Epilogue
Finn, four months later
It’s my birthday.
Which I know because Chloe has announced it seventeen times since breakfast and also because there’s a hand-drawn banner hanging over the kitchen table that says:
HAPY BIRTDAY FINN
It’s done in a rainbow of pink shades because—according to Rhodes—she couldn’t decide which was my perfect color of pink, so had made sure to use them all.
She’s still a total sweetheart.
And anyway—
I turn to Rhodes, running my fingers through his beard. “I know you helped color my banner.”
He grins, brushes his lips over mine. “Well, pink is my favorite color.”
“Obviously.” I gesture to the photographs that line the living room wall. In most of them Rhodes is rocking his glitter-covered, eye-wateringly bright pink shirt.
And it’s not just because Chloe made it for him.
“I think we should get you a different shirt.”
“I thought you liked pink sparkles,” he protests.
“I love them—and you in them. But look”—I nod at the photographs again—“you need some variety.”
“Pink variety?”
“Maybe.”
I snag the bag I stashed next to the couch, hand it to him. “Okay, definitely.”
He takes it, but he’s frowning. “It’s your birthday, Stitch.”
“Think of this as more of a present for me.”
His frown doesn’t disappear, but he pulls out the tissue paper.
Then the shirt.
The pink shirt.
“You weren’t kidding about the pink,” he says lightly, holding it by the shoulders and letting the fabric unfurl. He eyes flick down…and he freezes. “What the—”
Then the best thing ever happens.
He starts laughing. Loudly.
“What’s so funny, Daddy?” Chloe asks, skipping into the room wearing a sparkly pink dress, Pear and Olive trailing behind her.
“I gave him our shirt,” I say, scooping her up and peppering kisses all over her face.
She giggles. “Did he like it?”
“What do you think?”
Rhodes has stopped laughing…but only because he’s tugging it over his head and smoothing down the front.
Which is emblazoned with—
Cat Mom
And below that? A screen print of Olive and Pear dressed up like two queens, complete with crowns, scepters, and fur-trimmed robes.
“This is epic,” he exclaims.
“It was Finn’s idea, Daddy!” she says, squirming out of my arms and dancing around, Olive and Pear dancing through her legs.
“You helped,” I say, ruffling her hair.
“Yep.” A nod. “I sure did.”
“I knew my two girls were the best,” Rhodes says, snagging her hand and spinning her around. I watch them for a moment before my gaze is drawn back to the wall and the picture I just hung up.
It’s of the three of us.
And the kittens.
Of course the kittens.
Now it hangs next to one of Chloe and Anna.
And another of Chloe covered in flour after she and I undertook a failed muffin experiment.
And one of Rhodes and Chloe at the rink—both wearing Eagles jerseys.
I took it from outside the rink…because my Skating Skills are still under development.
Rhodes’s braiding ones are top tier, though.
I straighten the frame gently, step back and rub my hand over my chest.
It aches.
But not because I’m sad. Rather, it’s because I’m filled to the brim with so much happiness sometimes it’s difficult to bear, to trust in, to believe.
But that’s okay, Rhodes is right there with me.
Being brave.
In his Cat Mom shirt.
“Finn?”
I glance over, see that Chloe has given up dancing long enough to bring my present over to me. She’s clutching the gaily wrapped little box in both hands—
And looking nervous.
Unusual for my brave, opinionated girl.
“Hey, honey.” I crouch down. “What’s up?”
“I made this for you.”
My heart melts on the spot.
I take the box carefully. “Thank you, baby.”
“You have to open it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute then rip at the paper, pull off the lid, and…
Feel my heart threaten to overflow.
Because sitting on a layer of pink tissue paper is a homemade bracelet. The beads are mismatched (and mostly pink), threaded onto a bright pink pipe cleaner—
And when I turn it over, I see what she’s spelled out.
MOMMY
Everything inside me goes still.
“Oh, Chloe.”
My voice breaks on her name and I look over at her.
She’s biting her lip now, watching me too closely.
“Are you sure, honey?” I whisper. “You don’t have to call me Mommy if you don’t want to.”
Her face scrunches like I’ve asked something obvious. “You already love me like a mommy does.”
And, God, this kid is killing me.
She shrugs one shoulder. “Plus, Dad said I can have two moms if I want. My mommy in heaven and my mommy on earth.”
That does it.
Tears spill free before I can stop them.
I set the bracelet down long enough to take her face in my hands.
“Then I’d love to be your mommy,” I whisper. “As long as you’ll be my daughter too.”
She nods hard once.
Then throws herself at me.
I catch her and hold on with everything I have.
Because I didn’t know my heart could exist outside my body—not until this child handed mine back to me with a beaded bracelet and a name I will never take lightly.
She pulls back first, sniffling but grinning.
Then she turns toward the family room like she’s waiting for something.
Suspicion flares through me.
“Chloe—”
And then I see him.
Rhodes steps close, holding my gaze so steadily my pulse kicks up, fluttering through my veins like a butterfly.
Because there’s something in his expression.
Something warm and terrified and brave.
He comes even nearer…then slowly lowers himself onto one knee.
My breathing hitches. “Rhodes,” I whisper.
“Finn.” He takes my hand, strokes his thumb over my knuckles once. Twice. And his voice, when it comes, is rougher than usual. “You walked into our house and somehow made it a home again.”
My fingers convulse.
He strokes my knuckles again, soothing, gentle, mine. “You love Chloe with so much joy, Stitch, and you love me in a way I can never dream of deserving—”
“You deserve it.”
His smile is gentle. “Maybe. But, baby, I need you to know that you stitched yourself into the shape of our lives so quietly, so beautifully, I don’t think Chloe and I ever stood a chance of being whole without you.”
A tear slips down my cheek.
He notices.
Of course he notices, reaching up to wipe it away.
“I love you, Finley.
“Finn,” I correct automatically.
A grin. “Finn, Finley,” he amends. “And I love the life we’re making—the bright pink, blanket-making, demon-cat-filled, beautiful life we somehow managed to build out of pieces neither of us expected to have.”
My laugh comes out watery.
“So, since Chloe’s going to call you Mom”—he pulls a ring from his pocket, holds it up—“will you let me call you wife?”
I don’t even pretend to think about it.
“Yes!”
Chloe squeals.
Rhodes laughs, the sound full of joy, as he slides the ring onto my finger.
Then he stands and kisses me.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
Deeply.
Like I matter.
Like I’ll always matter.
And I don’t have to be brave to know it.
When we pull apart, Chloe wedges herself between us. “Now we’re a real family,” she announces.
Rhodes and I look down at her.
Then at each other.
And there it is again—the overwhelming, humbling certainty that the best things in life aren’t the safest ones.
They’re the patched-together, hand-stitched, hard-won ones.
The kind made from lots of different pieces, every square a part of something special.
And together—
They form something so beautiful…
It will carry us into forever.
Storm
I tug at the black tie around my neck, hating the many pairs of eyes on me as I walk down the aisle and sit in the front row of the church.
It’s a bright day, sunshine pouring in through the stained-glass windows to send rainbows of color scattering this way and that.
Reminding me that Fate has a fucked-up sense of humor.
Norm Harrison was about as far from sunny as a person could get.
He was the brutal violence of lightning storm, the lashing wind of a hurricane, the destruction of an earthquake…
And now he’s gone.
Dead.
Right there on his front porch, beer bottle clutched tight even in death, his face screwed up, prepared to yell at anyone who dared tread too close to his lawn.
Well, the last I don’t know for certain, since I wasn’t here, but I’d bet my life on it.
Because that was my dad.
“About time you showed up.”
I go stiff and look at my brother. He’s similarly clothed in a dark suit and tie, his face and muscled body almost a mirror of mine—though where my eyes are gray, his are green, and where my hair falls into my eyes with that trademark hockey flow, his is contained, neatly corralled into an appropriate style for church.
“I’m here.” I jerk my chin toward the closed casket. “He doesn’t deserve even that much.”
“Pot meet kettle,” Rain mutters. “Since you’re doing your best to be exactly like him.”
Rage flashes through me in a hot wave, so intense, so all-consuming that I jerk toward him, that I barely remember I’m in a fucking church, that I’m not on the ice where I’ll just get five minutes in the box for beating up this asshole.
My brother.
But still an asshole.
Clenching my teeth together, I look forward again, watching as the priest moves to the lectern and begins talking about my father like he wasn’t the asshole everyone in this town knew he was.
Cedar Hollow is the quintessential small town located in the foothills of the nearby mountain range.
A destination for tourists with its quaint streets and riverfront location—snow in the winter, apples in the fall, tulips in the spring, rafting in the summer—on its surface, it’s a great place to grow up.
Except when one’s father is Norm Harrison.
“…and now I’d like to welcome anyone who would like to share a few words about Norm to come up.”
The silence that follows…well, yup, Fate has a great fucking sense of humor.
Rain sighs from next to me, and I don’t bother to look at him.
There’s no way I’m going up to that mic and saying anything that’s remotely close to good.
Something he clearly gets, having grown up in that house.
But my brother is the responsible one, the good one—