Epilogue - Emma
One Month Later
“Remember, the plié comes from here.” I place my hand on my lower abs. “Your core supports the movement. Not just your legs.”
A sea of faces watches me intently as I demonstrate, sinking into a grand plié with control. My ankle holds steady—no wobble, no sharp pain, just the dull awareness that it’s been through hell and survived.
Ten weeks post-surgery. Three weeks since I ditched the walking boot completely. And today marks the first class where I’ve demonstrated every single movement without modification.
It feels like victory.
“Now you try,” I tell the kids, moving along the barre to correct posture and hand positions. “Beautiful. Remember to breathe, everyone. The movement should feel natural, not forced.”
They move through the exercise and I watch with that same surge of pride I get every class. These kids have come so far in just a few months. And I got to be part of that.
The music ends and I clap my hands. “Excellent work, everyone. Same time next week?”
A chorus of “Yes, Miss Emma!” echoes back at me, and then they’re filing out, parents collecting them at the door with questions about recital costumes and fall intensives.
When the last one leaves, I grab my water bottle and the black leather cut draped over my bag. I shrug into it without thinking—as natural now as putting on shoes. The weight of it settles across my shoulders, familiar and grounding.
Property of Bones.
I catch my reflection in the mirror and smile. A month ago, putting this on felt like a declaration. Now it just feels like me.
I gather my things and lock up the studio, my phone buzzing with a text as I’m heading out.
Bones:
Outside. Got something for you tonight.
Me:
What kind of something?
Bones:
The good kind. Trust me.
I find him leaning against his bike in the parking lot, looking unfairly attractive in jeans and a faded t-shirt, his cut on. When he sees me, his eyes track to my cut and something in his expression softens.
“Hey, swan.”
“Hey yourself.” I reach him and he pulls me in for a kiss that’s probably too intense for a community center parking lot, but I don’t care. “So what’s this mysterious something?”
“You’ll see.” He hands me my helmet. “How was class?”
“Good. My ankle held up for the full hour.” I take the helmet, running my thumb over the glossy surface. “No pain, no swelling. I think I’m finally back to normal.”
“That’s my girl.” He swings his leg over the bike. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good. Because we’re making a stop first.”
I climb on behind him, settling into the familiar position—thighs pressed against his, arms wrapped around his waist. It still feels like a small miracle every time, being able to ride with him again after months of crutches and boots and careful mobility.
He starts the engine and the rumble vibrates through both of us. I rest my chin on his shoulder as he pulls out of the parking lot.
He takes the road out of town, heading toward the overlook. I recognize the route—this is the spot where you can see all of Stoneheart spread below, the place Bones used to come when he needed to think.
“Are we going to the lookout?” I ask against his ear.
He just revs the engine in response, and I smile against his shoulder.
The ride is perfect—cool evening air, the familiar weight of him in front of me, the freedom of movement after months of being careful. When we finally reach the overlook, I’m almost disappointed it’s over.
Bones kills the engine and helps me off, taking both our helmets and setting them on the bike. “Come on.”
I take his hand and let him lead me to the edge where the view opens up. Stoneheart spreads out below us in the early evening light—the downtown, the neighborhoods we fought for, Devil’s Bar, the community center where I teach.
Home.
The last month has been . . . complicated. The zoning victory should have felt complete, should have been the end of our fight with Summit. But then Josie’s accident happened, and reality set in hard.
I suspect Dad’s in love with her—but for some reason he’s not admitting it. Which means for now I get to watch and wait, smiling quietly while my big, fierce Dad suppresses his feelings behind grunts and gruffness.
He’s been at the hospital nearly every day, and the Club is rallying to make sure she has what she needs when she’s finally discharged.
But those are issues for another day. Tonight is for celebrating, despite the hard times.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, looking at the view.
“Yeah.” But when I glance at him, he’s watching me, not the town.
“Corny,” I tease, but my voice is soft and warm.
“Swan.” His expression shifts, serious now. “There’s something I want to give you.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. My heart stutters.
“I know I already gave you the cut,” he says, his voice a little rough. “Made you my old lady officially. But there’s something else. Something I’ve been planning since you decided to stay.”
He opens the box and I stop breathing.
It’s a ring. A gorgeous diamond ring with an intricate band that—when I look closer—has tiny swans engraved all around it with a small diamond in the body of each.
“Emma Armstrong,” Bones says, taking my hand.
“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old.
I’ve watched you leave and come back and leave again, and every single time, I told myself I’d wait as long as it took for you to realize what I already knew—that we belong together.
That you belong here, with me, in Stoneheart. ”
Tears are already streaming down my face.
“You chose to stay. Chose this life, this town, me. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving that was the right choice. So will you marry me, swan? Will you be my wife?”
“Yes,” I gasp, nodding frantically. “Yes, of course yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger and it fits perfectly. I stare at it through tears, at the swans circling the band, at the way it catches the light.
The way it looks like there might be a button . . .
“There’s a tracker in this, isn’t there?” I say, half-laughing, half-crying.
He grins. “Of course there is.”
“Bones—”
“But it’s different.” He takes my hand, showing me a tiny button on the inside of the band.
“It’s not me tracking you. It’s an emergency beacon that you control.
You’re in trouble, you press this, and I get your exact location.
But otherwise? It’s just a ring. I’m not watching you, not monitoring where you go.
I trust you, Emma. I trust that you’ll call if you need me. ”
I look up at him, this man who’s loved me through everything, who put a tracker in me because he was terrified of losing me, who’s learned to let go while still keeping me safe.
“Show me how it works,” I whisper.
He demonstrates the mechanism—a small button that’s flush with the band until you press it, sending an instant alert with GPS coordinates. Simple. Elegant. And entirely in my control.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I love it. I love you.”
“I love you too, swan.” He pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Always have. Always will.”
We stand there as the sun sets over Stoneheart, and I think about the girl who came home last Christmas—bruised, lost, running from a life that had stopped fitting. I thought Stoneheart was a detour. A place to catch my breath before going back to who I was supposed to be.
I was wrong.
This ring on my finger. This cut on my back. This man beside me. This town spread out below us like a promise kept.
I’m not the ballerina who left. I’m not the scared girl who got kidnapped. I’m not even the woman who let someone leave a tracker in her skin because she was too broken to ask for what she really needed.
I’m Emma Armstrong. Property of Bones. Daughter of Stone. Teacher, fighter, old lady. I’m a woman who loves this complicated, protective, infuriating man who’s never given up on me. I’m home.
“What are you thinking?” Bones asks.
“That I’m never running again.”
“Good.” He kisses me, slow and deep. “Because I’m not letting you go this time.”
We stay at the overlook until the stars come out.
Bones pulls out a small picnic he prepared for us, and we talk about the future.
About when we’ll actually get married (small ceremony, just family and club).
About whether we’ll stay in the apartment or find a house.
About Duck’s mayoral campaign and what comes next for Stoneheart.
But mostly we just hold each other and watch the lights of Stoneheart twinkle below.
This town that’s survived Summit’s attacks. This community that fought back and won. This home that’s worth protecting.
My home.
And as Bones’s arms tighten around me, the ring on my finger catching starlight, I feel it completely—that sense of rightness. Of being exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Not despite the danger or the complications or the ongoing fight.
But because of them.
Because for the first time in my life, I’m not running toward something or away from something.
I’m just here. Exactly where I choose to be.
Thanks for reading!
Why not dive into the next book in the Stoneheart MC Series with Evie Mitchell’s Blood & Stone featuring Stone and Josie -