Epilogue Two
EPILOGUE TWO
Colt
"Dad, where are my cleats?" Jake hollers from his bedroom. His voice cracks mid-sentence, a reminder that my baby boy is growing up faster than I'm ready for.
"Check under your bed." I shout back, knowing full well he won't find them there. I spotted them in the hallway last night and tucked them into the shoe rack by the front door. "Actually, I put them away. Front door."
The frantic sounds of Jake's rummaging stop. At eleven years old, my son is the spitting image of me, dark hair, perpetually untamed, and the same brooding eyes my mother always said could get me out of trouble as quickly as they got me into it.
I check the time on my phone and sigh. Sarah will be here in twenty minutes to pick him up, and my apartment feels emptier already. Two weekends a month and Wednesday evenings just isn't enough. Even when we're bickering about homework or his obsession with video games, I'd rather have him here than anywhere else.
My phone buzzes with a text from Nolan.
N: Did you text her yet?
I roll my eyes. He's been hounding me about texting the real estate agent, but I've been nervous.
Three dots appear.
N: You're being a pussy. Text her. She's a great real estate agent and you need a real house if you're going to convince the court to give you more custody.
I hate when he's right. My apartment is fine for the current arrangement, but if I want more time with Jake, which I desperately do,I need more space. A room that's actually his, not a pullout sofa in what passes for my home office.
C: Fine. I'll text her. Now leave me alone.
Jake appears in the living room, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Dad, can I have ten bucks for lunch?"
I pull out my wallet, handing him a twenty. "Don't get junk."
He grins. "Thanks."
My fingers hover over my phone again after Jake returns to his room. Is this really the right move? I have to focus on Jake, and focusing on Jake means getting a house that we can both be in.
It's just real estate.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I tap out a message to the number on the napkin.
C: Hi Mackenzie, this is Colt Matthews. Nolan King gave me your number. I'm looking to buy a house and could use some help if you're taking new clients.
I press send and immediately toss my phone onto the couch like it's burning my hand. What the hell am I doing?
"Dad. Mom's here early." Jake calls out, and I hear a knock at the door.
Sarah stands in the doorway, blonde hair pulled back in the same severe ponytail she always wore when we were married. Her expression is neutral,we've been doing this long enough now that the raw edges have worn smooth.
"Hey," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "He's just grabbing his stuff."
"How was he this weekend?" she asks, and we fall into the same choreographed conversation we always have,homework, soccer practice, his ongoing war against vegetables.
Jake appears with his duffel bag. "Got everything," he announces.
I ruffle his hair and pull him in for a quick hug. "See you Wednesday, bud. Love you."
"Love you too, Dad."
And then they're gone, and my apartment is too quiet again.
My phone buzzes from the couch. Probably Nolan, checking to see if I've texted Mackenzie yet. When I pick it up, though, I'm surprised to see her name on the screen instead.
M: Hi Colt. Nolan mentioned you might reach out. I'd be happy to help you find the perfect house. Are you looking in any specific neighborhoods?
She responded so quickly, I wonder if she was waiting for my text. Did Nolan tell her I'd be contacting her? Knowing him, he probably sang my praises while simultaneously making me sound like a charity case.
C: I need something with at least three bedrooms in a good school district. I'm trying to get more custody of my son, and my current place isn't cutting it.
I hesitate before adding, Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.
Her response comes almost immediately.
M: I completely understand. Finding the right home for you and your son is important. Would you be available to meet sometime this week to discuss your needs in more detail? We could grab coffee or lunch and talk through some options.
Something about her message eases the tension in my shoulders. No judgment, no pity,just straightforward professionalism.
C: Lunch tomorrow at Get Baked? Say 1:00?
I suggest, naming the café down the street from the hardware store.
M: Perfect. See you then.
I set my phone down and look around my barren apartment. The walls are still the same sterile white they were when I moved in a year and a half ago. No photos, minimal furniture. I've been living like I'm just passing through, waiting for my real life to start again.
Maybe it's time it did.
Get Baked is crowded when I arrive the next day, the lunch rush in full swing. I scan the tables, looking for someone who might be Mackenzie, though I realize I have no idea what she looks like. Nolan never mentioned, and I didn't think to ask.
"Colt?"
I turn toward the voice and find myself face to face with a woman with copper-colored hair that falls in soft waves around her shoulders. She's smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that suggests she does it often.
"Mackenzie?" I extend my hand, and she takes it. Her grip is firm, confident.
"That's me. I grabbed us a table in the back." She gestures toward a quiet corner. "I hope that's okay."
I follow her through the crowded café, noticing the way she navigates between tables with easy grace. She's wearing a simple navy blazer over a white blouse, professional but not stuffy. When we reach the table, I see she's already set out a folder and a tablet.
"I took the liberty of pulling some listings that might interest you," she says as we sit. "Nothing too specific until I know exactly what you're looking for, but I wanted to give you an idea of what's available in your price range."
"My price range?" I raise an eyebrow. "I don't remember discussing that yet."
She laughs, a warm sound that seems to fit perfectly in the bustling café. "Nolan might have mentioned a ballpark figure. Don't worry, he didn't divulge all your secrets."
"I'm not sure Nolan knows all my secrets," I say, and immediately wonder why I said it. Something about her puts me at ease, makes me forget the walls I've carefully constructed.
"Well, that's probably for the best." She smiles again, then opens the folder. "So, tell me about your son."
The question catches me off guard. Most realtors I've talked to in the past jump straight to square footage and neighborhood preferences.
"Jake," I say, and can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "He's eleven. Smart as hell, terrible at keeping his room clean, and completely obsessed with baseball."
"Hence the need for a yard?" she guesses.
"Definitely. The amount of times I've had to apologize to neighbors for broken potted plants..." I shake my head, and she laughs.
"I have a nephew around the same age. My sister's backyard looks like a war zone."
We spend the next twenty minutes talking about Jake, about my custody situation, about the neighborhoods that would keep him in the same school district but give us both more space. She listens intently, asking thoughtful questions that make it clear she's genuinely interested in finding the right place, not just making a sale.
When our food arrives, she slides her tablet toward me. "I've narrowed it down to five properties I think might work for you. We can schedule viewings for any that catch your eye."
I scroll through the listings while she takes a bite of her sandwich. Each house she's selected has clearly been chosen with Jake in mind, fenced yards, proximity to parks, bonus rooms that could be turned into gaming spaces for a preteen boy.
"These are perfect," I say, genuinely impressed. "How did you nail it so quickly?"
She dabs at the corner of her mouth with a napkin and smiles. "It's my job to understand what people need, not just what they say they want."
Something shifts in my chest at her words, a loosening, like a knot I didn't know was there has begun to unravel. For the first time since Sarah and I split, I can picture a future that feels solid, real. A home, not just a place to stay.
"I think we should see all of them," I tell her.
Her smile widens, and there's a warmth in her eyes that makes my pulse quicken. "I can arrange that. How about we start tomorrow? I have a feeling the one on Maple Street is going to go fast."
"Tomorrow works." I take a sip of my water, suddenly aware of how long it's been since I felt this kind of anticipation about anything that wasn't directly related to Jake.
"Great." She extends her hand across the table. "I promise I'll find you and Jake the perfect home."
When her hand closes around mine, her touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary, I know with bone-deep certainty that Mackenzie is going to be more than just my real estate agent. I'm not ready, not yet, but for the first time in a year and a half, I want to be.
And that, I think, is a start.
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