31. Tyler
31
TYLER
I wake up exactly how I want to wake up for the rest of my life—tangled in his arms. My head against his chest. His breath is steady, warm against my hair.
We stayed like that most of the night, shifting only to pull closer. Every time I stirred, he held me tighter. Every time he whispered my name, I sank back into him like it was the only place I belonged.
The morning light filters through the loft windows, casting a soft glow across the crumpled blankets. I shift to look at him, and his dark eyes blink open.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and scratchy.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
Neither of us moves. We don’t want to. Not yet.
Eventually, we drift into the shower together. There’s no urgency. We touch slowly, washing the remnants of fear and distance from each other’s skin. He kisses across my body like I might vanish if he doesn't memorize every inch. I trail my fingers down his spine reverently.
We don’t want to leave our bubble, but we should probably check in with our friends.
Isaac calls his mom on our way out. She sobs when he tells her the news, sucking in wet, ragged breaths between wails. I start crying all over again, because it still doesn't feel real. It wasn't so long ago that I was confined to my bed, consumed by despair and hopelessness. I have no doubt that I’d be there again if he’d been taken away from me.
Her outburst is loud enough that she wakes Chelsey, who runs to her side to check on her. Chelsey screams when Isaac repeats the news, because Genie is too overcome for words.
We make plans to celebrate together. Genie won't be able to truly believe it until she sees for herself.
We're still standing outside The Nook , just holding each other, when the door bursts open. Brenna stares at us for several moments, saying nothing, then goes back inside. I hear her high-pitched call for her dads to come up front.
"I guess we should go in?" Isaac says with a smirk.
The moment we walk through the door, Mac drops the tray in his hands, and Anders holds his hands in front of his mouth. They look back and forth to each other, and Brenna. Finally, Brenna speaks for all three of them.
"Isaac Josephine Casey," she starts, expression fully serious. "Did you break out of your monitor? Are you skipping town?" She looks back at her dads. "Do you need money? An escape vehicle?"
A laugh bubbles out of Isaac, but none of them are laughing with him.
"The charges were dropped. I'm free." He pulls up his pant leg just enough to show bare skin. Monitor free.
Brenna looks at me, like she's asking for confirmation before reacting. I nod, my smile watery. Isaac squeezes my hand.
Then chaos erupts. They yell and cheer and engulf us in a group hug, all talking over one another to ask questions, thanking deities, and asking if this is real life. If this is a dream, whoever wakes me will die a slow, painful death.
Isaac looks down at Brenna. "Josephine?"
"I didn't know your middle name and it felt like the moment required one."
We laugh. "My middle name is Waylon," he tells her.
She scrunches her nose. "I'm gonna need to talk to your mama about that one." She looks at me, whispering loudly as she does. "Josephine's better."
There’s more hugging. A few tears. A lot of laughing. Relief.
For a moment, it feels like everything might just be okay.
Brenna makes us all drinks and Mac goes back to bake something special. It’s his way of processing any kind of emotion. Anders walks around with an intermittently teary or excited expression.
I'm sipping my favorite extra spicy iced chai latte with oat milk, swooning as I eavesdrop on Mac and Isaac's conversation. They've been discussing how much the arrest and time off are going to affect his timeline. And then the hard questions about how Isaac is going to move forward.
“I’ve got what’s most important,” he says. “The rest we’ll figure out.”
I turn to look at him at the same time he turns toward me.
And we collide.
My drink, only half full, thankfully, and mostly ice, sloshes forward and splashes across his front.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry!”
Isaac scowls dramatically and throws his hands up in mock exasperation. “How dare you! This is a vintage Walmart special!"
I swat at him, embarrassed and laughing, and he tickles me until I squeak.
"I hope you know I’m going to expect you to clean this up with your mouth.” Then he straightens, smirking, and says, “Hey, can I get your number?”
I roll my eyes but grin, handing him a napkin. “I should’ve done this the first time.”
He takes the napkin from my hand but doesn’t let go of my fingers.
“Yeah,” he says, soft. “Me too.”
* * *
We walk through the gym together. There are patches of exposed drywall, unfinished flooring, tools and materials stacked along one wall. There’s still so much left to finish.
Isaac rubs the back of his neck. “One thing at a time," he says quietly, like a mantra. "I’m focusing on the plumbing issue first. If I can get that knocked out, I’ll move on to permits and ordinances. Maybe see if I can appeal some of the changes now that the Valdin circus is out of the picture.”
I nod, thoughtful. “Have you heard about the spring fair on Easter weekend? It’s local—tons of vendors, rides, food trucks.”
His brow lifts. “Sounds fun.”
“I was thinking… What if we set up a booth? It gets a lot of foot traffic. You could do self-defense demos, pass out flyers. Get people excited about the gym.”
He looks at me, more curious than dismissive. "That's… Yeah. That would be fun, actually. Like introducing ourselves to the town. That's a really good idea," he says, kissing my temple.
“I have another idea that you're probably going to hate-but hear me out,” I continue. “What if we launched a crowd-funding campaign?"
"Crowd-funding?"
"It's a way to get investment capital without owing investors. You'd pre-sell memberships or packages for the gym. It's a pretty easy thing to set up online. I may have already played around with some ideas, if you want to look?"
"You already started?"
"I've been messing around with a few ideas, just spit-balling anything I can think of. I have a few flyer designs. Water bottles. Lanyards. Some branded stuff.”
“How do you do branded stuff? I don't have a brand or logo or anything yet."
I shrug, a little shy. “I made you a few ideas. It's okay if you hate them."
"When did you do all this?"
"I've been doing it all along, really. I was just waiting for the right time to show you."
"Because I'm a stubborn asshole that won't accept help?"
"You said it, not me. But also, can you say it again? I need to record it for your sister."
He laughs and tugs me into a hug. "Okay, show me. I want to see all of it."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. I'm desperate here. Help me," he says, dramatically pouting his lip out.
I break away long enough to grab my laptop from my bag, opening it quickly and clicking into the folder I’ve been hiding like a secret. His eyes are glued to the screen as I walk him through the website mock-up, the flyer drafts, even the lanyard designs.
But it’s the logo that makes him still.
It’s nothing too flashy. Simple, clean lettering, sharp lines, a powerful figure in motion, but at the top of every file are the words: JAX Defense & MMA .
He stares at it for a long time. His throat works around something unspoken. When he finally looks at me, his eyes are damp.
“JAX,” he says softly.
“I didn’t know what you were going to call it officially,” I explain quickly. “I just… I wanted something to put on the mockups, and that felt right.”
He blinks hard and pulls me back into his arms, hugging me like the gesture alone can say everything he’s feeling.
“It's perfect. You're a genius! You have no idea what this means to me.”
"You really like it?"
“Kitten,” he murmurs, “I love it. I love you.”
I grin into his shoulder. For the first time in days, the world feels like it’s clicking back into place.
It’s still a long road ahead.
But this time, we’re walking it together.