Epilogue
The neon glow of the Hooch and Harmony sign pulsed like it had a heartbeat against the dusty Bell Creek night, casting a warm, familiar haze over the parking lot.
It was Friday, and the joint was packed.
Voodoo hadn’t seen the place this full since the Fourth of July chicken wing contest went sideways last year thanks to a grease fire and a drunk guy with a Roman candle.
But tonight felt different.
Tonight, he felt different.
He stood with one arm slung around Savannah’s shoulders, the other nursing a cold beer as they surveyed the chaos inside. The old honky tonk was alive. Boots stomping to the fiddle-heavy band up front, laughter echoing off weathered wood beams, pool balls clacking up in the balcony.
And there was Savannah, right beside him, laughing with Cammie and Jeeves like she’d known them her whole life. Like she belonged. Because she did now.
He watched her with something bordering awe.
She was the same girl he’d known growing up, sharp as a tack, spitfire sass, music in her soul, but now she was layered in a way that made him ache.
Softer. Stronger. Touched by grief and fire and survival, and somehow still so damn luminous, he couldn’t stop looking. His Savi Moon.
Across the bar, Eggs was predictably holding court, one boot propped on a stool while he traded jabs with the bartender, Melli, behind the counter. "You’re pouring drinks too slow tonight," he drawled, grinning.
Melanie, who went by Melli, narrowed her eyes as she wiped a glass. “Maybe your mouth’s just moving too fast again.”
“I can slow it down for you if you’d like.”
“Oh, honey,” she said, tossing a bar rag at his chest, “I like my problems fast and easy. You’re just slow. And nothing but trouble.”
Voodoo chuckled. Same old dance. Someday, those two were going to combust, and he only hoped the bar was insured for it.
At the same time, Flint leaned against the high-top table, deep in conversation with Haley over what Voodoo could only assume was some classified, high-level cybersecurity jargon, given the hand gestures and serious expressions.
“Look,” Jeeves said, sliding next to him with a plate full of nachos, “I’m just saying, she makes you soft.”
Voodoo raised a brow. “You’re one to talk. You built Cammie a soundproof library room because she said your mouth was louder than her thoughts.”
“Exactly,” Jeeves grinned, unapologetic. “That’s love, baby.”
Just then, the door swung open and in strode Hoot, soaked from the waist down. “I swear to God,” Hoot said, shaking water off his pants as everyone turned to stare. “Met this wild woman settin’ up shop in the middle of the creek like she was starting her own nation. With a damn Liberty Bell.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jeeves asked.
“The damn thing was nearly full sized. Made from pennies, if you can believe it. Told me the bell ‘symbolized the awakening of the town’s spirit.’”
Eggs snorted, nearly choking on his beer. “You’re making this shit up.”
Hoot tossed back the shot Eggs had set in front of him. “She said her name was Lark. Told me the town needed her and the river spoke to her. Then immediately fell in and started floatin’ off like a log in a flood. Had to drag her back to shore and give her a lecture on basic hydrodynamics.”
Everyone roared. Even Savannah, who had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.
Voodoo smiled.
This was home.
No government conspiracies. No piano bombs. No stalkers in the shadows or concert halls turned war zones.
Just music, beer, chaos, and family.
His family.
He looked at Savannah again. She was wearing one of his flannel shirts over a tank top, boots on her feet, and her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders. She didn’t look like a world-famous pianist tonight. She looked like a small-town girl who’d finally exhaled.
And God, he loved her.
With all the sharp edges, all the stubborn pride, all the found freedom, and all the brilliance.
She caught him staring and gave him a slow, knowing smile. The kind that said she saw it too.
“Hey,” she said, stepping into his chest, arms slipping around his waist. “You look like you’re thinking too much.”
“I was,” he admitted, brushing her hair back. “But then you looked at me like that and I forgot it all.”
She kissed him, soft and sure, and the world quieted.
Voodoo didn’t need fireworks or declarations to know he was right where he was supposed to be.
Here.
In Bell Creek.
With her.
And he’d never been happier.
**
Thank you for reading the second book in the Condor’s Overwatch series. I hope you enjoyed Savanna’s and Voodoo’s story.
Stay tuned for Hoot’s story next and find out what Lark was doing in the middle of the creek.