Epilogue
Jane
Six Months Later
I’m making coffee incorrectly again.
Not wrong wrong, just not up to Tex’s military standards, which means the grounds aren’t leveled with a ruler, and I’ve committed the sin of eyeballing the water.
Summer has arrived in Havenridge while I wasn’t paying attention. The pastures are green, and the windows are open to admit the early summer sun.
Six months.
I’ve been here for six months, and sometimes I still find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It never does.
I hear Tex’s boots on the porch before the door opens. He’s been out since five, checking fences with Tank. When he walks in, the cold clings to his jacket, and his eyes find me immediately, like they always do.
“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he says, but there’s a smile in his voice.
I don’t turn around. “Your coffee maker has a mind of its own.”
“It’s a pour-over. It has one job.”
“And I’m letting it do its job,” I reply, gesturing at the slowly dripping chaos I’ve created. “I just refuse to micromanage it.”
Tex approaches from behind, wrapping one arm around my waist. His mouth brushes my temple—the same kiss he gives me every morning, like it’s a checkpoint in his routine.
Jane: alive, present, making terrible coffee.
Roger that.
I lean back into him, and my eyes land on the shelf across the kitchen.
He built that for me. He didn’t even ask; he just showed up one day with lumber and a plan, saying, “Your fidgets need a home.”
Now it holds my stress balls, the tangle toy Kitty gave me, three different spinners, and a small army of novelty erasers I’ve collected from who knows where. It looks ridiculous next to his pristine countertops.
He’s never once asked me to move them.
“Everyone’s coming at four,” he murmurs against my hair.
My stomach flips, partly from nerves, partly from excitement. “I know. I made pie. Kitty’s recipe. Don’t judge.”
“I never judge your pie.”
“You judged my pie last week.”
“I said the crust was interesting.”
“Interesting is a judgment.”
He chuckles softly, and the sound warms my chest. He’s been doing a lot more of that lately. I like to think I’ve helped him to lay some of his ghosts to rest too.
Today is the first time my brothers are coming to Havenridge since the showdown.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Weston drove out two months ago to “check on things,” which really meant standing awkwardly outside for twenty minutes while Tex and I assured him I hadn’t joined a cult.
But this is the first time all three of them are coming. Together. To have dinner with Tex and me, and his SEAL brothers.
My two families colliding in one cabin. No big deal. Totally fine. Not at all the reason I’ve stress-baked three pies and rearranged the living room twice since yesterday.
Tex’s hand slides to my hip. “You okay?”
Always grounding me. Always checking in. “Yep. Great. Excellent.”
“Jane.”
I sigh. “I’m nervous.”
He turns me to face him, his hands steady on my waist. His eyes are the same fierce green they were that first day, certain and unblinking, as if he’s already decided everything will be fine because he refuses to accept any other outcome.
“Your brothers are trying,” he says. “That counts.”
“I know.”
And they are trying. Caleb now texts me with more than just one-word check-ins; he sends real sentences. Last week, he asked what books I was reading. I nearly dropped my phone.
Weston calls every Sunday like clockwork, having learned not to ask if I’m sure about things. He simply listens. It’s strange. I kind of love it.
Boone is still Boone—gruff, uncomfortable with feelings, and prone to expressing love through insults. But last month, he sent me a box of fancy coffee beans with a note that read: Tex says you can’t make coffee. Prove him wrong.
That’s Boone-speak for I miss you.
I haven’t proven Tex wrong yet, but I’m working on it.
By four, the cabin is bustling.
Tank arrives first because Tank is always early. He brings his tall, red-headed wife, Jessie. The moment she sees me, she pulls me into a hug.
“Look at you,” she says, pulling back to study my face. “You’re glowing. You’re glowing.”
“I made pie,” I reply, as if that explains everything.
She grins. “I heard. Kitty already warned me about the crust.”
I sigh. “Of course, she did.”
Saint and Sadie arrive next. Saint is still the grumpiest person I've ever met—Tex’s words—but he softens around Sadie in a way that makes my heart ache.
Sadie had a rough time of it before she arrived at Havenridge.
She probably needed this place more than any of us, thanks to a murderous, psychotic stepmother.
She catches my eye across the room and gives me a small wave, shy but warm.
Then the trucks pull up. Three of them because my brothers have never done anything by halves.
I watch from the window as they park, my heart climbing into my throat. Tex appears at my side, sensing my pulse quickening.
“Breathe,” he murmurs.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re vibratin’.”
“Same thing.”
He lets out a low chuckle and squeezes my hand.
The door opens, and there they are: Caleb first, carrying a case of beer like a peace offering; Weston behind him, already scanning the room for tension he can smooth over; and Boone last, jaw tight, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Caleb’s eyes find mine immediately.
“Jane,” he says.
One word containing a whole paragraph of meaning.
“Hey,” I reply, my voice shaking a little.
Weston crosses the room and wraps me in a hug before I can brace for it. He smells like home: hay, motor oil, and the laundry detergent Mom used to use.
“Missed you,” he says gruffly. “It’s too quiet without you.”
My throat tightens. “You mean the kitchen is too dirty?”
He pulls back, grinning. “Both.”
Boone hovers near the door, as if contemplating an escape.
I catch his eye and raise my eyebrows. “You coming in, or are you going to stand there looking constipated all night?”
Tank snorts from the couch, clearly amused.
He’s taken to me like a golden retriever with a new chew toy, finding me hilarious, which drives Tex a little crazy.
Like me, Tank thought he took up too much space in the world until Jessie came along.
They balance each other perfectly, just like Tex and me.
Boone’s jaw tightens, but he steps inside and closes the door. “Nice place,” he grunts.
“Thanks,” Tex replies evenly. “We like it.”
We.
That word still makes my chest tighten, even after six months.
Two hours later, the cabin is alive with voices and laughter.
I stand in the kitchen doorway, witnessing something I never thought I would see: Boone and Tex leaning against the porch railing, discussing fence maintenance, of all things.
Boone gestures, explaining post depth, while Tex listens and nods.
It’s not warmth exactly; it’s more like mutual respect.
For Boone, that’s practically a love confession.
Tank notices me staring and wanders over, beer in hand. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprised to find it true. “I’m better than good.”
He follows my gaze. “Boone’s intense. I like him.”
“Everyone’s scared of Boone.”
Tank shrugs. “I’ve seen scarier. Besides, he’s just worried about you. I get it.”
I glance at him. “You’ve been talking to my brothers?”
“Caleb and I compared notes on lumber,” Tank grins. “Your brother’s got good instincts. Terrible taste in trucks, but good instincts.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
In the living room, Weston is teaching Jessie some ridiculous card game he learned in a bar in Austin. Saint watches from the corner, likely cataloguing escape routes, but Sadie's hand is laced with his, and his shoulders are relaxed.
This is what it looks like, I realize.
Two families stitching together at the seams.
Later, as the sun sets and the porch fills with people watching the sky turn pink, Caleb finds me alone in the kitchen.
I’m cutting the third pie, the one I hid because the crust actually came out right.
“He’s good for you.”
I nearly drop the knife as I look at Caleb leaning against the counter, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“I know.”
“I didn’t,” he admits quietly. “At first. I thought—” He hesitates, jaw tightening. “I thought he was taking advantage of a moment when you were vulnerable.”
“Caleb—”
“Let me finish.” His voice is rough. “I was wrong. I watched you tonight, and I—” He clears his throat. “You’re happy, Jane. Really happy. Not the kind you fake to keep everyone comfortable.”
My eyes sting. “I didn't know you could tell the difference.”
Caleb looks away, but I see the guilt he’s been carrying.
“We should’ve let you breathe sooner,” he says. “We should’ve—I don't know. Been better.”
“You were twenty-two when Mom and Dad died. You were just figuring things out.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No,” I agree softly. “But it’s the truth.”
Caleb meets my gaze. “You’re not too much, Jane. You never were. We were just”—he exhales—“scared. Scared men get loud.”
My breath catches. That's Tex’s line. Caleb must have heard it that night on the porch.
“I know,” I say. “I’m learning.”
Caleb nods sharply, which is the Cutter version of an emotional breakdown, and squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll do better.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “We all will.”
The trucks leave after dark.
Boone is the last to go, lingering on the stoop, looking at me with that complex expression he wears when he’s feeling things he can’t name.
“Text the group chat,” he says.
I laugh. “I always do.”
“He’s... not terrible,” he says so quietly I almost miss it.
Coming from Boone, that’s high praise.
“I’ll tell him you said that.”
“Don’t you dare.”
I grin. “Love you too, Boone.”
“Love you, sis,” he says over his shoulder as he walks to his truck.
When the last taillights vanish down the drive, I exhale for what feels like the first time in hours.
Tex approaches from behind, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “You survived.”
“We survived.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Come inside. The fire’s still going.”
We settle on the couch together, his arm around me, my head on his chest, the fire crackling. The cabin feels quiet in that way it does after chaos: warm, settled, ours.
I trace patterns on his shirt, lost in thought.
“Tex?”
His hand strokes my hair. “Yeah?”
“What did you think the day you first saw me?”
He pauses. I expect something soft and romantic.
Instead, his voice rumbles with amusement: “That you were going to be a hell of a lot of trouble.”
I snort. “Rude.”
“True.”
I tilt my head up to look at him. “Am I trouble?”
Tex’s green, steady eyes find mine, just like that first night when he said, “You’re safe with me.”
“You’re exactly the trouble I needed,” he replies.
My heart thuds.
He cups my face as he did in that field six months ago, his thumbs sweeping along my jaw. “I meant what I said. Every word. You weren’t picked at random, Jane. You were meant to be mine.”
The words land like a brand.
“I know,” I whisper. “I believe you now. Because you were meant to be mine too.”
Satisfaction flickers in his eyes. He leans down and kisses me, slow and deep, as if he has all the time in the world.
And I realize as I melt into him:
I don’t feel like a mess someone has to manage anymore. I don’t feel like too much, too loud, or too chaotic. I feel at home.
Tex pulls back to press his forehead against mine. “Marry me.”
I inhale sharply. “What?”
He smiles against my lips. “Marry me. Jane Briggs sounds mighty fine, don’t you think?”
“So does Jackson Cutter,” I tease.
His eyes lock onto mine. “Don’t care as long as your answer is yes.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Sure you want to marry an emotional chaos tornado trapped in a snow globe of crazy?”
He doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. His mouth curves into that slow, devastating smile that says he’s looking forward to whatever chaos comes with me.
“I want all of you. Loud. Messy. Brilliant. Mine.”
And my heart melts because there really is no other answer except—
“Yes.”
Thank you for reading!