Epilogue
ARI
Half a dozen smudged handprints glistened on the drying rack, a mix of red and silver tempera paint and whatever glitter hadn’t clung to the construction paper. The bell had rung twenty minutes ago, but the art room still pulsed with a kind of soft,
lingering chaos—abandoned water cups, scribbled worksheets, the faint scent of acrylic and peppermint from someone’s lip gloss.
I wiped down the counter with a damp rag, then paused at the trash can. A paper snowflake stuck out from the top—edges crumpled, uneven, glitter clinging to one flap. Some kid had given up on it, maybe embarrassed it didn’t look like everyone else’s.
That didn’t stop me from fishing it out. I couldn’t throw away someone’s effort. Not when I knew what it took to put yourself on the page.
It had been five months since Daddy recovered from his concussion.
Five months since the camp job ended. Five months since Briar Creek Middle School offered me a probationary full-time position teaching Visual Arts.
The first week I’d felt like I was faking it—like any second someone would burst through the door and
tell me they meant to hire a real teacher. But kids didn’t care about credentials.
They cared that I noticed their work. That I listened.
So I stayed. And I kept learning. And somehow it started to feel less like a role and more like a calling.
I rinsed the last brush, nudged the easel back into place, and let my eyes wander toward the windows.
Golden light slanted across the parking lot—the kind of soft glow that only showed up this time of year, when afternoons tipped toward evening before you were ready.
Winter in Briar Creek meant cool mornings, crisp air, and barely a whisper of snow.
But it still felt like magic. Especially when I got to go home to Daddy.
Being with Daddy— really being with him—felt like stepping into color after years of sketching in charcoal. Like my whole life had been grayscale, and suddenly someone handed me a brush and said, go ahead—paint it vividly, boldly.
We didn’t keep our love quiet anymore. He held my hand as we walked the beachfront barefoot, the tide lapping at our ankles.
Picking me up after work, he’d lean in and kiss my temple with a smile that said he wasn’t going anywhere.
Called me baby while handing me a cup of cider at the Halloween festival, not caring that Sage and half the firehouse crew were standing right there.
At the Thanksgiving football game against a rival town, he pulled me onto his lap, arms wrapped around me. When someone teased him for it, he just shrugged and said, “What? I like having him here.”
He loved me out loud.
And behind closed doors?
We danced in the kitchen without music. Shared kisses between making lesson plans and grading papers. Sometimes I’d sit between his knees while he stroked my hair, like touching me was the only thing anchoring him.
Most nights, I stayed. Most mornings, I woke in his bed, tangled up in warmth and love and the quiet miracle of being with him.
He was mine in all the ways that mattered. Sweet when I needed softness. Touched me like I was a priceless painting—meant to be handled with reverence—with slow hands, reverent kisses, quiet praise that sank under my skin and stayed there.
But he was firm when I pushed, because I always pushed. He’d grip my hips, lips brushing my ear as he said, “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
He’d take his time putting me back in my place—with his hands, his mouth, his dick, his everything.
And when I was pliant and breathless and entirely his, he’d press a kiss to my temple and whisper, “My good boy,” and hold me like I was everything he’d ever wanted.
He said I love you in every way he knew how. In the way he looked at me. In the way he made room—for my things, my art, me .
It still caught me off guard sometimes. The fact that I had this. That I had him.
Not in secret. Not in pieces.
But whole.
I still wasn’t used to it.
Probably never would be.
My phone buzzed on the table beside the drying rack. I grabbed it, assuming it was Daddy, then frowned as I glanced toward the window. There wasn’t any sign of his truck out front. No message. No missed calls either.
Weird. He was supposed to pick me up today.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped outside. The lot was mostly empty now, teachers already halfway to wine night or wrapping presents or whatever counted as Friday freedom. My eyes scanned the rows of cars out of habit. Still no sign of the black pickup.
Fingers curled around my phone, halfway to texting.
“You weren’t thinking I forgot you, were you?”
The voice hit like warm syrup poured over pancakes.
I turned.
Daddy leaned against the side of a different truck, hands in his pockets, one brow raised like he knew I’d been ready to call him out. His turnout jacket wasn’t anywhere in sight. Just jeans, a long-sleeve thermal, and a grin that probably should’ve been illegal on school property.
“You’re late,” I said, walking over.
He pushed off the truck. “Had to run an errand.”
“Mhm. And now you’re here to take me home?”
“Not quite.” His hand came up, thumb brushing behind my ear in that easy way that always made me want to lean into him. “Need to show you something at the station.”
“Daddy—”
“Trust me, boy.”
God, that voice.
I narrowed my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrayed me. “You know I hate surprises.”
“No you don’t.”
“Fine,” I muttered, stepping closer. “But if this is some elaborate excuse to get me to taste-test more of Boone’s chili?—”
He dipped down, pressed a kiss to my cheek like he couldn't help himself.
“Would I do you like that?”
“Yes.”
His laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “Still coming?”
Like I’d say no.
Daddy turned off the main road and pulled into the side entrance beside the firehouse. Instead of heading to the back lot, he stopped just before the turn, engine idling for a second like he was thinking something over.
Then he put the truck in park, fingers lingering on the gearstick before shutting off the engine.
“Wait here,” he said, slipping out of the cab.
Confused, I watched him round the hood and open my door. I caught a glint in his eyes right away.
“You’re up to something,” I said, narrowing mine.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice warm and low. “And I need you to trust me for three minutes.”
He held something behind his back.
I squinted. “Seriously? Are we doing the kinky version of surprise right now?”
A laugh rumbled in his chest. “Hush, boy. Out.”
“You’re lucky I like bossy,” I muttered, but slid out anyway.
As soon as my feet hit the ground, his hand landed at my waist. Gentle. Anchoring. Familiar in a way that made my insides flutter. He pressed a kiss to my temple before tugging a soft blindfold from behind his back and holding it up between us.
“Trust me?” he asked, quiet now.
I let out a dramatic sigh but tipped my chin. “Always.”
The blindfold brushed over my eyes, soft and velvety, before Daddy knotted it gently behind my head. His hand slid to the small of my back. The other found mine and curled around it.
“Almost there,” he murmured, steering me forward. “Breathe, baby.”
Somewhere ahead, I caught Boone’s low chuckle. Then the quiet sound of someone shifting—maybe gravel under boots, maybe just nerves. A whisper passed between two voices. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew those tones. Firehouse crew. Watching. Waiting.
“You throwing me a surprise party?” I whispered.
“You’ll see.”
He adjusted his grip slightly, nudging me to a stop. “Okay,” he said, breath tickling my ear. “You can look.” He untied the blindfold with slow fingers, easing the fabric away like he was unwrapping something sacred.
Cool air kissed my face. My eyes adjusted—and then my breath caught like it had no interest in leaving my lungs.
There it was.
Parked dead center in the back lot, gleaming under the overhead lights like something from a dream, was a bright orange Chevelle.
Racing stripes ran down the middle like it was built to fly.
Chrome glinted. The body gleamed. A huge ribbon, cherry-red and dramatic as hell, sat on the hood like a crown.
It looked like freedom and every childhood dream I thought I’d buried. Like something that belonged in a memory I never got to have, but somehow, here it was, waiting for me anyway.
My legs gave a little. Daddy’s hand stayed at my waist.
The firehouse crew leaned nearby, trying—and mostly failing—to look casual. Marco
grinned, arms crossed over his chest, like he’d been dying to see my face when
I saw it. Griff shot Daddy a quick thumbs-up, then winked at me. Boone’s arms were folded, smug as hell, like he'd known exactly how this moment would land and was damn proud of it.
Sage stood off to the side. Smug. Proud. Maybe a little teary, too, but I wasn’t about to call him out.
Daddy’s mouth brushed my neck, just below my ear. My body lit up like a fuse had been struck.
“You once said it was your dream,” he said softly. “Couldn’t let you keep waiting for it.”
I didn’t trust my voice.
Didn’t trust my knees either, to be honest.
I moved forward on shaky legs, fingertips grazing the hood like I wasn’t sure it was real. The paint was smooth, warm from the engine. My palm flattened, and something in my chest cracked wide open.
Daddy’s footsteps followed mine. “She’s yours,” he said. “Built her for you. Sage helped.”
Sage snorted. “By helped, he means I did all the hard stuff while he got sentimental over the paint job. But yeah. You’re welcome.”
I still hadn’t said a word.
Didn’t know how to. My throat was tight. Vision blurry.
This car was the dream I used to have before everything went sideways. Before my dad left.
For a long time, I thought I'd buried that dream. Swore I’d never drive, never want to.
But I’d worked for this. Worked hard. Took every lesson Daddy gave me like it was sacred. And just last week, I got my license.
And now this.
I turned, walked straight back to Daddy, and launched myself at him. Arms locked around his neck. He caught me, let out a surprised grunt and stumbled a half-step before anchoring me close.
“You’re impossible,” I mumbled into his shoulder.
His laugh shook against my chest. “You love it.”
I pulled back just enough to look at him. “I love you.”
Then I kissed him.
And when the firehouse crew whooped and clapped and someone wolf-whistled—probably Marco—I kissed him again.
Cael was there. Jon, Kyree, and Layton too, clapping like idiots. My mom stood off to the side, hand over her mouth, tears shining. Sage threw an arm around her shoulder and said something that made her laugh.
But all I could see was Daddy.
Still holding me. Looking at me like I was his whole damn world.
Daddy pulled the keys from his pocket and held them out. They dangled between us, catching the light.
"Yours," he said, voice low, rough around the edges.
Before I could take them, Griff’s voice rang out behind us. “A hundred says they’re hitched by next Fourth of July.”
A chorus followed—Boone, Marco, Trent all chiming in, some agreeing, others raising the stakes. Someone shouted something about fireworks and wedding cake.
Daddy turned just enough to shoot them a look that could’ve singed hair. “Y’all done?”
Griff raised both hands in surrender. “Just saying, Lieutenant Lovey. We got eyes.”
More laughter followed.
Daddy shook his head, that quiet, slightly exasperated smile tugging at his mouth—similar to the ones he gave me when I was being a brat and he secretly loved it. But this time, the look was aimed straight at Griff.
Then he reached out and slid his hand to the back of my neck, fingers curling there in that way that always made my knees a little unsteady. Grounding. Claiming.
“Careful, Griff,” Daddy said, voice low and just a little growly. “You keep talking like that, and I’ll make you best man and flower girl.”
That earned a full-on snort from Boone. Marco doubled over.
Sage elbowed Cael, then called out, “You better not . I’ve had that best man spot locked since we were twelve.”
I grinned, finally curling my fingers around the keys. “Take a breath, Daddy Heart-eyes.”
Daddy’s smile softened, his eyes shining with something deeper than pride—like this moment wasn’t just about wheels and horsepower, but about every dream he wanted to come true for me.
We climbed in—me behind the wheel, Daddy lowering into the passenger seat like he’d been riding shotgun beside me all his life.
The interior was all black leather and gleaming chrome. It smelled like polish and nostalgia, like the past had been scrubbed clean and rebuilt just for me. The gearshift fit perfectly in my hand. The dash looked like something out of a vintage catalog, pristine and quietly powerful.
I turned the key.
The engine purred—low, deep, satisfied. Like it’d been waiting for me.
Outside, the sun dipped behind the low hills, casting long streaks of lavender and gold across the sky.
The lot had gone quiet, the others lingering in the distance, giving us space.
Daddy rested his arm on the edge of the window, head tilted my way.
“Take me for a ride, baby?” he asked, soft and a little smug.
I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning too hard to mean it. “Only if you behave.”
“You gonna keep me in line?”
“You know I will.”
I shifted into gear. Daddy reached over and rested his hand gently on my thigh, grounding me without saying a word.
My chest felt too full.
The wind caught my hair. His thumb traced slow, absent circles over the fabric of my slacks. The road stretched ahead—open, golden, ours.
I always thought home was a place. A town. A house. Turns out it’s a person. Turns out, it’s him.
“You good, Daddy?” I asked, voice quiet but firm.
Daddy glanced over, eyes soft with something I’d only ever seen when he looked at me. “Never better, baby.”
My smile broke wide and easy.
“Then let’s go.”
The Chevelle rolled forward, engine purring steady and strong. And we drove on through the falling light, music low on the radio, chrome catching the last blush of sun—Daddy's hand still on my thigh, my whole heart in his keeping.
For the longest time, I thought love like this was something I’d never get. Not the kind that saw me. Held me. Chose me. But here we were anyway, heading toward the future we never thought we’d get to have.