Chapter Twenty #2
In the thick of it all, Levi shone. He flitted from group to group, trading jokes with Ransom, snuggling the baby, stealing bites of pickle from Newt’s plate.
He didn’t flinch at sudden movements, didn’t scan the doors, didn’t carry that old armor made of anticipation and doubt.
It took seeing him here, at the center of all this, to understand just how much of his past he’d let go.
I tried to stay out of the way. I never did learn how to handle more than a few people at a time, and a full house made me feel like I’d swallowed a box of live wires.
But nobody expected me to do more than eat and keep my temper, so I posted up at the far end of the room, sipping Ma’s iced tea and watching it all play out.
I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes to sunset. I’d been counting the minutes all day, not from impatience, but because my pulse went haywire every time I thought about what I’d planned.
When everyone was distracted—Bodean and Dan arguing over the merits of dark roast versus light, Harlow and Newt seeing who could build the tallest cracker tower—I slipped out the back door.
The night was cooler than expected. The air tasted of pine sap, river, and the faint aftershock of barbecue smoke.
My feet found the flagstone path by memory, each stone a little uneven, the joints already sprouting weeds because Levi said it made the house look “lived in.” The workshop squatted at the edge of the clearing, the windows aglow with the last light.
I stepped inside. The shop was my church, the one place where I never had to pretend.
Every inch was crowded with half-finished projects, the smell of cut wood sharp and sweet, varnish and oil thick in the air.
The new workbench dominated the room, its top battered but clean, all my favorite tools within reach.
I went straight for the corner cabinet. The box was where I’d left it: walnut, sanded and oiled until it gleamed like polished stone, the grain catching fire in the lamplight.
The lid bore Levi’s name inlaid in maple, surrounded by a band of runes I’d spent weeks researching—ancient marks for luck, strength, protection.
On the underside, I’d burned a tiny wolf, the way he drew it in the margins of his sketchbooks.
Inside, lined with navy velvet, rested a single folded document. The deed to McKenzie River Builders. Half of my half of the business. His, if he wanted it. Knox had the other half.
I held the box for a minute, thumb rubbing the edge of the lid. My hands shook, just a little. Not from nerves—never that—but from the weight of it. Levi had given me his trust, his name, his wild heart. The least I could do was give him something that would last.
I tucked the box under my arm, locked the shop, and made my way back. The light from the windows spilled out across the lawn, voices carrying clear and strong. I paused, listening.
“…and then Harlow fell in the river, and the catfish just started biting—”
“Ma, I never—”
“I saw the marks! On your ankles! I had to take you to the doctor for antibiotics!”
Everyone laughed. Even Harlow, who covered his face with his hands, but grinned through his fingers.
I went in, box cradled tight. Nobody noticed me at first. I took my place at the edge of the room, eyes on Levi.
He caught my gaze, and for a second, the world went soft-focus. He crossed the room, pausing to ruffle the baby’s hair, then slipped in beside me. “Miss me already?” he teased, eyes dancing.
“Always,” I said, and it came out gruffer than I intended.
He looked at the box, then at me, and his smile went wary. “What’s that?”
I held it out, both hands. “For you,” I said. “Open it.”
He took the box, weighed it in his hands, then lifted the lid. The hinges creaked, a sound I’d engineered on purpose, so it would always remind him of old houses and hidden things.
He ran his fingers over the carvings, tracing each letter, each rune. When he saw his name, he snorted. “That’s so extra,” he whispered, but his thumb wouldn’t leave the spot.
He reached in, pulled out the folded deed. It took him a second to process, but when he did, the color drained from his face. He looked at me, eyes wide and shining. “Is this…?”
I nodded. “Half the shop. Yours, if you want it. Well, half of my half anyway. The other half belongs to Knox.”
He laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that bordered on crying. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”
I shrugged. “Seemed right. You built this with me. You should own it.”
He shook his head, then pressed his face to my chest, muffling a sob in the flannel. He clutched the box to his body, like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Around us, the room quieted. I didn’t notice at first, but then Ma was there, her hands gentle on Levi’s back, and Knox and Newt stood behind, both looking proud. Even Ransom, usually a master at ruining tender moments, said nothing—just watched with an expression I couldn’t read.
Levi took a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he said, voice thick. “I don’t… I didn’t know you’d do something like this for me.”
I brushed his hair out of his eyes, then thumbed the edge of his jaw. “You’re my family,” I said. “My future. My love.”
He grinned, lopsided and wet-eyed. “Forever?”
I slid my arm around him, and our wrists lined up: matching tattoos, silver bracelets, platnum rings, scars, and all.
“Forever mine,” I said.
He kissed me then, full and unapologetic, and the room erupted in hoots and wolf-whistles. Shadow barked, as if to say he’d seen enough sappiness for one night. I kissed Levi back, feeling the years of pain and doubt and loneliness burn away, replaced by the solid, undeniable fact of us.
The rest of the night blurred: more food, more stories, the warmth of a house packed to the rafters with people who’d bled for each other. I watched Levi move through it all, face alive, hands always finding mine when I needed an anchor.
We cleaned up after everyone left, stacking plates, tossing bottles, chasing Shadow out of the fridge twice.
When the house was quiet again, I found Levi in the dark, curled on the couch with the music box in his lap, reading the deed over and over.
I slid in beside him, wrapping him in my arms. “You okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice was the happiest I’d ever heard it. “I’m home.”
We sat there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside silent and far away. And I knew, as sure as I knew how to set a dovetail or split a log, that we’d built something that would last.
The rest was just details.
The party lingered in the air long after the last car pulled away.
Empty plates stacked on the counter, a scatter of shoes in the entryway, the ghost of laughter echoing off the kitchen walls.
Even Shadow looked exhausted, his usual night patrol replaced by a lazy sprawl in front of the fridge, one eye half-open in case a stray sausage rolled his way.
I washed up in silence, the rhythmic squeak of the sponge soothing in a way I couldn’t explain. Levi dried, humming a line from one of Harlow’s favorite country songs, then made a big show of stacking the glasses so perfectly the rack looked like a sculpture.
When everything was squared away, I turned off the lights, and headed for the porch. The swing waited, just as we’d left it, draped with an old wool blanket and a view that belonged on a calendar. The river shimmered under the moon, and every window in the house reflected the soft, easy light.
Levi followed, guitar slung over one shoulder, box of matches in the other hand. He set up a couple of citronella candles on the railing, lighting them with a flourish that made him look like some kind of backwoods magician.
Shadow loped outside, circled the porch twice, then curled up under the swing. He huffed, ears flicking at every cricket, but decided the world was safe enough for a nap.
I sat, feet bare, and Levi folded into my side without hesitation. He fit there, as if he’d been made for it, head tucked against my shoulder, legs stretched long in front of us.
He ran a scale, fingers gentle on the strings, then started in on a tune I didn’t recognize. It was soft, slow, a little sad but sweet underneath. He played for a while, just for me, the music threading into the hush of the night.
The scent of wildflowers drifted down from the garden. The wind in the pines played its own song, low and steady. Crickets chirped, harmonizing with the river.
When he finished the song, Levi didn’t say anything. He just rested the guitar against the rail and reached for my hand, interlacing our fingers. He looked at the water, at the sweep of moonlight on the current, at the house glowing behind us.
“I never knew home could feel like this,” he whispered, so quiet I might have missed it if I wasn’t listening for his voice with every atom of my body.
I turned, caught his chin, kissed him slow. “This is just the beginning, Sunshine.”
He smiled, lashes trembling with the promise of it.
The porch swing rocked us, slow and steady, two men and a dog and the whole damn world stretched out before us. The silver light caught the bracelet on his wrist, then mine, then the ink we’d both bled for—marks that said, in a language older than words, this one is claimed.
We watched the moon rise, the landscape washed clean and new. Nothing was ever perfect, but this—this was close.
Shadow dreamed underfoot, tail wagging in his sleep.
Levi pulled the blanket up over both of us and tucked his head into the hollow of my throat. I held him, and the swing, and the valley, and the river, and every good thing I’d ever fought for.
We belonged.
And no one, ever again, was going to take that away.
~ The End ~