cut from steel and shadow, yet somehow still part of this warm, peaceful space.
Their loyalty radiates from every glance, every nod, every quiet watchful second.
They belong here, in this moment.
They are family.
Even if Chase’s suit-and-tie crew inside is probably losing their minds trying to figure out why a goat is trotting across a perfectly manicured yard, bleating at a man who may or may not be carrying a gun tucked under his leather.
But that’s the beauty of this life.
Of our life.
It’s messy and mismatched and wild in all the right ways. It’s floral serenity tangled with iron loyalty. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel caught between two worlds.
I feel grounded.
Rooted.
Home.
Petey comes running past as Polly screeches out from his cage inside so loudly we can hear him. “Rawrr… feed me, feed me.”
Everyone turns as the sun sets and the overhead lanterns turn on.
Tiki torches light the yard, giving it a Hawaiian feel.
I love how unique our place is. Sophisticated like Chase and a little bit boho like me.
Chase drags me through the crowd to the front of the deck, where Mom, Dad, Clef, and Aria are sitting, drinking away like they’re ready for a good time.
My family hasn’t all been together since Chase surprised me a year ago, so it’s nice to have them back here again for tonight, even if it’s only one night.
They’re all dressed like the rockers they are, while all of Chase’s business friends are in more professional attire.
It’s a real clash of lifestyles, but I like how we’re integrating society here tonight.
Dax walks up to us sans Candy, and he smiles at Chase. “You ready, big man?”
Ready? Ready for what?
Chase nods. “Let’s get this party started.”
Dax lets out a loud whistle, gaining everyone’s attention, especially Rory’s, as she practically drools over him. He winks at her, but she scrunches her face up in mock disgust and flips him the bird for no reason.
Dax takes an overly dramatic bow as everyone cheers. “Welcome, ladies and germs, to the first annual Ego Star Promotion’s everyone gets together and gets shit face—”
“Networking!” Chase yells, interrupting Dax, who chuckles.
“I stand corrected, ladies and germs. Welcome to the first annual Ego Star Promotions Networking…” he turns and winks at me, “… dinner. This thing’s been brewing for months.
The whole point is to drag all the big egos into one room, stir the pot, and cook up something none of the suits can fuck with.
We get the best minds in one place, and Ego Star doesn’t just level up, we turn up the heat so hot that no one’s dumb enough to challenge. With the minds in this room—”
“We’re outside, idiot,” someone calls from the back, and the crowd breaks into laughter.
Dax throws his hand up. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Good to know the industry’s finest can still identify a patio.
” He lifts his glass, not missing a beat.
“Anyway, point is, with all the talent and bad decisions standing in this yard tonight, we might actually be able to pull off something decent. Build real connections, toss out the bullshit, and turn Ego Star Promotions into a powerhouse. One that doesn’t chew people up and spit out sad cover bands.
” He grins wide. “So unless you just came for the free booze and bite-sized snacks, raise your glass and let’s fucking do this!
” He throws his arms in the air like he’s just dropped the mic in a sold-out stadium.
And there’s nothing but crickets.
A few polite nods.
Maybe a scattered chuckle.
But definitely not the rowdy, rockstar-level applause Dax was clearly gunning for.
He scoffs loud enough for everyone to hear. “Tough crowd.”
I snort into my drink as Chase steps forward, easing out of my grasp and moving in to save Dax from his own crash and burn.
“What my unfiltered marketing genius is trying to say…” Chase offers smoothly, “… is thank you for being here. Connect. Collaborate. And hopefully, together, we can turn Ego Star Promotions into a label that works better for all of us.”
Dax mutters under his breath, throwing his hands up again. “Which is exactly what I fucking said… only with gusto and enthusiasm, for fuck’s sake.”
Everyone chuckles as the crowd starts to turn away, heading off for their networking, but Dax coughs, clearing his throat once more. “There’s just one more matter of business we need to attend to.”
I tighten my hold on Chase’s arm, my voice a breath caught in the moment. “There is?”
He shifts beside me, rolling his shoulders with a practiced ease that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The buzz of conversation fades into a strange kind of hush, all eyes swinging toward us again, only this time, it’s not awkward.
It’s expectant.
Then, the first notes drift into the air.
My pulse trips. It takes less than a second to recognize the soft, haunting chords of “Walking Away” by Unspoken. The song pours out through the speakers, subtle at first, curling through the air like smoke, wrapping around me until I’m swallowed whole by memory.
My throat tightens.
It’s that song.
The one I sang in a dimly lit karaoke bar on a night that cracked me open. The song that held every broken truth I couldn’t say to Chase with words. A confession wrapped in melody. A plea. A love letter.
My knees go a little weak as he turns to face me fully.
The world around us fades to the background, just noise and faces I no longer register.
Clef lets out a sharp whistle, and I catch a glimpse of him and Aria exchanging knowing looks and quiet laughter, but my focus is locked on the man in front of me.
Chase steps in closer. My heart hammers frantically in my chest. I don’t understand what’s happening, why everyone is watching, why this moment suddenly feels so monumental.
My brain scrambles to keep up, but nothing makes sense except the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m the only thing that matters.
His hands find mine. Warm and steady with a strength that keeps me grounded. His fingers thread through mine with the kind of intent that carries weight, the type that doesn’t allow escape.
Then I see it, behind the fire of his confidence, behind the smooth edges he usually wears like armor, something raw and vulnerable flickers in his gaze.
Fear.
Not the kind that makes you run. The kind that makes you leap, even though the ground might not be there to catch you.
And that’s when my breath snags in my throat.
Because if Chase is scared, then this is real.
This is big.
“Chase, what’s wrong?” The words barely leave my lips, a whisper caught somewhere between confusion and the sharp sting of dread. My throat tightens as I search his face for answers, already bracing for something I don’t want to hear.
His chest rises with a heavy inhale. He doesn’t look at me. Just shakes his head slightly, the way someone does when they’re holding something too big, too important. “Just let me get through this, okay, Starlight?”
Starlight.
God, the way he says it, soft and pleading, not teasing the way he usually does, makes my pulse jump into a sprint, and a sliver of panic slices through me.
I take a step in, breath caught in my lungs. “Jesus Christ, Chase…” my voice cracks, “… a-are you sick?”
He flinches, closing his eyes for a second too long. His jaw clenches, as if the question physically hurts to hear. That alone sends alarm bells ringing through every inch of me.
No. No, no, no!
I press the back of my hand to his forehead. He’s warm. Too warm. Damp with sweat at his hairline, and my stomach turns. My heart starts pounding erratic and wild.