Epilogue
KACEN
Ruby Nelson has called me six times in two days. That’s how I know I’m in trouble.
The last time she got this persistent, I ended up hauling lumber for her “community project” that turned out to be a surprise wedding venue my senior year of high school. I swore I’d learned my lesson. Apparently not, and I’ve only been in town less than a week.
I stare at the carved pumpkin emoji in her last text, followed by too many exclamation points to be legal.
Ruby: Can’t wait to see you tonight! Wear a costume!
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. The truck hums beneath me as it makes the climb up the winding road to my brother Kingston’s cabin. It’s been ten years since I’ve been back. Ten years since I left this place behind with a chip on my shoulder and too much guilt in my chest.
I shouldn’t be coming back now. But when your big brother who you owe everything to asks for help, you drop everything.
Ruby has been relentless since she saw me the day I pulled into town when I stopped to grab coffee.
She said she was throwing a Halloween party, and I was expected to be there.
What she didn’t mention until the end of our conversation was that it’s also a going-away celebration for Miles and Kinley, and that “everyone will be there.”
Everyone. Including her.
I sigh and hit call on my brother’s number. Kingston picks up on the second ring.
“Hey,” he says, voice calm like always. “Almost here?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Heading up now. Remind me again why I agreed to Ruby’s party?”
“Because I can’t be there and one of us should, especially if you're going to be the face of the company.”
“That’s not a good reason.”
“It’s the only reason that works on you,” he says, amused. “You know she won’t stop until you show your face.”
“Face is one thing,” I grumble. “She said it’s a costume party.”
“She tell you what to wear?”
“Yeah. Said something about ‘lightening up’ and sent me a cowboy hat emoji. I told her that’s not a costume. She said, ‘Add flannel and a smile, sweetie.’”
Kingston laughs, deep and easy. “That’s Ruby for you. You’ll survive one night. Maybe it’s time you faced the town again.”
“I didn’t leave because of the town.”
“No,” he says softly. “You left because you couldn’t stand yourself in it.”
The words hit too close. He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it.
I tighten my jaw. “I’m not looking for redemption.”
“Didn’t say you were,” he answers. “But maybe it’s time to stop pretending you don’t need it.”
“Spare me the therapy, doc.”
He chuckles. “I’ll save it for when you call me later saying Ruby roped you into cleanup duty.”
“She better not.”
“She will.”
We both know it’s true.
I only have a few minutes to talk with Kingston as I get ready and head back out the door to the party I don’t even want to be at.
By the time I pull into the parking lot outside the community center, the night’s come alive.
Orange string lights glow along the porch, and laughter spills out into the cool Montana air.
Pumpkins line the steps. Music thumps faintly from inside.
Signs line the walk way telling Miles and Kinley how much the town will miss them.
I kill the engine and take a breath. My reflection in the rearview shows a guy who looks like he could pass for the old me—broad shoulders, dark hair that’s longer than Ruby would approve of, flannel buttoned halfway, a fake sheriff’s badge pinned to my chest for irony.
The hat’s on the passenger seat. I shove it on.
There. Costume complete.
Inside, it smells like cider, sugar, and nostalgia. Ruby’s gone all out, as usual. Spiderwebs hang from the beams, a fog machine fills the corners with mist, and the snack table looks like a Pinterest board threw up on it.
“Look who decided to show his face.”
Ruby swoops in, a witch’s hat tilted on her curls, smile bright enough to light up half the county. She throws her arms around me before I can dodge. “You look handsome as ever, Kacen.”
“Ruby,” I say, half laughing. “I told you this isn’t really my scene.”
“You’ve been gone long enough. It’s time the town saw you again.”
“Pretty sure no one missed me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Half the women here perked up the second you walked in.”
I glance around. “Half the women here are married.”
“Not all,” she says with a sly grin.
“Ruby—”
“ Grab a drink. Mingle. Oh, and stay away from the punch, Hades already stuck his nose in it when he snuck in earlier.”
I blink. “The wolf?”
I remember Kingston telling me about him on one of our phone conversations.
“Of course, the wolf. He likes the smell of cinnamon.” She pats my arm and flits off to fuss over someone else.
I shake my head and make for the bar. Maybe if I nurse one beer, I can say I did my duty and sneak out early.
The bartender, Orville and Ruby’s nephew, Jonas, I think, hands me a cold bottle. I turn toward the crowd.
That’s when I see her.
Natalie.
She’s standing near the back, talking to Ruby, dressed in a sleek black dress that hugs her curves and has light-up butterfly wings.
Her hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves.
Her laugh, low, confident, nothing like the nervous sound I remember, cuts through the noise like it’s the only thing that exists.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
Ten years shouldn’t still feel like yesterday. But looking at her, it does.
The last time I saw her, she was crying in the hallway because of me.
Because of the stupid, cruel prank I thought was funny.
Because I didn’t have the guts to admit I liked her.
Instead, I turned her into a joke because I was hurting and wanted to blame her for something I should have been blaming her mom for.
My stomach twists. I take a long drink, hoping it burns away the memory.
She glances up. Our eyes meet.
For a heartbeat, it’s just us. Then her mouth hardens, her chin lifts, and she turns away like I’m nothing but air.
Can’t say I blame her.
I push off the bar and force myself toward her. The least I can do is say hello, pretend like I’m not a coward.
She’s alone now, adjusting a tray of cookies shaped like pumpkins.
“Natalie.”
She doesn’t turn. “Didn’t realize Ruby sent out invites to ghosts.”
Her voice is smooth, steady. It hits harder than I expect.
“I’m not a ghost,” I say quietly. “But I get why you’d think so.”
She finally looks at me. Her eyes are the same—green with gold flecks, sharp as glass. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Ruby insisted.”
“She always does.” She crosses her arms. “You planning on staying long?”
“Not really.”
“Good. Then we’ll both survive it.”
She turns back to the cookies. Conversation over.
I should walk away. But my feet won’t move.
“You look good,” I say before I can stop myself.
She freezes for half a second. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend we’re old friends catching up.” Her eyes flash when she meets mine again. “You made your feelings clear a long time ago.”
I swallow. “People change.”
“Do they?” she asks softly. “Because you still sound like the same boy who laughed when I cried.”
It hits like a punch. I want to tell her I didn’t mean it. That I hated myself for it. That I’ve replayed that moment more times than I can count. But she’s already walking away, her head high, her heels clicking on the old wooden floor.
Leaving me feeling like I’m that hurting teenager all over again and not the man I’ve worked so hard to become.