Sierra
TWELVE MONTHS LATER
Morning light spills through the wide kitchen windows, catching on the steam rising from the coffee mugs lined up along the counter.
The retreat is already alive—quiet voices from the meditation room, the soft thud of footsteps on wooden floors, the distant hum of someone opening the front gate for the day’s arrivals.
Home.
I lean against the counter, stretching out the stiffness in my back as I glance down at the tablet in my hand.
Today’s schedule is full—three physio sessions before lunch, two after, and a group mobility class in the late afternoon.
A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed I’d be here, running a practice out of a mountain retreat, but now it feels…
inevitable. Like I was always meant to find my way here.
“You’re working too hard again.”
Luke’s voice drifts in behind me, warm and teasing. His arms slide around my waist, his hands settling just below my stomach, fingers splaying there like he belongs exactly where he is.
I smile, leaning back into him. “Says the man who’s been up since six organizing deliveries.”
“Planning,” he corrects. “It’s called planning. You know, that thing that keeps this place running smoothly?”
“Mm-hmm.” I tilt my head, catching his eye. “You mean the thing you used to hate?”
He grins, completely unrepentant. “People change.”
They do.
Luke’s still Luke—still playful, still shameless—but there’s a steadiness to him now. A quiet confidence that wasn’t there before. He moves through the retreat like he owns it, like he belongs here. Like he belongs… here. With us.
His hand shifts, gentler now, and I feel the subtle pressure of it—protective, instinctive.
“Careful,” I murmur. “You’ll wake her.”
“Worth it,” he says softly, his voice dipping just enough to give him away.
I laugh, setting the tablet aside just as Talon steps in through the back door, bringing the cool morning air with him. He’s damp with dew, boots muddy, hair slightly disheveled, like he’s just come in from the forest.
Which, of course, he has.
He pauses when he sees us, his gaze settling first on me, then on Luke’s hands, then back again. There’s no tension there anymore. No hesitation. Just quiet understanding.
“You’re back early,” I say.
He nods once. “Tracks were old. Nothing new.”
Even now, he still walks the land. Still listens to it. But he comes back. Every time.
“Coffee?” I ask.
He steps closer, brushing a kiss against my temple as he reaches for a mug. “Always.”
The back door creaks again a few minutes later, and Reid joins us, already dressed for the day, sleeves rolled, expression calm. There’s a lightness to him now that I didn’t think I’d ever see. Not gone—he’ll never be that—but… settled.
At peace.
His eyes meet mine, and something quiet passes between us. No shadows. No weight. Just… us.
“Morning,” he says, crossing the room.
“Morning.”
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips before glancing at the others. “We’ve got a full house today. Bertha’s latest campaign worked a little too well.”
I smile. “That’s what we pay her for. Her business marketing knowledge is incredible, she’s really been a Godsend.”
“She called again this morning,” Luke adds. “Says we should consider expanding.”
Talon snorts softly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Reid’s mouth twitches. “Agreed.”
It’s like this now—easy, balanced. Each of them exactly who they are, but… better. Sharper. More grounded.
A year.
That’s all it took.
Amanda’s name comes up more often these days, but not in the same way. Not as something fragile or broken. She lives in town now, working part-time, studying to be a school teacher, building something of her own. Healing. Slowly, but surely.
And Barnes?
Gone.
Locked away for longer than any of us will need to worry about.
That chapter is closed.
Completely.
I shift slightly, and Luke’s hands follow the movement automatically. Talon notices. Reid definitely notices.
There’s a moment of shared awareness—soft, quiet, full of something deeper than words.
“Well,” Luke says lightly, breaking it. “We should probably let our resident physio get to work before she starts bossing us around.”
“I already boss you around,” I point out.
“Yeah,” he grins. “But now you’ve got official credentials.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I step away from them, grabbing my notes and heading toward the door.
Behind me, I hear them fall into step—boots on wood, low voices, the rhythm of something solid and unbreakable.
Our life.
Not perfect. Not simple.
But real.
And as I step out into the sunlight, feeling it warm my skin, hearing the quiet pulse of the retreat waking around us, I realize something I didn’t fully understand before.
I didn’t just find this place.
I found them.
And they found me.
And somehow, against all odds, we built something that works.
Something that lasts.
Something that feels like forever.
THE END