Epilogue - Jackson
Two weeks later.
Ever since my mom died, I don’t really get excited about my birthdays like I used to.
But Isaac insisted that I spend the day with the people who matter most to me, so now we’re all crowded in his living room—our living room—with plates balanced on our knees and torn wrapping paper kicked under the coffee table.
The red velvet cake he made is almost as good as my mom’s.
I told him that after I snuck a bite while we were alone in the kitchen cutting everyone’s slices, and he lit up like it was the best compliment I could give him.
I had admitted my mom’s cake was one of my favorite things about my birthdays growing up, so… yeah, I guess it was.
Isaac sits on the couch next to me, fork dangling from his fingers as he tells some exaggerated story of my attempt to install a new garbage disposal.
I can’t help that I want to be helpful and…good.
Erin laughs loud enough to have Bodie nudging her with his shoulder for disrupting the peace but instead ends up laughing with her.
My dad sits in the armchair closest to the TV, and I’ll admit it’s really fucking weird to see my dad inside Isaac’s home. Yeah, it’s ours now, but it’s still strange to see him really trying.
“Okay, okay,” Erin says between bites, pointing her fork at me as soon as Isaac’s finished with his story and I’m thoroughly blushing. “Don’t forget you have one more present to open.”
“You mean the text you sent me this morning wasn’t the gift?” I deadpan.
“The text was a warning,” she corrects, tucking hair behind her ear. “You need emotional preparation.”
Her text had buzzed my phone awake this morning a full hour before my alarm.
Erin: Happy birthday, bitch! Do NOT emotionally implode when I give you your gift, but get ready for Feelings Fiasco?. Hydrate and don’t look at Bodie for support since we both know he panics under pressure.
I’d read through it at least three times, trying to decide if I should be touched or concerned.
Possibly both.
Bodie snorts. “That means it’s terrible.”
“It means you’re an ass,” she fires back.
Dad chuckles into his cake, and for a second, I think I’m dreaming.
My dad just laughed?
Is this the dream or was the past half year a dream? Because it’s almost easy to believe this is how things have always been. No storms. No secrets. No missing people or long-lost brothers. No fear of falling, of a drop whispering lies about gravity and fate.
“Speaking of being an ass,” Erin says around a bite of cake. “Guess who I ran into yesterday.” When we all look at her expectantly, she answers, “Pierce Grant.”
The air in the room seems to shift. Bodie lowers his gaze to his lap, and a silence settles over us for a few seconds before my dad’s fork hits his plate a little too hard when he sets it down.
It’s a quick, metallic clink that rings through the otherwise quiet room until Erin speaks again, completely oblivious to the change.
Everyone knows the truth about what happened, but Erin’s never really had much of a filter.
“It wasn’t dramatic or anything. He was just outside the pharmacy. And honestly? I kind of felt bad for him.”
Bodie looks up and raises a brow. “For Pierce?”
“I know,” she says with a shrug. “He’s an asshole. But I guess I feel sorry for him that his dad was an even bigger dick than he is and now he’s gone. It’s gotta be hard.”
“I think it is hard for him,” I agree. “He actually apologized to me a couple weeks ago.”
Everyone’s eyes land on me.
Even Isaac turns his head a little, like he’s hearing it for the first time even though he already knows. Maybe he’s surprised I’m actually okay with talking about it at all.
Erin blinks. “Pierce apologized?”
“Yeah,” I say, picking up a scrap of wrapping paper off the cushion beside me and letting it flutter to the floor to join the rest. “I think losing people we care about changes all of us, but…I don’t know. I think there’s something more to it for him.”
There’s a beat where no one says anything. Then Bodie’s gaze flicks toward my dad, and it’s almost a…scowl. Dad meets it, his more of a frown. It’s a small contact, barely a breath of a moment, but I see it. Something passes between them. Something I’m not meant to catch.
My dad clears his throat. “Well, that’s…good to hear he might be trying to turn over a new leaf.”
Bodie’s foot taps twice on the floor before he stills it. “People surprise you, I guess.”
Erin claps her hands suddenly, unaware of the undercurrent. “Okay! Present time again. Open mine before I explode.”
Everyone laughs, even Dad, and the warmth seeps back into the room.
But the look between Bodie and my father lingers in the back of my mind like the afterimage of lightning burned into the sky—not bright enough to understand the meaning of but impossible to ignore.
But I guess I have to.
Erin grabs the last wrapped box off the coffee table and hands it to me with a beaming smile she can’t seem to control. It makes me a little nervous all over again.
The second the paper tears enough for me to glimpse the worn floral pattern of an old hardcover cookbook, something inside me trips and stumbles. My throat tightens as I carefully rip the rest of the paper off.
The cover is faded from years of kitchen steam and sunlight, but my mother’s handwriting still stands out in the center.
Ellis Family Favorites.
The room goes fuzzy around the edges as my eyes sting.
“I found it in one of Bodie’s boxes of old books,” Erin says softly, suddenly less smug and more gentle. “He probably accidently took it home with his homework one day or something because he’s a doofus like that. A loveable one, of course.”
“I didn’t know I still had it,” Bodie says, sounding genuinely stricken. “I swear, man. If I’d realized—”
I shake my head before he can finish, still staring down at the book. “It’s okay. Really. I just…”
As I thumb through the pages, my breath catches when I see all the notes left in the margins. Little scribbles in her handwriting.
Add more cinnamon.
Jackson approved.
Too spicy for Bodie.
My laugh breaks halfway out, wobbly and uneven.
“The recipe for your mom’s red velvet is in there.” Erin’s gaze snaps to Isaac, a perfectly angelic smile on her face. “Not that this isn’t absolutely delicious, Professor Kendall.”
Isaac chuckles before he slides his hand to my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze to ground me. I peer up at him, and his beautiful, bright smile helps to steady me further.
“We can make some of these?” I ask, trying and failing to keep my voice from trembling.
“Of course we can,” he says. “We’ll make them all if you want.”
Around us, wrapping paper lies scattered like confetti. My dad pretends he’s not watching me too closely while Bodie and Erin hover, waiting to see if I’m okay.
And I am. I’m better than okay.
“Thank you, Erin,” I tell her. “I know I’m not supposed to say what my favorite gift was out loud, but…”
She winks. “Told you emotional preparedness was required.”
I clutch the cookbook to my chest like I’m holding a piece of my mom.
And now I get to share her with Isaac.
I think she would’ve loved him too.
The house is finally quiet as Isaac and I carry the last few dirty dishes into the kitchen, frosting smeared across the rims of ceramic plates and forks balanced precariously on top of the stack. I set everything on the counter and glance out the window above the sink without really meaning to.
Everyone just left, but Bodie and my dad are still standing at the end of the driveway between Erin’s Nissan and my dad’s BMW.
Bodie is rigid, his shoulders squared, his hands cutting through the air as he talks.
My dad faces him, jaw tight, responding in a clipped way with his head bowed like he’s worried someone might hear.
Whatever it is makes Bodie’s mouth twist in a way that sits strangely on his usually carefree face.
He snaps something back, short and angry, then turns away like he’s done with the whole conversation.
I’m pretty sure I could count the number of times I’ve seen Bodie that mad on one hand. And probably not even use all my fingers.
He stalks to the passenger side of Erin’s car and yanks the door open. He drops inside where Erin’s already waiting behind the wheel and slams the door hard enough that the sound carries even through the closed window.
My dad lingers where he is, watching them drive away. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, then turns for his own car. When he finally drives off, his taillights disappear faster than usual.
I frown at the empty street through the window, a knot forming low in my stomach. I don’t know what I just saw, but I know it wasn’t nothing.
Isaac steps up beside me and turns on the water in the sink. The familiar sounds of the running tap and the clinking of ceramic pull me back inside. I pick up one of the dirty plates and a sponge, still distracted.
“Do you think something’s going on between Bodie and my dad?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the suds as I start scrubbing.
Isaac is quiet for a beat, contemplating. He dries the plate I hand him and sets it carefully in the rack.
“Your father and I are still on rocky ground as it is,” he finally says. “So I’m staying out of it.”
I let out a short, breathy laugh and nod, even though that does nothing to untangle this weird feeling twisting around in my gut.
A comfortable silence settles between us as we stand shoulder-to-shoulder while I wash the dishes and he dries them.
I try to distract myself from whatever the fuck I just witnessed by glancing over at my cookbook that sits on the counter like it’s always belonged here.
Just like the few nutcrackers that Isaac let me put on top of the cabinets. It all makes me smile.
After we finish with the dishes, Isaac dries his hands on a towel, then turns toward me with that look that always makes my heart flutter—equal parts fondness and something a little darker and deeper.