Epilogue
Thorn, one year later
Maybe someone might consider a romantasy-themed wedding and reception as ridiculous.
River and I never considered anything else.
Velvet banners hang from the ballroom on Brooks and Briar’s estate.
A string quartet is stationed in the corner, performing orchestral versions of River’s favorite pop songs.
The room is packed with people—people I know now because of my family.
My real family.
We have hockey players and billionaires, animal rescue people (and a surly senior cat named Joan of Freaking Arc as our ring bearer).
There are normal folk too—men and women River’s met now that her ex is out of the picture and she’s living fully.
Friends from the library, friends she met when she joined a Dungeons and Dragons group, teens and adults from a bakery program she volunteers at several times a week.
I’m not the most talkative, not the one who reaches out and makes friends wherever I go—that’s one of River’s strengths, not mine.
But these people are my friends too.
My D&D character is a level eight elf with paladin powers and long-range attack skills.
I’m eagerly awaiting the final book of my favorite romance series to come out.
I’ve watched all of River’s movies and discovered a few new ones of my own.
I even got conned into karaoke during our joint bachelor and bachelorette party.
I’ve gone to hockey games and concerts, walked on the beach and learned to ride a horse and helped foster several of Rory’s dogs (Violet was not happy).
I’ve watched the Lyons collapse, seen my dad in prison orange, silently cheered when he took a deal to stay there forever even as Sergio decided to fight the charges and wait for a trial.
Throughout that all, I’ve lived.
Pascal secured the archive and while certain files conveniently went missing, many, many more were turned over to the FBI.
Rory had her baby.
Jean-Michel and Tiff are adopting.
Briar and Brooks are expecting their first, as are Jace and Marie.
And, though nobody knows it yet, so are River and I.
A beautiful, messy, imperfectly perfect life.
“Thorny!” I hear and turn, smiling as Mia toddles over, her arms raised.
I scoop her up, brushing my beard against her face and making her laugh. “More,” she says. “More!”
I oblige her until she wriggles to get down, toddles along to her next victim.
“You big softie,” River teases, coming over to me, her arm slipping around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder.
Like Claudette used to.
My heart pulses and I send up a silent thank you to the universe for giving me the gift of two amazing women.
Then I focus on the one pressed to me. “You feeling okay, little hen?”
She smiles. “You can’t help but worry, can you?”
“Nope.” Especially with her puking in the mornings and sleeping more than normal.
“I’m good, honey,” she says.
I open my mouth.
“I promise to tell you if that changes.”
I pull her gently against my chest, the soft fabric of her cream-colored dress like silk against my palms, it’s beading glittering in the lights. “You’ve never been more beautiful.”
Her cheeks go pink. “You’re rather dashing yourself.”
The music changes, and I smile at her, offer her my arm. “Shall we?”
She loops hers through mine and the crowd parts as we move onto the dance floor.
Brooks and Briar smile, Jean-Michel holds Tiff as she wipes away a tear, Rome has Mia on his shoulders while Chrissy fixes the toddler’s dress, Rory holds their baby girl while King hovers protectively, Jace feeds Marie cookies, smoothing his hand over her rounded belly.
Other friends smile and drink champagne, laugh and kiss and party.
A year ago, I would’ve treated this happiness like borrowed time.
Now?
Now as I hold River in my arms and sway to the music, I realize this is just us.
The life we’ve built. Our home.
“Happy?” River asks as the song winds down and I take her hand, drawing her out onto the balcony where I finally began to let go of the past.
“Never doubt it, little hen.”
A flash of movement catches my attention and for a second, my heart skips a beat.
But there are no longer monsters hiding in the shadows.
It’s Angela and Pascal.
She’s wearing a jet-black dress, her blonde hair pulled into a severe knot.
Fully recovered but still as prickly as ever.
She’s not a part of us—she won’t allow herself to be. But she’s been around, always clinging to the shadows, never fully living.
It’s like looking into my past, a reminder to never allow myself to go there again.
And an ache that she may never get here.
Pascal steps closer, his body tense. Angela lifts her chin and holds her ground.
Even from here I can tell they’re arguing…and that she’s losing.
Pascal says one more thing then holds out his hand—a set of keys glinting in the moonlight.
Angela stares at them for one long moment before taking them.
Then she looks back toward the house.
Toward the lights.
Toward the people.
Toward the family she’s not truly part of.
River’s hand slips into mine. “Do you think she’ll ever stop running?”
I watch Angela disappear into the night, hear the soft rumble of a car engine starting up. Then I look down at my heart standing outside my body and thank my lucky stars that I’m able to be right here.
“Maybe,” I tell her as I watch headlights drift along the dark road. “Maybe if she finds somewhere worth staying.”
Angela
The road sign appears just after midnight.
WELCOME TO CEDAR HOLLOW
Population 1,812
Where love is the only currency that matters.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
Only Pascal would send me somewhere like this.
Love. Ha.
Power. Money. A spine of steel.
That’s what matters.
Rain drizzles softly across the windshield as I take the final curve of the mountain road, the dark pine forest that had been on either side of me for miles fading away, revealing a town…
That’s empty.
Much like the last year of my life.
Just silent. Just empty. Just…uncomfortable.
I drive along the quiet street that’s lined with adorable storefronts. Flower boxes sit beneath windows, flags hang from streetlights, a bookstore’s window still glows faintly despite the late hour.
All the while, Pascal’s instructions replay irritably in my head.
Lay low. Maybe do something fun for a change.
How the hell can I lay low in a town of less than two thousand people?
And there sure as hell won’t be any fun happening.
I park outside a small inn near the center of town and step out into cold mountain air, the scent of cedars and smoke in the wet air.
For a moment, I simply stand beside the car listening to the quiet, something loosening in my chest.
No one knows my name. No one knows what I’ve done.
A bell jingles softly behind me, and I whip around to see a man coming out of the back of the bookstore.
He’s juggling a stack of novels against his chest.
He’s also the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot of them.
Tall. Dark hair. Scruff on his jaw. Glasses slipping slightly down his nose. The barest hint of gray at his temples.
And he nearly mows me over.
“Oh—sorry,” he says, skidding to a halt.
One of the books tumbles forward, falls to the sidewalk, and it’s not my book, not something I should give a damn about…
I still bend forward to pick it up.
The trouble?
He bends too.
Our hands brush, and sensation explodes up my arm. Not a spark. Not a flicker. But fucking lightning.
I jerk back, stand.
He straightens too, offering an apologetic smile as he takes the book I hold out. “Sorry about that.” His grin turns chagrined. “Sometimes I get too into my own head and lose track of my surroundings.”
Which is dangerous. Stupid. Something I haven’t allowed myself to do for decades.
“Are you new around here?” he asks.
I scowl at him. “Why do you care?”
He doesn’t seem bothered by my surly tone. Instead, he just smiles and says, “You’ll learn that everyone in Cedar Hollow cares about everyone else.”
Again, dangerous.
And stupid.
For me.
I should get in the car, keep driving.
Get lost in a big city, finally put my past behind me.
Instead, I stay in place and ask, “You work at the bookstore?”
“I own Page After Page,” he says.
He has a gentle voice.
And kind eyes.
And a nice smile.
And I should stay far, far away from him.
Instead, I still stay where I’m at and ask, “How can you tell I’m not from here?”
“Small town problems,” he says lightly. His glasses are sliding down his nose, and I have the strangest urge to push them up for him. Then he shifts the books and does it himself. “New faces stick out.”
I’m going to kill Pascal.
And yet…I still don’t move.
The man shifts the stack of books in his arms again and extends his hand.
Something happens in my chest as I stare at that outstretched hand. Something big. Something weird.
Something wrong.
But I stay right where I am.
Rain falls softly around us.
The cedars rustle in the wind.
The moon shines through the clouds.
“I’m Everett, by the way.”
Angela.
The name rises automatically in my throat—then halts.
Because Angela Rosseau belongs to another lifetime.
Another woman.
Out of habit, I glance beyond him, searching the shadows for unseen threats.
But all I see is the outline of a quaint little town…
And the terrifying possibility of staying somewhere long enough to become someone else.
Then I look back at the man patiently waiting in front of me.
And for the first time in years…
I hesitate before deciding who I want to be.
Angela’s story will continue in the Cedar Hollow universe, in SOMEWHERE WORTH STAYING. And while you wait, you can read a sneak peek of hers and Everett’s journey to happily-ever-after in SMALL TOWN, BIG STORM now!
Storm
I slow at the final curve in the road, every cell in my body telling me to stop, to pull into the next turnout and flip a U-turn, to get the fuck out of here.
Away from Cedar Hollow.
Away from the memories, from the darkness that clung to my childhood. From the grief and the pain and the fists leaving bruises.
But the old bastard is dead.
He can’t hurt me anymore.
So, why am I here?
“To make sure he doesn’t somehow resurrect himself and haul his ancient, shriveled ass out of the grave?” I mutter.
Right.
Am I streaming far too much horror content?
Maybe.
But it’s still bizarre to think that my father is dead, that this giant storm cloud that’s shadowed my life for so long has finally lost its power.
That the wind has slowed, the rain has stopped, the blue skies are shining through—
“Enough.” I snort, pressing my foot to the gas pedal and maneuvering into town.
But as I drive to the church, it’s impossible to shake off the sense of foreboding.
My chest grows tight, my lungs heavy, my pulse pounds through my veins.
It’s like I’m on the rink, my skates digging into the ice, my eyes on the puck, my body hurling toward exhaustion as I try to push through my shift, to make one more play, to give one last bit of strength.
That hasn’t been going well either.
Hockey.
My game.
My future.
My career and life and dreams and expectations and—
Beep!
I jerk, hands tightening on the steering wheel, realize the one signal in town has turned green.
“Fuck,” I whisper, lifting a hand in apology as I press on the gas and start forward again.
I drive by the library and the fire station and the ice rink.
I pass the turn off for Gold Creek and the beach where I whiled away many a summer, eating ice cream and wading in the cold ass water and getting up the nerve to climb to the top of Grizzly Rock and dive into the deep blue river below all while mooning over the girls who couldn’t be bothered to so much as look my way.
Until one had.
God, those days—
I shake myself.
It doesn’t matter that they were the bright spot.
Eventually, I had to go home.
To him.
To that fucking house.
To the shit that formed memories that chased—
That chase me.
As in they continue to chase me even now. In my memories, through these fucking streets, on the ice, in the locker room, on plane rides and bus trips and through interviews.
From the Sierra to the Hawks.
From the pine trees to the fucking cedars.
All my life they’ve chased me.
And now it feels like I’ve made a U-turn and driven right back into the storm, into the past.
Maybe this should be the final piece in putting this shit behind me.
But as I pull into the church’s parking lot, it feels like I’m right back at the beginning.
Like there’s a big ass defenseman skating my way, about to blindside me with an open-ice hit.
I need to keep my head up, keep alert.
Stay aware and—
My phone buzzes, reminding me of the time.
Christ.
It’s time.
I pop open the door, climb out.
It doesn’t matter that this shit has dragged me back to a place I don’t want to be.
It doesn’t matter that my father was a bastard.
It doesn’t even matter that my new team has brought me far too close to home, too close to all that is Cedar Hollow.
And it sure as shit doesn’t matter that it feels like I’m standing on a precipice of my life, about to tumble into the dark unknown.
The years gone by don’t matter.
Neither does the unknown.
Because I’ll be gone by tomorrow.
Nothing—and no one—could make me stay.
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