Epilogue
Crewe
A few weeks later Riley and I head into Cupid City. It’s the kind of city that looks like it was built to make cynics roll their eyes.
Heart-shaped streetlights. Valentine banners strung between palm trees. A fountain downtown that someone actually dyed pink. The air smells like sugar and sunscreen and trouble.
I should hate it.
I don’t—because Riley’s hand is in mine, and she’s smiling like the world finally stopped trying to take things from her long enough to let her breathe.
We’re here on purpose. Not running. Not hiding.
Meeting family.
Riley squeezes my fingers as we step into the hotel lobby, her shoulder brushing my arm like she belongs there. Like she belongs with me. I still get hit with that—how natural it feels. How dangerous it would’ve felt a month ago.
Now it’s just… mine.
Not ownership.
Home.
Mack is easy to spot across the lobby—because Mack Hawthorne has never met subtlety and isn’t planning to start today.
He’s tall, broad, loud even when he isn’t speaking, leaning against a column like he’s posing for a recruitment poster.
Dark hair, dark grin, that signature Hawthorne chaos in his hazel eyes.
He sees me and pushes off the column with a grin that’s already trouble.
“There he is,” he calls, stepping in like a storm with boots. “The family’s resident ice statue. Still alive, Crewe?”
“Barely,” I deadpan.
Mack laughs and wraps me in a quick hug that’s half affection, half headlock. Then he releases me and his gaze slides to Riley. His grin shifts—less wild, more assessing. Protective, in the way my brothers are without thinking about it.
“So you’re Riley.”
Riley holds her hand out, polite, but there’s a glint in her eyes that tells me she’s not intimidated by the Hawthorne energy. “I am.”
Mack shakes her hand. “I like you already. You look like you’d insult Crewe’s coffee and survive.”
“I have,” Riley says. “Multiple times.”
Mack barks a laugh. “Perfect. Welcome to the family.”
Nash appears from the elevators like he owns the building—quiet, controlled, oldest-brother gravity. He looks the same as always: steady eyes, broad shoulders, the kind of calm that makes everyone else stand up straighter without realizing why.
Delaney Coleman stands next to him. She always has. They were inseparable as kids, and now it looks like not much has changed.
Nash’s gaze meets mine, and something unspoken passes between us: we’re here for a reason.
“Crewe,” he says, clasping my shoulder once. Then his eyes shift to Riley. A beat of inspection, not unkind. “Riley. Thank you for keeping him human.”
Riley blinks, then smiles softly. “I’m trying.”
Nash’s mouth twitches. “Good. Because he’s terrible at it on his own.”
Mack snorts. “Facts.”
We get the introductions out of the way, everyone meeting Riley for the first time.
Then, we move upstairs to a private lounge. Nash chose the place, which means it’s quiet, secure, and has an exit route he’s already clocked. Old habits don’t die. They just get invited to meetings.
Riley sits beside me on the couch. Mack drops into a chair across from us, sprawling like he’s made of confidence and good decisions he absolutely does not plan to make.
Nash doesn’t waste time.
He sets his phone on the table between us and taps the screen.
“Dean Maddox is putting together a team,” Nash says. “Maddox Security. They’re good. The best kind of good—quiet, competent, and hard to kill. Dean believes Dad is alive.”
Mack’s grin fades by a fraction. “We’ve been over this.”
Nash lifts his eyes. “Not like this.”
He hits play.
A grainy video fills the screen. It’s surveillance footage—street-level, slightly angled, the kind you’d miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for.
A man steps into frame.
My breath stops.
It’s not just the shape of his shoulders. Not just the way he walks—like the world should move around him. It’s the tilt of his head. The pause before he turns, scanning the street like he’s counting threats without thinking.
And then he looks up—just for a second—and the camera catches his face.
Older. Hardened. Beard rough along his jaw.
But it’s him.
Dad.
Mack sits forward so fast his chair legs scrape. “That’s—”
Nash pauses the video. His voice is quiet. “That’s our father.”
Mack swallows. “That footage is old. It has to be. Some archived clip from years ago.”
Nash shakes his head once. “No,” he says. “It was last week.”
Silence slams into the room.
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. My hands go cold, then hot, like my body can’t decide if this is real or a dream I’m not allowed to have.
Last week.
Dad’s alive.
Out there.
Breathing.
I feel Riley’s fingers tighten around mine. I look at her, and she’s watching me—not the video. Me. Reading the storm inside my chest like she’s learned my weather patterns.
“Crewe,” she whispers.
I can’t speak.
I just stare at the frozen image of a man I buried without a body.
Nash’s voice stays steady. “Dean thinks Dad’s been forced underground. He thinks someone’s been controlling him—using him. Or keeping him hidden because he knows something that could destroy them.”
Mack’s voice is rough. “Who?”
Nash exhales. “We don’t know yet. But we have leads. Enough to start pulling threads.”
My throat finally unlocks. “Why now?”
Nash looks at me. “Because Dad surfaced. Because somebody slipped. Because there’s movement. And because Maddox doesn’t chase ghosts unless he can catch them.”
Mack drags a hand down his face, trying to hold himself together. “So what. You want us to drop everything and go hunting?”
“Yes,” Nash says simply.
Mack’s jaw tightens. “Crewe’s still Air Force.”
Nash glances at me. “Not for long. His contract’s almost up. He can leave clean.”
My gaze flicks to Riley.
A month ago, that sentence would’ve made my chest tighten with dread. Now all I can think is: leaving means leaving her.
Riley doesn’t flinch from the weight of it. She leans closer, her thigh pressed to mine, and her voice is quiet but unwavering.
“Go,” she says.
My chest aches. “Riley—”
She shakes her head, eyes bright. “You can’t ignore that. Not when you finally have a chance.”
My throat tightens. “What about you?”
Her smile is small and fierce. “I’ll be here. And I’m not helpless, Hawthorne. I rebuilt my life after they tried to wreck it. I can handle you chasing the truth.”
Mack watches us with something softer in his expression. “She’s got you bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say simply.
Riley squeezes my hand under the table like she likes hearing me admit it.
Mack leans back and exhales. “Okay. So… I’m in. But I’ve got a quick assignment first.”
Nash’s eyes narrow. “Mack—”
“It’s already on my board,” Mack says, holding up both hands. “Heartline Security doesn’t love when you vanish mid-contract. I’ve got a client in Cupid City for the Valentine season.”
He glances toward the window, where Cupid City glows bright and ridiculous in the night. “Famous supermodel. Indigo Lyric.”
Riley’s eyes widen. “Indigo Lyric is in Cupid City?”
Mack smirks. “Doing a Valentine Lingerie Showcase.”
I lift a brow. “Of course she is.”
Mack’s expression turns serious, just for a beat. “She’s got a stalker. Threats escalating. Heartline wants me on her full detail until the showcase is done and she’s secure.”
Nash nods slowly. “How long?”
“Short. A few days.” Mack’s grin returns, wicked. “Then I’m yours full-time.”
Riley’s mouth twitches. “Good luck babysitting a supermodel. I’ve heard she’s high-maintenance.”
Mack points at her. “Don’t worry, Riley. I’ve never been one to deal with that kind of behavior. If I have to, I'll just lock her in her hotel room and stand guard outside.” He laughs.
My phone buzzes—a message from the brothers’ thread. Banks, probably. Or Sinclair. Or Jace. Or Colt. They’ve been circling this situation like sharks.
Nash looks at Mack, then at me. “I’m recruiting the rest.”
Mack’s eyebrows lift. “All of them?”
Nash nods once. “Sinclair. Banks. Jace. Colt. One by one.”
“Why individually?” Mack asks.
“Because this isn’t a group text,” Nash says flatly.
“This is our father. I’m not dropping that news on a screen where someone can react alone.
Or even worse, someone can see it.” He taps the phone again, letting Dad’s face burn into our eyes one more time.
“They’ll need to see it. They’ll need to decide.
And I’ll meet each of them where they are. ”
Riley’s fingers slide into mine again, grounding. My heart is still pounding. Still trying to accept what my eyes saw.
Dad.
Alive.
Out there.
Nash stands, shoulders squaring like a man stepping into a war he’s been preparing for his whole life. “Dean Maddox is assembling the team. We move soon.”
Mack rises too, clapping his hands once. “Okay then. First I keep a supermodel alive. Then I go find our dad.” He grins at me, pure Hawthorne chaos. “Try not to get too domesticated with your genius girlfriend while I’m gone.”
Riley laughs softly, and the sound steadies something in me.
Nash looks at me. “You coming?”
I glance at Riley.
She lifts her chin. “Yes. He is.”
The certainty in her voice hits me harder than any order ever has.
I nod once. “Yeah,” I say, and my voice is solid now. “I’m coming.”
Because some loves don’t hold you back.
They hold you up.
And as Riley threads her fingers through mine and Mack starts talking—already too casually—about lingerie showcases and stalkers and Heartline protocols, one truth settles in my chest like a vow:
I’m going to find my father.
And then, I’m going to come back to her.