Epilogue
Grace
One Year and a Half Later
The mountain is green again.
Spring’s rolled in soft this year, coaxing wildflowers from the earth and warmth from the trees. The sky above our cabin is wide and clear, and everything smells like pine and sun.
The wind shifts, lifting the edge of my sundress as I step out onto the porch.
Diesel’s just beyond the railing, crouched near the garden, coaxing stubborn carrots into growing straight.
His shirt’s damp with sweat, his hair falling into his eyes as he works, and my heart does that stupid aching thing it’s been doing every day since I said I do.
Which happened exactly seventeen months ago.
Yes. We got married less than a month after everything. And no, I don’t regret it. Not for a second. Not when he looks at me like I’m still the most surprising thing that’s ever happened to him. Like he can’t believe I stayed.
He glances back now and grins when he sees me. “You’re barefoot again,” he says.
“I like the grass,” I say, leaning on the post.
“You’re pregnant,” he says, standing to wipe his hands on a rag. “You’re not invincible.”
“I’m pregnant,” I agree. “Not made of glass.”
He walks up the steps, eyes dropping to my belly. His hand settles there like a reflex. Protective. In love.
“Still my favorite curve,” he murmurs.
I roll my eyes. “Flatterer.”
“I’m serious.” His thumb strokes small circles. “She’s kicking?”
“She was earlier. You missed it. Again.”
“Guess I’ll just have to stay closer.”
I laugh. “You already do everything. You built me a bathtub I can float in. You rub my feet. Every night.”
His eyes darken just a little. “Because I remember a time when nobody touched you gently.”
I reach for his hand. “That was a different life.”
He lifts my fingers to his mouth, kisses my knuckles one by one. “And this is the one you deserved all along.”
Sage dropped off fresh bread this morning. Nya sent more baby things. The whole town seems more excited about this baby than I am, and I’m very excited.
Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to have this. The man. The house. The future. The peace.
The world didn’t give it to me easy, but I took it anyway. We both did.
Diesel settles behind me in the porch swing, pulling me between his legs so my back rests against his chest. His arms fold around my waist, and for a moment we just sit, rocking gently, watching the clouds drift by.
“Do you still think about it?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t ask what I mean. “Yeah,” he says. “I think about what could’ve happened. I think about how close I came to losing you.”
“You didn’t,” I say.
“I could have.”
“But you didn’t.”
He tightens his hold. “I never will.”
I close my eyes. “They’re gone, you know.”
“Yeah.”
Malice was caught three months after the raid. Hiding in an underground bunker beneath a safehouse in Nevada. Ghost tracked him down. The Saints handled the rest.
He’s serving life without parole. So is John, who somehow survived that shoulder wound but didn’t survive the court system. Turns out when the right people start talking, the justice system can work.
They can rot in those cells forever.
I don’t think about them often anymore. Not really. Their names don’t live in my nightmares the way they used to. These days, I dream of paint colors for the nursery. Of holding her for the first time. Of Diesel’s face when she kicks.
I rest my hands on my belly. “She’s going to love you,” I whisper.
“I hope so.”
“She will.” I turn my face toward his. “You protect what’s yours.”
He smiles, but it’s soft. Wrecked. “I don’t want her to grow up scared.”
“She won’t.”
“I don’t want her to learn the way you did.”
“She won’t.”
“Grace,” he murmurs. “You saved those girls. You saved yourself. You saved me.”
I blink fast. “I didn’t save you.”
“You gave me something worth saving for.”
I can’t talk for a minute. Just lean back into him and listen to his heart beat steady under my ear.
He’s my shield. My anchor. My home.
A year ago I was a pawn. A debt. A girl with scars no one believed were real.
Now I’m a wife.
Soon I’ll be a mother.
And I’m safe. Not because someone gave me permission. But because I chose it.
Because I fought for it.
Because I finally believe I deserve it.
“Diesel?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I know.”
I laugh. “Cocky.”
“Just sure. I love you more.”
I close my eyes. The wind carries birdsong. A soft rustle of pine.
And for once, I don’t brace for pain.
I breathe.
And it’s enough.