Epilogue
Jason
One week later
“How is it?” I ask, one hand on the wheel as I steer us onto the blacktop, the snow-covered canopy swaying above as the roadside drive-thru disappears in the rearview mirror.
He leans down to take the first bite of his burger and I smirk as he demolishes half of it in one go, the rest of his order balanced precariously on his camo-covered quads.
Seeing as the early-afternoon road is pretty clear, I glance across at him before we reach the next bend.
And Case meets my eyes with his, giving me the nod before getting back to his burger.
“Decent,” he tells me, finishing it off and grabbing a napkin, before checking the next bag in his lap and getting started on the fries.
When I picked Case up at the drop-off point a half hour ago, I didn’t even have to ask if he wanted a quick detour before bringing him home.
Between the two of us, we’ve got over thirty years in uniform, so we both know the drill for when you get back. You refuel, you say hey to your loved ones, and then, if you’re lucky, you sleep for a fucking week.
It depends on your last mission because some shit keeps you up for a while, but given the fact that Case had been in recovery for a week, I don’t doubt that he’ll be crashing out the second that he hits his sheets.
But seeing as he’s carefully jabbing at the radio buttons on the dash of my truck, he seems to be in pretty good spirits, and I hope it’ll stay that way while he’s back.
He finds a song that he likes – some rock-country thing that probably makes him think of Haven – and he settles back against the headrest, moving onto his hashbrowns while keeping a protective hand around the drinks.
When we pulled up at the drive-thru and the server asked what we wanted through the comms, Case had to repeat himself three times before she realised that he wasn’t kidding about wanting everything from the menu. And by ‘everything’, I’m being literal. He wanted one of each, with the only duplicate being the drinks, and the only reason for that is because one of them is for me.
But if my coffee spends one more second cuddling his dick, I’m going to be off of caffeine for the rest of my fucking life.
“You see that cup-holder?” I ask him, jerking my thumb at the circular space in front of the shift.
“Yeah?”
“Use it.”
A smirk touches his mouth but, after a moment, he deposits my coffee, flipping the cap off his own and then downing half of it in one go.
“That’s good,” he rasps quietly, before gulping down the rest of it and replacing the cap.
“Have mine, too,” I tell him automatically, because I remember what it was like to be in his shoes. To have had six months of tasteless meals that all went by in a rush because of the job, and then you get home from deployment and it’s like everything’s moving in slow-motion.
It’s why he’s getting through his food like it’s about to be taken away from him – he eats neat but fast, just like everyone else in the Army. Your perspective is so widened that only the highest stakes matter, and everything else is just peripheral until you get the gig done.
And always eat when you can, because you might need the energy sooner than you think.
“Thanks,” he says, reaching for it and taking a drink. But this time, as if he was just having the same thought that I was, he sips maybe a third of it and then just holds it in his hand.
Trying to remember how to savour it after six months of high-stakes rushing.
We stay in silence for a while, listening to the country song and watching the road, Case instinctively checking my mirrors every minute because old habits die hard.
What can be seen as paranoia to a civilian can save your ass when you’re a soldier, and I know that he’ll dial it down once he’s been back home for a couple of weeks.
“So,” he says slowly, shifting in his seat and flicking a glance at me, his thumbs hooking in the loops of his Army fatigues.
They’re clean and pressed, because they won’t be what he was wearing when he was out there, and they’re probably all he could get his hands on once they got him out of hospital.
“When did it happen?” he asks.
I glance over at him. “When did what happen?”
He looks out of the windshield and sighs, dragging his palm down his dark stubble. His cheekbones are as tanned as mine, and he looks like he’s been in the sun for six months straight.
And, judging by his silence, I understand exactly what he’s trying to ask me.
Sunday.
He’s asking me about Sunday.
“We started hanging out as soon as I knew she was back in town. And then I arranged stuff every week because I didn’t know if she planned to stay.”
Casey’s eyes bore into the side of my face, his expression serious. “Does she?”
I give him a look and he eventually recomposes, but I know that he’s secretly wanted Sunday to move back to Phoenix Falls for years now. Ever since she first told him that she was thinking of selling her bar, Case immediately started working on how to get her to move back.
And he’s going to tell her exactly what he did when they finally see each other today.
Case stares out of the windshield for a long moment, brushing his thumb against the coffee cup as we ride beneath the pines.
Then he takes another sip.
“We should head to the range,” he says. “Just the two of us.”
I don’t even bother sparing him a glance, chuckling quietly as I flick the indicator. “Good luck getting clearance on that with ten bandages around your biceps.”
He stretches out his big hands in his lap. “My trigger finger’s working just fine.”
I smirk at the blacktop ahead. “I bet it is,” I rumble.
“You. Me. A couple of guns.”
“And real good timing now that I’m dating your sister,” I say drily. “You want to show me just how accurate your shot is?”
“Just thought it might be worth reminding you.”
I chuckle and shake my head, and his cheekbone tics in amusement. We’re both only teasing, but I know he’s always been super protective about Sunday. Not growing up with a dad, and then losing Cash the way that they did, Case always tried to take on that mantle even though Sunday never would have asked that of him.
“I’m real good to her,” I tell him, my voice deep and rasping. Neither one of us wants to have this conversation but we might as well get it out of the way before he starts seeing me wrapping my arms around her. “I’m always going to be good to her. She’s always been the one for me.”
Case is quiet for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee.
“Remember that right-hook I gave you when she bunked school with you that time?”
I breathe out a chuckle. “Yeah.”
He nods to himself. “Well, I can still do that.”
I almost smile at that. “I don’t doubt it, brother.”
He claps a palm on my shoulder and I return the gesture to his gut, our non-verbal way of saying that everything’s good and there’s no animosity.
“Whose place are we heading to?” he asks, finishing the coffee and then dropping the drinks tray in the back.
Case doesn’t know that Sunday knows about him purchasing the bar, so he doesn’t suspect that it’ll be done up for his homecoming when we reach the town square.
I slide a look in his direction and rumble inconspicuously, “You’ll see.”
His ears pique at that, his body instantly on high alert. “Jace,” he says gruffly.
I up the speed. “We’re almost there.”
And in under ten minutes we’re pulling up at the town square, Casey’s brow furrowing deep with confusion as he scans the area, no homes in sight.
And then he sees the bar.
His eyes flash to mine.
“Sunday knows?” he asks immediately, but the nature of his job allows him to remain composed, having expected nothing but unpredictability and danger for the entire time that he was away.
“Not exactly,” I reply slowly. “And she only knows that you bought it because she found the paperwork at your place.”
“But she doesn’t know why,” he finishes for me, and I nod, my gaze fixed on the bar’s open door.
Even from here, it looks fucking beautiful – the outside polished and painted, with two new windows set on either side of the doors. It isn’t open for business yet but, after Case and Sunday have their impending conversation, I’m pretty sure it will be soon.
“Everyone’s in there?” he asks quietly, tugging off his seatbelt as I put the car in park, and I give him a nod as he glances over to me, knowing exactly what he’s feeling. The simultaneous combination of relief and pressure, gratitude and discomfort coursing like adrenaline through your muscles.
“It’s low-key,” I tell him, knowing that there’ll already be country music playing softly through the speakers, only his closest family members and friends resting against the booths and looking forward to seeing him. His mom, Sunday, Haven, Tucker…
He breathes deeply for a couple of long quiet beats and then clicks open the door handle, hunching down to step out from my truck.
I do the same and round the hood, leaning against the panel as I wait for him to straighten his uniform.
“Miss it?” he asks quietly, when he sees me taking in the fatigues.
I think about it for a moment. “Used to,” I admit. “But it’s different now.”
I’ve got Coleson Construction, a town that needs me, a crew on my payroll – and not to mention my voluntary search-and-rescue winters.
But, most importantly of all, I have my girl here with me.
And you couldn’t get me to leave that for anything in the world.
Case glances toward the bar, the white snow in the square a sharp contrast to his camo.
“You get used to it,” I tell him. “Civilian life’s gonna suit you.”
He’s got his wife and his kid, and a sister who’s going to freak out when he tells her the news.
He’s got his whole future ahead of him.
He swallows hard and nods, midway through closing the passenger door when he suddenly stops himself.
“Shit,” he curses quietly, something catching his gaze in the back of the truck. He looks over at me and grimaces. “You’re not gonna make me use that, are you?”
I glance toward the back window, seeing the crutch that the medical team want him using for the next week because, when he sustained injuries on his side, they also went down his leg and to his boot.
It’s hardly a surprise that Case doesn’t want to rely on a crutch, literally or figuratively. And seeing as I already made him show me his supposedly fucked-up foot I shake my head and he exhales with relief, making me laugh quietly as I clasp his uninjured shoulder.
His foot looks fine but I understand why the team want him taking precautions, although I’m pretty sure they only supplied the crutch in case one of his wounds reopens and he needs extra support.
“Let’s go, man,” I tell him, and then we trudge slowly across the lot – slower than usual because there’s still ice on the ground and Case can’t afford to slip when he’s just got his stitches.
“Is Haven in there?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I rumble, “but so’s your kid, so put it away.”
Case gives me a rough elbow to the ribcage, and I just chuckle, not returning the jab.
And in less than fifteen seconds we’re across the square and stepping onto the sidewalk, the open doors of the bar releasing the sounds of country music into the afternoon air.
“Shit,” Case mumbles again, swiping both of his palms over his dark hair and pushing it back, and I give him a firm clap on the back, silently assuring him that he can keep it together.
But before he can psych himself out, there’s suddenly a squeal in the bar, followed by the thunder of little footsteps and the excited shout of, “Daddy! Daddy!”
And then Case is slamming the door against the jamb and immediately storming over the threshold, everything forgotten as he sees his son and leans down to catch him as he lunges.
Tuck propels himself into Case’s embrace, hitting him on the good side as Case twists his injuries away from him, and then Case stands to his full height again, clutching his kid firmly against his shoulder.
And even though he’s upside down, Tuck manages to wrap his little arms around Casey’s neck, nuzzling up to him.
“Mama said you were gonna be home today,” Tuck whispers to him, smiling contentedly as he closes his eyes.
“Mama’s always right about everything,” Case replies, quiet enough that the other people in the room won’t hear him. I don’t think he’s even seen the people gathering around him yet, totally focused on his son as he splays his palm across his small back.
“You’ve been gone for months and months,” Tuck says softly, and Case shoots me a look, his expression composed but his heart breaking.
“Yeah,” Case rasps quietly. “But that won’t be happening again, okay? Papa had some important things to do, but he’s home now, and he’s staying.”
“You’re staying?” a gentle voice asks, and Case whips around, his chest heaving.
Sunday looks up at him, her eyes wide as she holds back her tears.
And Case shifts Tucker into a more secure hold over his shoulder, and then Sunday squeals as he drags her toward him, squeezing her tightly against his camo-covered chest.
“Yeah, little scoop,” Case murmurs. “I’m staying.”
Sunday’s shoulders shake as she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes.
And then she’s pulling back from her brother and blinking quickly up at him.
“How?” she asks breathlessly. “Did you get an honorary discharge? Did you quit?”
Case shakes his head, placing his free hand on her shoulder. “It’s been in the works for a while now. Knew I didn’t want to be away much longer.”
And then he carefully manoeuvres Tuck down from his shoulder, silently signifying exactly why Case thought it was time to leave.
Because he has a wife, and a kid, and he doesn’t want to let him grow up without his dad.
Casey went through that before Cash was in the picture and, even then, there was a lot of time without him. When you serve, it’s a way of life, and Case has been planning on leaving his post for a while now.
He was out there for a long time – he deserves to be with his family.
“You’ve been planning this?” Sunday asks, her eyes shimmering with hope as she looks up at him.
“For a couple years,” he rumbles quietly. “You know how long the procedures can be. Then this happened” – he gestures to his bandaged arm – “and, I mean, I guess the timing was pretty perfect. It was due to be my last mission anyway – why not get sent home a little early?”
“Casey,” Sunday sniffles, and Case smirks, pulling her in for another hug. “Is that why you bought yourself the bar?” she asks raspily. “Because you knew that you were going to leave the Army?”
Case looks down at her, searching her eyes.
“Kind of,” he says slowly. “I bought it because I knew I was leaving the Army. But you’ve got one detail wrong.”
“And what’s that?” Sunday giggles gently.
“I bought the bar for you.”
Sunday’s jaw drops to her boots and she lifts her hands to her cheeks, her eyes unblinking.
“You… you… what ?!” she exclaims, carefully moving one of her palms to touch his bandaged arm – cautious enough that he doesn’t even wince, just accepting the support and familial affection.
“I knew that you were thinking about selling the place in Nashville,” Case admits, “and I thought getting this place might be a decent incentive for you coming here. To run this bar, and come home.” He shrugs his good shoulder. “But it’s up to you.”
Sunday’s eyes search her brother’s, an amazed smile tugging at her lips as she shakes her head.
“You bought me a bar?” she whispers up at him, disbelievingly.
“I mean, it’s yours if you want it,” Case rumbles quietly, and then an almost-smile touches his mouth before Sunday bursts into laughter and pulls him into another hug.
“Oh, wait! Wanna see the name sign?” Sunday asks him, stepping back and gesturing to a wrapped board leaning against one of the booths behind her.
Case glances toward it, before taking a quick inventory of the space around us – the rich wood, the warm string-lights, and the smiling faces whose laughter is gently muffled beneath the country music from the speakers – and then he nods, leaning down for Tucker’s hand as they walk over to the table.
And before Sunday can try to lift it, I’m right behind her, heaving it up.
It’s fucking huge and the embossed timber weighs a tonne, and she spins around in the cage of my biceps, smiling teasingly up at me as I drop the large sign on top of the table.
I grunt quietly and wipe my palms down the sides of my jeans, before tugging her toward me and meeting her smile with mine.
“Enough of that,” Case says gruffly, but Sunday just laughs as she kisses my cheek.
“Open it,” Sunday says to him and, after hesitating a moment, he steps up to it.
He lifts Tuck onto the edge of the table and gestures for him to help him unwrap the paper, Tuck on the right side and Case working on the left.
And even though kids typically go wild for presents, Tuck still manages to control himself, tearing it little by little, matching each of his dad’s gentle rips.
I mean, Tucker’s face is literally going red with excitement, but he manages to rein it in, even though his little fists are genuinely vibrating.
I chuckle quietly at that.
He’s such a good kid.
Once the paper over the sign is torn from end to end, Case gives Tuck the nod of confirmation and they both ease it down to reveal the name underneath.
And, after staring at it for a moment, Case fucking loses it.
He keels slightly at the waist and covers his whole face with both of his palms, before swiping his arm out to grab Sunday and pulling her in for another hug.
“Are you fucking serious?” he says hoarsely, swiping the back of his forearm over his eyes.
“Of course I’m serious,” she laughs softly. “Even if it’s technically my bar now,” she adds on, a little-sister taunt in her eyes.
And a rough chuckle rumbles in his chest, his head shaking in awe as he stares down at the sign.
Hand-painted gold in gorgeous cursive.
Casey’s Bar.
“It’s too much,” Case says simply.
Sunday rolls her eyes, amused.
“Says the guy who literally bought me a bar. Besides, Haven helped me make it,” she adds with a wink, and at the mention of her name, Case is immediately looking around, searching for his wife.
And it takes all of five seconds for him to finally spot her, standing at the back of the crowd with her palms resting behind her on the bar.
Case lifts Tucker down from the table and takes his hand as he makes his way toward her, and then he’s standing in front of his wife, his body heaving as he looks down at her.
They talk quietly for a couple of seconds, the words inaudible beneath the soft guitar strings, but then he cups the back of her head, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek as Tucker looks up at them.
And then he whispers something in her ear that has her blushing pink as she peeks up at him.
I chuckle and turn around as I gather my girl against my chest, stroking my hand over her fluffy curls and exhaling contentedly.
“He’s too proud for a grand gesture, but I know that he loves it really,” she whispers happily. And I wrap my other palm around her hip, caressing her gently as the noise in the room picks up, voices and laughter joining in with the country music.
“He does,” I murmur back to her, heat spreading through my chest when she looks up at me.
And I dip down slightly so that I can reach her better and I kiss her softly as she wraps her arms around my neck.
My palm roams slowly around to her lower back, slipping under her baby blue thermal as she presses her body up against mine.
I grunt quietly as she strokes my stubble, and then she’s tugging my hand, leading me toward the front door.
I follow right behind her, my chest heaving as I close the small gap between us and, after she picks up something from one of the wall hooks, our boots are crunching through the snow.
A chuckle rumbles in my chest as she places the cowboy hat over her head, and I gently ease it back so that it doesn’t cover her beautiful eyes.
And then I realise which song is filtering out into the snow.
“This is the song that we danced to in Pine Hills,” I say quietly, and she nods her head, her fingertips stroking up the back of my neck.
“Yeah,” she whispers up at me, and heat flares in my abdomen as I sway her gently against my chest.
“And you’re wearing my hat,” I murmur, chuckling when she threatens to take it off. “Keep it on,” I tell her gruffly. “Looks better on you.”
I press a kiss to her cheek and she smiles shyly as my stubble rasps over her.
My hands slide down over her waist, and she pushes herself against me, making me groan.
“I love you,” she whispers happily, and my dimples flex, knowing that I’m never going to get enough of hearing her say that.
I chuckle quietly as I pull her closer, and then I kiss her lips, slow and sweet.
“I love you, too,” I rumble gently. “Always have. Always will.”