Epilogue #3
“Let’s go home, minha luz. Mia and Bell will meet us there later,” Raiden whispers against my ear.
I take his offered hand, wading through the sea of people bombarding us from every direction, but the typical claustrophobia I’d feel from being surrounded is blessedly absent.
I doubt anything could bring me down from the high I’m feeling.
As we draw closer to where we parked, a deep voice behind us calls, “Ms. Adams?” Something in his tone makes me stop, despite the firmness of Dayton’s hand resting against my lower back, urging me forward.
I spin to face the stranger, my eyes widening at the imposing form looming over me.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted the opportunity to speak with you myself before leaving town.
” At my look of confusion, he quickly extends his hand and introduces himself.
“Scott Denvers, Deputy Director of the FBI.” My lips part in shock as I robotically place my hand in his.
Beside me, Briggs swears under his breath, smoothing a hand over his hair and down the front of his shirt.
I cut my eyes in his direction, my brows knitting together at his odd behavior.
“Quit acting like a criminal, you fucking delinquent,” Raiden whispers harshly, making the Deputy Director chuckle. My cheeks heat with embarrassment as I rush to apologize.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Deputy Director,” I start, wanting to throttle Briggs when a barely contained snort is audible over the racing of my heart.
“Just Denvers is fine.” His smile is open and honest, showing no signs of irritation.
“I just wanted to commend you for your bravery. I worked a lot of cases as a field agent, but none that have affected me as immensely as yours and one other.” His eyes warm with fondness, making me curious as to who he’s thinking about.
His focus returns to me, noting the guys positioned protectively at my back.
A knowing smile teases his lips as he shakes his head.
“Is there something in the water down here?” Denvers mutters to himself.
“I’m sorry?” I query, tilting my head to the side.
“Nothing at all, Ms. Adams.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll let you be on your way.” With that, Denvers strides in the opposite direction, not once giving us a backward glance.
“That was weird, right?” I ask to no one in particular.
“Absolutely,” Dayton responds.
When several reporters turn their sights in our direction, my guys close ranks around me, their guards on high alert until we’re safely tucked inside Briggs’ SUV and leaving the pain of my past in the rearview mirror.
Our drive is quiet, and I lean my head against Dayton’s shoulder as I watch the landscape speed past us.
Sometime later, the bump of gravel beneath our tires stirs me from my inner musings.
A smile creases my cheeks as we come to a stop in front of our house.
Just as I expected, the front door flies open a moment later, Hudson barreling down the steps to greet us.
Climbing free of the backseat, I drop to my knees just in time to catch our very rambunctious three-and-a-half-year-old.
It’s been a year since his adoption was finalized, but not a day passes that I’m not eternally grateful for the gift I was given.
“Mama!” Hudson exclaims, his megawatt grin one of my favorite sights. “Lolli and PopPop helped me with my ABC’s! I matched all my letters on the first try!”
“That’s so great, honey!” I kiss his cheek, amazed by how far he’s come.
Hudson’s speech has improved so much you never would’ve known he struggled as much as he did.
He’s become a chatterbox these days, always talking our ears off, and an entirely different child than the one I was initially entrusted to raise as my own.
As proud as I am of Hudson’s achievements, I frequently catch myself wishing that time would slow down.
I want to savor every second, but life seems to move at warp speed, refusing to bend to the whims of us mere mortals.
Just next week, he’ll be starting preschool, which is a bittersweet reminder of the capable little boy he’s grown into.
“Way to go, Huddy Buddy!” Briggs interrupts, swooping Hudson off his feet. Lifting him doesn’t come as easily these days, seeing as he took after Seth in the size department, but that doesn’t stop the guys from doing it every chance they get. “Did you get a treat for doing such a great job?”
Hudson’s bottom lip sticks out in a pout when he responds, “Lolli said I had to eat dinner first.” His grumbly voice makes me laugh.
Our little sugar monster is a beast of the guys’ own making.
They spoiled him with sweets during his first few months of living with us, and now they’re paying the price.
“I think your Lolli is a smart woman,” Raiden tacks on, ruffling Hudson’s hair.
“I guess so,” he concedes, wiggling out of Briggs’ arms, then taking off for the massive playscape that Col and Royce built.
“Be careful!” I shout after him, knowing it’s my own anxiety that breeds my need to control every situation. Logically, I know that’s an impossibility, but at least having the illusion of it helps to keep me sane.
“Yes, ma’am!” His fading voice echoes back to us, already laser-focused on reaching his destination.
“That kid is gonna be hell on his teachers,” Dayton laughs with a shake of his head.
“Without a doubt,” Briggs agrees. “Like fathers, like son. Makes me so fucking proud.” He feigns wiping a tear away, making me roll my eyes at his penchant for adding a dramatic flair to everything he says and does.
The screen door opening behind us makes me turn, my smile instantaneous when I find Rita standing on the top step, a sleepy-eyed Izzy balanced on her hip.
Rushing to greet the two of them, I stroke the sweaty strands of hair from our daughter’s dazzling blue eyes.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I voice quietly, having learned that our precious Izzy Girl can become quite the hellion when she’s still clinging to sleep.
“Did you enjoy your nap?” She stretches her arms out to reach me, which I happily facilitate, sighing contentedly when she snuggles her face against my neck.
“She didn’t sleep for very long,” Rita adds, kissing the top of Izzy’s head.
“And she feels a bit warm. Might be cutting another tooth.” I nod my agreement, making a mental note to check her temperature as soon as we head inside.
As I take a seat in one of the rocking chairs lining our wraparound porch, Royce enters from the other side, looking slightly disheveled.
“Tell me again why a mini farm was necessary? Those damn goats keel over from the slightest disturbance in the air. I can’t ever tell if they’re actually dead, or just momentarily stunned. Gonna give me a heart attack one of these days,” he grumps, rubbing a fist against his sternum.
“We both know that’s just indigestion from all the spicy food you eat,” Col teases, taking the empty rocker beside mine. “Looks like you’ve gained a few pounds, too.”
“Spoken like a man who’s a couple of decades from retirement,” Royce jests, patting his still-slim stomach. “Enjoy those fourteen-hour days while I’m indulging in Rita’s cooking.” Wrapping his arms around her middle, Royce presses a kiss to her cheek.
“More like over-indulging,” Col snarks, but their back-and-forth jabs at one another are all in good fun.
As the sun starts to set, painting our property line in a deep burnt orange, I send a silent thank you to whoever’s responsible for this beautiful life I’m living.
It still feels like a fever dream most days.
Those early mornings, where the patter of tiny feet precedes our bedroom door bursting open, our children’s faces being the first sight we see when we finally pry our sleep-laden eyes open, are some of the many moments I’ll remember, even when I’m old and gray.
I’m still in awe of the place we call home–a fifteen-acre plot of land that includes a renovated farmhouse, small horse stable, an over-the-top chicken coop, and several pastures dedicated to the livestock we’ve amassed.
Two months ago, Colsen officially took over Royce DuPont Construction.
His days aren’t nearly as long as Roy teases they are, but his workload is certainly heavier.
While his job is less laborious now, he has far more responsibilities.
Meanwhile, Royce is savoring every second of retirement, spending his days playing PopPop to Izzy and Hudson.
After he and Rita married last fall, they built a small house on the edge of our property so we could all be close.
As much as Royce would like us to believe that tending to the animals is bothersome, we know he secretly loves it.
He’s up at the crack of dawn, eager to get the day’s chores started.
I split my days between working at The Village and staying home with the kids.
It does me good to interact with other adults, so I try to leave the house at least a couple of times a week.
Rita and I are currently working on a free childcare program we want to offer at The Village.
We plan to operate on a drop-in basis so that parents can job hunt, or even Christmas and birthday shop, without the added stress of having their kids in tow.
Some days, I help Col do admin work at one of the various construction sites he’s splitting his time between.
All in all, I’m very pleased with where my interests have taken me.
Honestly, I enjoy it so much, it doesn’t really feel like work.