Epilogue - June
Three Years Later
The city looks nothing like I remember.
"Mama," Tommy says, patting my cheek with his chubby hand. "Down."
"Not yet, baby. Wait for Daddy."
He's eighteen months old and looks exactly like Jackson, same sandy dark hair, same warm brown eyes, same stubborn set to his jaw when he doesn't get his way immediately. But he has my dimples and my tendency to talk nonstop about everything and nothing.
We named him Thomas Reed. Tommy for the man we both loved and lost.
I cried for an hour when Jackson first suggested the name.
We were lying in bed two months after that terrible night when he rode out to war, one month after he'd officially introduced me to the club as his old lady.
I'd just told him I was pregnant, terrified he'd think it was too soon, too fast, too complicated.
Instead, he'd pulled me into his arms and whispered, "If it's a boy, we should name him Tommy. Keep his memory alive. Make sure our son knows about the man who made us possible."
That's when I knew for certain I was going to marry this man.
Which I did. Six months later, small ceremony at the courthouse with the whole club in attendance. Phoenix stood as Jackson's best man. Eden and Nora stood with me. Grace was flower girl and took her job so seriously she counted every petal she dropped.
The truck door slams and Jackson rounds the front, looking relaxed in jeans and a flannel despite the November chill. Three years later and I still get butterflies when I see him. Still can't quite believe he's mine.
"Sorry," he says, joining us on the sidewalk. "Parking's a nightmare here."
"It always was." I shift Tommy to my other hip. "The city's changed so much. I barely recognize it."
"That happens." Jackson reaches for our son. "Come here, buddy. Give Mama's arms a break."
Tommy goes willingly, immediately grabbing Jackson's beard. "Dada. Hungry."
"I know. We're getting hot chocolate, remember?"
"Choc-it!"
I smile and take Jackson's free hand as we start walking. "The place I was thinking of is about two blocks down. If it's still there."
"And if it's not?"
"Then we find somewhere else." I lean into his side, soaking up his warmth. "I just wanted to show you both where I used to hide between classes. Best hot chocolate in the city."
Jackson's fingers tighten around mine. We can talk about my college years now without the weight that used to come with it: the loneliness, the homesickness, the way I counted down days until I could get back to Millhaven. Back then, this city felt like exile. Now it's just a place I used to know.
"There." I point ahead to a small shop wedged between a bookstore and a dry cleaner. "That's it. Still there."
The sign reads *Stella's* in faded gold letters. Through the windows I can see mismatched furniture, local art on the walls, and a long counter with an ancient espresso machine that's probably the same one from twenty years ago.
"Looks exactly like the kind of place college kids would camp out in," Jackson observes.
"I practically lived here junior and senior year." I push open the door, triggering a bell. "Stella, the owner, used to let me stay past closing if I was cramming for exams."
The interior smells like coffee beans, chocolate and old books. It's warm, cluttered and completely unchanged. Even the corner booth is the same, cracked red vinyl and a table carved with decades of initials.
A woman in her sixties appears from the back, gray hair in a messy bun, flour on her apron. Her face lights up when she sees us.
"Welcome to Stella's!" She wipes her hands on her apron, then does a double-take. "Wait. June? June Miller?"
My brain stutters. "Stella?"
"Oh my God, it is you!" She comes around the counter, arms outstretched. "I haven't seen you in what, fifteen years?"
"At least." I say, as we hug. "I can't believe you remember me."
"Remember you? Honey, you were here almost every day for two years straight. Always the corner booth, always buried in textbooks looking stressed." She pulls back, takes in Jackson and Tommy. "Look at you now! All grown up with a family."
I gesture to Jackson. "This is my husband, Jackson. And this is our son, Tommy."
"Beautiful family." Stella reaches out to chuck little Tommy under the chin. "Hello there, sweetheart. Aren't you handsome?"
Tommy buries his face in Jackson's neck, suddenly shy.
"What brings you back to the city?" Stella asks.
"Just visiting. Showing Jackson where I went to school." I glance around the shop. "I'm amazed you're still here. Half the block is completely different."
"Rent control and stubbornness." Stella grins. "The landlord keeps trying to buy me out but I'm not going anywhere. This place is my baby. What can I get you folks?"
"Three hot chocolates," Jackson says. "One with extra whipped cream for the little guy."
"Coming right up. Grab any seat. I'll bring them over."
We settle into the corner booth, the same one I claimed as mine twenty years ago.
Jackson slides in across from me with our son on his lap.
I run my fingers over the carved initials in the table, dozens of them overlapping each other.
Students marking their territory, their relationships, their existence.
"You carve anything in here?" Jackson asks, nodding at the table.
I trace one set near the edge. "Yeah. Right here. Just my initials and the year. Nothing romantic. I was too busy being homesick to think about carving declarations of love."
Jackson's eyes soften. "College was hard for you."
"It was." I look around the shop, remembering late nights and loneliness and phone calls home that never felt long enough. "But it's where I figured out who I was outside of Millhaven. Outside of being the girl everyone expected me to be."
"And who were you?"
"Someone stronger than I thought. Someone who could survive being uncomfortable and come out better for it." I meet his gaze. "I hated being here at the time, but looking back? I needed it. Needed to learn I could stand on my own."
Stella appears with three mugs—two large, one small with a lid. "Here we go. Hot chocolate for the family. I added extra marshmallows to the little one's."
"Thank you." I wrap my hands around the mug, savoring the warmth.
"Choc-it!" Tommy reaches for his cup eagerly.
Jackson helps him take a sip, then wipes chocolate from his chin. "Good?"
"Good!" Tommy confirms, then immediately reaches for it again.
Stella lingers by the table. "You know, I always wondered what happened to my regulars. Most of them I never saw again after graduation. It's nice seeing one of you thriving."
"Thank you for making this place what it was," I tell her. "It saved me more times than you know."
"That's what we're here for." She pats my shoulder and heads back to the counter.
We drink our hot chocolate in silence. Little Tommy makes a mess, getting chocolate on his face, his hands, and Jackson's shirt. Jackson doesn't even flinch, just wipes him down with napkins and lets him destroy the whipped cream.
"So, this is where you'd call me from," Jackson says eventually, a slight smile on his face. "That one time you drunk-dialed me sophomore year."
I groan, covering my face with one hand. "Oh God. I forgot about that."
"I didn't. You called me at 2 AM, completely wasted, telling me you missed Millhaven and couldn't remember if the Krebs cycle involved six carbons or eight."
"It was six."
"I know. I looked it up before I called you back." He's grinning now. "You thanked me very seriously and then told me I was one of your favorite people in the whole world."
"I was drunk."
"You were honest." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "I stayed up another hour after that call, thinking about you in this city all alone, struggling through exams and homesickness. Wished I could've been here to help."
"You were there. Every phone call, every text. You and Tommy both kept me sane from three hours away." I squeeze his hand. "I wouldn't have made it through without you."
"Yeah, you would have. You're stronger than you think."
"Maybe. But I'm glad I didn't have to find out."
Tommy starts squirming in Jackson's lap, bored with sitting still. Jackson sets him on the bench seat beside him and pulls out a small toy truck from his jacket pocket, always prepared.
"You're good at this," I observe, watching Jackson keep our son entertained.
"At what?"
"Being a dad. Being present. Knowing what he needs before he asks."
Jackson's ears go slightly pink. "I'm just making it up as I go."
"We both are. But you're really good at it." I take a sip of hot chocolate. "Our son's lucky to have you."
"I'm lucky to have him. Both of you." He looks at me over the rim of his mug. "Three years ago, I never thought I'd have this. A wife, a kid, a family. Figured I'd spend my life alone working in that garage."
"What changed?"
"You." Simple. Direct. "You changed everything, June."
My chest tightens with emotion. "The war changed everything."
"No. You did. The war just forced my hand." He sets his mug down. "I would've kept hiding my feelings forever if I hadn't been facing death. But you… You made me want to be brave. Made me want more than just existing."
"Jackson…"
"I mean it." He reaches across, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You saved me, June. Long before I ever told you how I felt. Just by being you. By staying in my life even when it was hard. By choosing me when you didn't have to."
"I'll always choose you."
"Good. Because you're stuck with me now."
"Mama crying?" Tommy asks, looking concerned.
"Happy tears, baby." I wipe my eyes, smiling. "Mama's just really happy."
"Happy!" Tommy repeats, then goes back to his truck.
We stay for another hour, finishing our hot chocolate and watching our son play.
The shop fills with afternoon customers: college students mostly, looking just as stressed and tired as I once was.
I watch them and feel a strange mix of nostalgia and gratitude.
Grateful I survived those years. Grateful they led me here.
Before we leave, I pull out my keys and find the smallest one, the key to our house, the one Jackson gave me when we got married. I find a clear spot near the edge of the table and carve something.
*J.R. + J.R. + T.R.*
Jackson Reed, June Reed, and Thomas Reed.
"Our family," I say, showing him. "Officially part of this place now."
Jackson studies the carving, then takes the key and adds something below it.
*2026*
The year we got married. The year everything changed.
"Perfect," he murmurs.
We gather up our son, who's now completely chocolate-covered despite our best efforts, and head back into the cold November afternoon. The city may have changed, but Stella's remains. A constant in a world of variables. A reminder that some things endure.
Jackson takes my hand as we walk back to the truck, Tommy chattering between us about trucks and chocolate and "more choc-it."
"Love you," Jackson says.
"Love you too."
And for the first time since we arrived, the city doesn't feel like a place I used to know. It feels like just another piece of my story. Not the hard part or the lonely part, just a chapter that led me to this moment. To this family. To this life I didn't know I could have.
We drive out of the city as the sun starts to set, heading back to Millhaven. Back to the clubhouse and the garage and the life we've built together. Tommy falls asleep in his car seat before we hit the highway, chocolate still smeared on his cheek.
Jackson reaches over and takes my hand, threading our fingers together on the center console.
"Thank you for bringing me here," he says. "For sharing this part of your life with me."
"Thank you for wanting to see it." I lean my head against the seat, watching the city disappear in the side mirror. "For wanting to know all of me. Not just the parts that are easy."
"All of you is easy, June. Every single part."
I close my eyes and smile, letting the steady rumble of the engine and the warmth of Jackson's hand lull me into contentment.
This is what happiness feels like. Not the absence of hard things or painful memories, but the presence of someone who sees all of it and stays anyway. Who builds a life with you despite the complicated history. Who gives you a future that honors the past without being imprisoned by it.
The man I loved is gone. But the man I love is here, driving us home, our son sleeping in the backseat.
And that's enough. More than enough.
It's everything.
Thank you for reading it!