Epilogue
Trask had never been happier than he’d been in the last few months.
After getting his head screwed on straight, he and Jett had gone from zero-to-sixty with their relationship—and yes, he was calling it that, now—in mere seconds.
First, after they’d returned home to a hero’s welcome, they’d spent a few nights back in the Sothard house; Trask’s childhood bedroom. There, Trask lived up to his promise, and showed his stubborn woman just how naughty she’d been to disobey him.
Once they’d felt settled again, they’d moved into Jett’s tiny, one-room apartment for a few weeks.
When that had proven…interesting, with the dogs wanting to be part of everything that went on, they’d rapidly found a house that both of them loved, and had shelled out a hefty sum of money so that they could move in as quickly as possible.
Which meant they were now the proud owners of a handsome cape-style home, only two miles from their place of business.
Diver Downeast had also picked up significant steam in the ensuing weeks, and it was all hands-on deck to keep up with the demands that were coming from far and wide.
Tabitha, thanks to Tex, now had her mini-sub decked out with all the latest gadgets, and it was in peak condition.
Sheila had been tasked with writing the man, the myth, the legend, a thank you letter, and they’d all been in stitches over it. Sheila, in her very dry way, had let him know that she would have eventually found everything needed, herself, but that his help was still much appreciated.
Tex, of course, had loved that letter, and told them all he was going to frame it and hang it on the wall in his office. He was also still angling for a ride, next time he came to Maine, which he would surely get.
The advent of their newly and fully outfitted “toy” had also added some fun to their days off.
They were all learning to pilot the sub.
Jett, to nobody’s surprise, had aced the lessons. But the Sothard brothers…not so much. Not because they lacked proficiency, but because they squabbled with each other, constantly, over how things should be accomplished.
It was subsequently decided that unless there was an emergency, Tabitha would always be the one in charge when they were submerged in her baby.
Trask, of course, questioned how that battle for top-dog status would play out once more Sothard brothers were involved?
If he had his way, they’d soon be getting the answer to that question.
He, Spence, and Buck were currently working on Julian, almost non-stop, trying to get the guy to separate from the Air Force and join them.
So far, Jules was making lame excuses, but Trask had no doubt that they’d wear their brother down sooner, rather than later.
As to other logistics, Jett’s plane remained hangered on the Sothard property. Since there was no place closer for her to put it, the arrangement made perfect sense, and that’s where Trask and Jett were headed now; in Trask’s truck, with both dogs in the back seat.
Jett crossed her arms under her ample breasts and heaved a sigh, complaining yet again. “I don’t know why we have to clean out my plane. I know where everything is,” she whined.
“Because,” Trask told her patiently for the dozenth time, “we have a perfectly good garage at our house now, with plenty of room to store things we don’t regularly need.”
“Like what?” she asked belligerently.
“Like the MRE’s whose expiration date was last year.”
And who the hell liked to eat those, anyway, even if they weren’t outdated?
“Fine. What else?” she snipped.
“Umm, is there a reason you carry three tents?” he asked. “And enough camping gear to outfit half a dozen people?”
She huffed, but clearly couldn’t come up with a response.
“Then there’s that huge pile of outdated aeronautical charts,” he continued. “I believe a few of them date back to the 1970’s.”
Jett sniffed, and Trask took that as encouragement to keep going.
“That’s only scratching the surface. I haven’t dug deep enough to see what other vintage treasures I might find,” he chuckled.
“Fine. I get it,” Jett huffed. “I’m a bit of a hoarder. But that’s served us well, hasn’t it? Wasn’t it good I had all those blankets and the foldable stretcher for Richard?”
“Of course.” Trask had to admit that it had.
“And speaking of Richard,” he added. “Sheila heard from Eloise this morning. Richard has, as you know, recovered completely from his triple bypass operation, but now she wants to thank us all by inviting us to a barbeque at their house once the weather gets a little warmer.”
It was still only May, so they had a few more weeks before anything warmer than sixty-degrees settled in.
“That sounds nice. But stop trying to distract me,” Jett sassed. “We were talking about my personal belongings. How about this? I’ll take care of clearing out my plane, if you…get lost.”
“Hah. Not happening,” Trask told her. “If I leave you to your own devices, things will simply get shuffled around, and nothing will get tossed.”
Her brows arched as she turned to face him. “What? Nobody said anything about getting rid of any of my stuff.” Jett’s voice rose. “You said ‘relocate’, not ‘trash’.”
The dogs, sensing agitation, danced around in the back seat, yipping.
“Sit,” Trask commanded as he held up a conciliatory hand toward Jett.
The dogs obeyed, but Jett still looked…militant.
“Alright. Alright. Calm down,” Trask placated. “It was a poor choice of words. You’re right. Unless you want to get rid of something, we’ll take good care of your possessions. We’ll pack up everything we deem superfluous to the business, and we’ll move it home.”
Trask loved the way that last word rolled off his tongue.
Home.
He never thought he’d have one. Or enjoy sharing it with an organizationally-challenged Jett. Trask wouldn’t lie. It was often an uphill battle, but he couldn’t picture his life any other way.
She kept him on his toes, that was for sure, and he wanted that, permanently.
He pulled up to the outbuilding that had become the Cessna’s permanent hanger, and they both got out.
Jett opened the back door for the dogs, and they took off like rockets, headed to the main farmhouse.
They knew exactly what they were doing. Ellen Sothard loved those two beasts almost as much as she loved her sons, and just as she perpetually had baked goods available for her kids, she always had treats for Jett’s four-legged pair.
The pups would come back in their own good time. Sometimes, they even showed up with stuffed animals carried proudly in their mouths; new toys Trask’s mother had purchased for them that they would bring home and eviscerate.
“Let’s get this over with,” Jett grumped, sliding open the big barn-like doors to the hanger.
“Aww, it won’t be so bad,” Trask assured her with a grin. He reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s start with the rear hatches.”
She dragged her feet, but eventually they had the over-stuffed compartment open. Trask began pulling things out, one by one, finally coming across a bunch of musty-looking, inflatable flotation devices.
“Do we even know if any of these still hold air?” he questioned skeptically.
“I have a pump in here somewhere,” Jett grumbled, bending to stick her head into the void Trask had created. She rummaged around, and… “Here it is.” She held the box aloft. “We’ll try filling each one.”
“Excellent,” Trask agreed.
She pulled open the top flap and scowled.
“Hey. My pump’s not in here. What’s this?”
Jett began yanking out a bunch of paper.
“Huh. Mice?” Trask speculated.
“It doesn’t look chewed up.”
She continued to extract paper until she came to…
Her head slowly rose as her gaze connected with Trask’s.
Tears filled her eyes as she gently and carefully drew out a small, velvet box.
“This isn’t…?”
“It is,” Trask said proudly, over-the-top pleased because he’d surprised her. That was tough to do with Jett.
He took the box from her hand, then dropped to one knee, opening it for her perusal. He revealed a flat, diamond encrusted band that wouldn’t interfere with her work or get caught on any safety equipment because…
Trask might be turning domesticated and becoming a bit of a romantic, but there were some safety measures on which he would still never stint.
The well-being of Jett taking top priority.
“Jett DeLuca,” he began, “will you do the honor of becoming my wife?”
Jett, instead of just saying yes, went into a raucous, squealing happy dance. Which drew the returning dogs’ attention.
Before Trask knew it, he was at the bottom of a human and canine pile, fighting for air and laughing his ass off.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Jett screamed, kissing his face all over.
The dogs, completely excited now, joined in on the act, adding their tongues to the fray.
Was their slime gross?
Yes.
Would Trask have it any other way?
Not on his life.
***
Thanks so much for reading Trask’s book. If you enjoyed it, think about leaving a review. It always means a lot!
The next brother up, as you might have suspected, is Julian. Look for his book sometime in early 2026.