Epilogue
Lennox was sixteen when he decided love was a trap men built and women bled inside. All his life he’d been privy to his parents’ arguments, sometimes against his will and others from eavesdropping.
In the Jackson house, silence was always greatest before a storm chaos touched down.
It always held a pulse of doom, with the walls carrying secrets in low voices and sharp exhalations.
Doors closing too gently meant something ugly was happening behind them.
His mother’s voice was strained and trembling, and it always had a way of reaching him, no matter how far he tried to get from it.
He came home from practice with his gym bag slung over one shoulder and sweat drying beneath his hoodie.
His knees were sore, and his mind replayed missed shots he should’ve made.
He had been thinking about basketball and college scouts—wondering if freedom might look like a court with a scholarship and his name on the back of a jersey instead of being tucked beneath his father’s legacy.
Then he heard his mother crying, stopping Lennox in his tracks.
His parents were in the sitting room with the door cracked just enough for their voices to spill out and the light to cross the threshold in a thin line.
“Mielle, lower your voice,” Jason said.
“I will not lower my fucking voice,” His mother’s voice broke, gathering itself around pain. “Another woman, Jason? Another child?”
Lennox’s stomach dropped as the deja vu of the conversation played out.
His father sighed as if boredom were a reasonable response to devastation. “It’s handled.”
“Handled?” Mielle asked incredulously, “You think sending money means you handled it? You humiliate me while parading women around this city and bringing children into the world like consequences are something your accountant can file away. Yet I’m supposed to keep standing beside you smiling?”
“You’ve been standing beside me this long, why stop now?”
The words hit his mother like a cold glass of water to the face. Even at sixteen, Lennox understood cruelty, even if it was dressed in truth and twisted into a weapon.
His mother went quiet.
Jason continued his calm but vicious verbal attack. “Don’t act like you haven’t benefited from being my wife. The house. The cars. The clothes. The vacations. You get to enjoy this life and the circles you’re in because of my name, yet somehow you complain about what it costs.”
“It cost me myself,” she whispered.
Jason’s laughter made Lennox’s hands curl into fists.
“Then get a job and leave,” Jason said, “Or shut up bitching about it.”
The cruelty in those last words made Lennox snap so quickly it scared him, causing him to push the sitting room door open before he could stop himself.
Both of his parents turned, Mielle’s face filled with shame and embarrassment only fueling the rage he felt. His father could cheat, lie, and poison everything he touched, yet his mother was the one who looked ashamed to be seen hurting.
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Go to your room.”
“No,” Lennox said defiantly.
His father blinked as Lennox stepped inside, letting his gym bag drop from his shoulder to the floor with a dull thud. His mother stood with her tear-stained face as she gripped the back of the chair like she needed help to keep from falling apart, and his father held a look of indifference.
“You’re a bitch,” Lennox hurled at his father.
Mielle gasped. “Lennox.”
Jason’s face went red so fast it almost satisfied him. “What did you say to me?” he asked.
“I said you’re a bitch,” Lennox’s voice shook, though he refused to back down. “You treat her like this because you know she loves you enough to keep hoping you’ll become somebody worth staying for.”
Jason took one step forward. “Boy—”
“No,” Lennox’s fists tightened, “You’re not a man because women are scared to challenge you. You’re not powerful because people take your money and swallow your disrespect. You’re weak and sorry. And I can’t wait for the day she grows a backbone and leaves your sorry ass.”
The silence was brief before Jason charged in his son’s direction and Mielle stepped between them so fast Lennox barely saw it coming.
“Jason. No!” she yelled.
His father’s jaw clenched, keeping his eyes on Lennox over Mielle’s shoulder. He was full of rage and hatred for his own son, and Lennox would never forget it.
“You think you’re different from me?” Jason asked arrogantly, “You’re mine. Everything in you came from me.”
“No,” Lennox said.
“You’ll be just like me,” Jason spat.
Lennox grabbed his gym bag and stormed out before he did something that would make his mother cry harder.
He went upstairs, slammed his bedroom door, and stood in the middle of his room, shaking with anger he didn’t know where to put.
His father’s words followed him as Lennox looked at himself in the mirror, afraid of how much of Jason’s spirit was already intertwined with his.
He pressed both hands to the dresser and vowed never to be like his father; if that meant never committing to one woman, fine.
If that meant keeping every relationship shallow enough that no one could drown inside him, then so be it.
Because distance was better than damage and loneliness didn't provide a home for cruelty.
He surmised that staying to himself neutralized the risk of becoming his father.
“Baby?”
Lane’s voice pulled him back to the present, sunlight replacing the memory of his childhood.
St. Barts spread out around him with their villa perched above the beach.
The white stone terrace opened toward a view so beautiful it looked fictional.
Turquoise water rolled in the direction of the soft sand while palm trees bent lazily in the breeze.
Somewhere below, laughter rose from the beach where the people he and Lane loved had been pretending all day that this was a family and friends getaway.
Lennox stood in their bedroom dressed in linen pants and a cream shirt with a ring box tucked in his pocket. His heart was racing like it hadn’t been given instructions to relax.
He and Lane had been together for a year.
A full year of loving her had made his old vow look sad but necessary.
Sad because the boy he’d been thought safety required emptiness and necessary because that vow had kept him from repeating what he hated until Lane challenged him to build something better.
Once Lennox showed up to be the man she deserved, Lane gave him all the softness she had spent years protecting, and he loved every ounce of it.
He loved soft Lane in the morning, who was also grumpy and loved threatening him for breathing too loudly before she had her first cup of coffee.
He loved focused Lane at The Full Plate Project, with her sleeves rolled up, calling meetings to order while feeding people with love and dignity.
Petty Lane had disappeared once she was properly loved.
Sensual Lane gave him her body in a way that no other man had ever experienced, and he treasured it.
Vulnerable Lane leaned on him for support and cried when she needed to, while Lavender Haze Lane was back putting words together in a way that left you in awe.
He had become Lane’s Lennox, whom she called Robot, as if it were part of his birth name, and Lane’s Lennox loved the life they had grown into together.
His mother was here and free of Jason, and the last he checked, his father was in prison for fraud and blackmail.
Without the help of his brilliant son and The Council, Jason was just a regular man bound by the laws of everyday life.
His mother was lighter every time he saw her, and today was no different as she glowed in a yellow dress, saying she’d spent too many years dressing for a funeral because she was always dying inside.
He loved that Jeanette was here too. It still felt miraculous in a way Lennox didn’t fully know how to explain.
Lane and Jeanette had slowly and carefully grown close, with her respecting her daughter’s boundaries.
Jeanette was winning her addictions by taking sobriety one day at a time.
She was a beautiful addition at The Full Plate Project and studying for her GED with a seriousness that made Lane cry the first time she saw her mother’s notebook full of vocabulary words and math problems. She kept her promise to her baby girl every day—not with speeches, but with consistent actions.
Jeanette and Mielle had become unlikely friends.
The two women had survived different cages and found each other on the other side of their trauma.
Mielle brought Jeanette tea, and Jeanette made Mielle laugh too loud most days.
Together they had formed a committee Lane called Mothers Who Need Supervision.
Lane pretended to be annoyed by it, but Lennox knew better.
“Robot.” She called.
He turned to see Lane standing in the doorway wearing a white cover-up over a purple bikini.
The island air had kissed her lavender pixie, and her sunglasses were pushed on top of her head.
Her skin glowed from the sun and from being loved for over a year, with a softness only Lennox could give her.
His chest tightened as he looked at the love of his life.
“Yes, My Love,” he answered.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you standing in here looking like a man about to either cry or commit wire fraud?”
“Those are my only two expressions,” he joked, but the truth was he was shitting bricks.
“True,” Lane agreed.
He smiled as she walked toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Everybody’s acting weird.”
“Everybody is weird,” he reminded her.
“KC told me to go freshen up before dinner, and Cadence started crying because I asked where my sandals were, while Nova keeps recording me like I’m wildlife. Then Tariq asked me if my hands were moisturized and our mothers hugged me three times in twenty minutes.”
Lennox could barely keep a straight face at Lane’s frustration.