Epilogue
LINA
As the sun rays catch on the snow-covered grass, a wave of sparkling light dances before me.
The amber glow does nothing to fight off the freezing temperatures, but it warms my face somewhat, which is why I stand here every morning to catch the sunrise, a heavy coat warming me, a cup of coffee in my hand.
Steam rises from the mug and I take a sip, the hot liquid slipping down my throat. A squeak of the screen door disturbs the silence, but I don’t mind it. Arms slide around my waist, and I smile, looking down at the hands holding me, the silver band on his finger.
“Morning.” Guy’s voice rumbles through me, always so deep in the early hours, and I smile.
“Is it?” I ask. He takes my coffee and sips it, looking out across our land. “Want to go for a ride today?”
This isn’t how we usually start our mornings. Usually, we’re in the stables at the crack of dawn, or chopping wood to stock up for the winter that’s already on us. But today, Guy looked so peaceful, I didn’t wake him.
We married on Christmas Eve, a year almost to the day that I turned up on his doorstep with a basket of mini muffins.
It was a small ceremony with his family, and Alistair came for me.
We spent four months travelling with Fox, singing in the RV, taking photographs at tourist spots, Guy grinning into the camera while I kissed his cheek.
Then, we found this place, and we bought it.
We’re thirty minutes from Ella and Gable, so every Friday night is family dinner. If we’re not babysitting, then every other day is for us. Sometimes, I make Guy dance with me, even though he’s terrible. Sometimes, we’ll spend all day in bed.
Our life is day to day.
It’s everything we wanted.
“Yeah,” he says, resting his chin on my head. “Let’s go for a ride.”
We saddle up, and we ride the horses through the snow. By streams and beautiful views. We talk about dinner, about going to town for supplies at some point, about Thanksgiving which isn’t too far away.
Then, when we’re home, Guy pulls me into the shower.
Under the spray of hot water, he buries himself deep into me, and it’s perfect like always. I shudder and come apart, clinging to him like he can save me from a life I’ve already survived.
Then, we lay tangled in covers, watching movies. I tease him for probably being around when John Wayne was. He tells me if I’m not careful, he’ll spank my ass raw. I say not to threaten me with a good time.
And then he falls asleep.
I stay up reading, the bedside lamp my only light, and look down at the glimmer of the scar on my shoulder. I’ve been shot five times now, and I can only hope it never happens again, because it haunts me.
Everything about that night does.
We’ve seen Silence since, and she told me she doesn’t blame me, but that doesn’t really matter, because I blame myself.
I won’t admit it out loud, but when I look in the mirror, I see the shadows in my eyes, ones that grow in the quiet moments when I’m being fed upon by a conscience I thought I didn’t have.
I close my book, switch out the light and cuddle into Guy. He smells like pine. Clean, and strong, and masculine. Tears tickle my lashes, but I’m smiling, and I hope I never take this feeling for granted.
Safety.
Happiness.
Love.
“Love you, Lina Fox,” Guy whispers.
My smile grows. “Love you, Chief.”