Epilogue Everleigh End of the Morning—Cameron Whitcomb & Evan Honer #2
“Ma,” Sterling groans.
“What?” She waves him off. “Else I’ll set them straight, poppet. They were raised to respect a lady if one ever dared get close enough to their chaos.”
Trying not to laugh, I ignore Sterling’s and Leo’s matching grimaces.
“They treat me very well. I’m happy here.”
“Good.” She nods. “Then I’m thrilled for you all.”
Confirming the question I never get a chance to vocalise, Fletcher walks over to greet me with a very obvious welcome home kiss. Laureen doesn’t bat a lid. She’s clearly been given the heads up, and I fear her face will crack if she smiles any wider.
“The food!” she declares. “It’s almost ready.”
“Did you make the potato salad I like?” Leo whines.
“Of course, son. I wouldn’t dare show up without it.”
“Alright!” He fist-pumps the air.
“Oh, did I hear that August Griffiths is back in town?”
The air seems to deflate out of Leo. “Ugh. Yes. I hate that dude.”
“Miserable fuck,” Sterling concurs.
“How can you say that?” Laureen scolds them. “He’s a star!”
Leaving them to gossip with their ma about Maverick’s mysterious friend, I’m tugged away by Fletcher. When he sweeps me off my feet to sling me over his shoulder, my squeal echoes around the garden. I can hear the guys laughing at us.
“What’s this big surprise then?”
Almost at the far end of the lawn, he places me down and covers my eyes. I’m blindly walked for the last few steps. Lips press against my shoulder, then his hands vanish, revealing his finished project.
“Oh, Fletch! It’s incredible!”
A huge pergola, carved from beautifully stained oak beams, is nestled into the corner of the garden.
Flower-beds hug the edges, while dainty, multicoloured wind chimes jangle in the evening breeze.
I’d argue it’s far bigger than the one he smashed up and later hauled out of the garage, ashamed of his rageful destruction.
Inside, booths have been built into the structure and covered with custom-made cushions in bright fabrics reminiscent of a beach holiday. There’s a firepit at the centre, positioned for the smoke to escape through a vent in the roof. All lovingly designed and built by hand.
His voice cracks and falters, achingly rough today after intensive therapy. “L-L-Like?”
I spin to throw my arms around him, stretching onto tiptoes. “I love it.”
Beaming, Fletcher rests a finger above my heart. For you. I don’t bother to hold back the tears. Not if they’re happy ones. He deserves to see just how much this huge gesture means to me. And how much he means to us all.
Carrying trays of meat over to place on the pergola’s table, the guys tug Fletcher into their usual man hugs, complimenting his hard work. Laureen completes the spread with bread rolls, salad, and her famous potato salad.
“Excellent work, Fletch.” Laureen nudges his shoulder. “Will you build mine next?”
He rolls his eyes, ducking to peck her cheek.
“Thank you.” She smiles at him. “Alright, everyone. Dig in.”
We clamber across the benches to find our seats, snuggled up underneath the pergola as dusk sets in. The heat has relented, bringing with it the first whispers of autumn. It’s comfortable enough to eat outside with the sun tucked in for the night.
“Everleigh.” Chewing, Laureen points a fork at me. “Have you heard about Leo’s fifteenth birthday party yet?”
“No, no!” he erupts, face paling.
“Oh, ho, ho.” Sterling falls into fits of laughter. “Please tell that story.”
“Absolutely not! Sterl!”
“It is an excellent story.” Laureen chuckles.
“When parents say excellent, they really mean embarrassing,” Leo corrects. “We are so not doing this. Choose another story.”
Washing his burger down with a mouthful of beer, Sterling meets my gaze and mouths, “Tell ya later.” I nod enthusiastically. This is a tale I definitely need to hear.
“Let’s talk about Fletcher’s eighteenth instead,” he suggests, pinning his best friend with a smug look. “That’s an even better embarrassing story.”
Fletcher coughs on his mouthful, almost hacking up a lung. Between them, I duck so he can reach over and smack the back of Sterling’s head.
“Let’s do that one!” Leo agrees.
“Or Sterling’s stag do,” Laureen suggests. “Though his mother doesn’t need to hear that more than once to be thoroughly traumatised.”
The pale, exposed skin on his ring finger seeming to stand stark against his beer bottle, Sterling cringes. He removed his wedding band not long after Christopher was charged with Isabel’s murder, ending his four-year vigil for justice.
“Okay, I’ve learned my lesson. No embarrassing stories.”
Leo deflates. “Thanks, Ma. That was a close call.”
“Eat your dinner, kiddo,” she says indulgently. “I have a homemade pavlova in your fridge for dessert.”
Chewing my mouthful of her delicious food, I slouch back on the bench, content to listen to them argue and rib each other. Everyone is laughing and smiling. Even Fletcher is at ease, content to listen to their bickering.
I’ve never seen a family quite like it. Mine never radiated such love and easy acceptance, no matter how blended the arrangement—and this certainly isn’t a traditional set-up here.
But it’s perfect.
I may have lied to bargain my way into this sanctuary, but in Hawkthorpe’s misty mountains, I discovered the truth. Everleigh became Eden. Eden became the person she always wanted to be. And now I’m carrying them both into the future I’ve carved out with these wonderful people.
My found family.
My home.
My happy fucking ending.