Epilogue
Vesper
Some stories don’t end.
They just pick up again.
I don’t know exactly when I stopped counting losses.
Maybe it was the day I stopped running from what I wanted.
Maybe it was when Monty and Callaway believed they could become a team again.
Stopped running from their feelings and who they were and decided to love the only way they know—fully and unconditionally.
Or maybe it was here—this moment.
A porch swing in late summer. Juniper Ridge humming in the distance.
My legs across Monty’s lap, his palm spread protectively over the curve of my stomach.
Callaway on the other side of me, reading something out loud from a baby name book with far too much confidence for someone suggesting “Thistle.”
“You don’t like Thistle?” Monty says, grinning at my full-body shudder. “It’s strong. Botanical. She’d be memorable.”
“She’d sue us before her fifth birthday,” I reply dryly, smiling despite myself.
We’re visiting my father in-between camp sessions. He’s happy to be a grandfather, and we’re trying to get some time with him since he’s working a lot. At least until the summer is over and he joins us in Portland.
He’s coming back. Not to the old house. He sold it and bought a smaller condo that he can take care of easily. Also, he wants to be there for when . . . okay, we don’t have a name for our baby yet, but we’re working on it. My dad says that once we’ve found the right one, we’ll know.
Monty doesn’t look up from my bump. His hand strokes slow, absent circles. “She already kicks when you read the bad ones.”
“I take that as agreement,” I say, and Callaway makes an exaggerated hmph like he’s personally offended.
But then he leans in, presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist, and murmurs, “You win, sunshine. Like always.”
And I do.
I really, really do.
We didn’t rewrite the past.
We just stopped pretending it didn’t shape us. Now, we let the pain live beside the joy. Let forgiveness bloom in the space where regret used to sleep.
We found our way back here—this porch, this town, this future.
Together.
In our home, there are a pair of tiny shoes, a crib inside that Monty swore he’d never be able to put together until he did. There’s a mess of half-read books and an ultrasound picture tucked into a frame Callaway swears he didn’t cry over.
We’ll go back to it after our trip to Vancouver next week.
We’re trying to do as much as we can without exhausting each other.
It’s all about spending time together, learning new things, and being present before they have to go back to work.
This time, they plan on winning the Cup, for the team that brought us back together—and themselves.
Thankfully, I’m not choosing anymore.
Not between them.
Not between who I used to be and who I’ve become.
I’m just . . . happy, content.
Loved by two men who love me as much as I love them. Wanted in a way that makes my chest ache in the best possible way. Growing a daughter who will never wonder if she’s too much.
She’ll be raised knowing love doesn’t have to come in neat, polite boxes.
She’ll grow up watching her dads bicker over who gets to make her breakfast, who gets the car seat ready, who gets the last goodnight kiss.
She’ll hear laughter in this house.
She’ll know softness.
She’ll know fire.
She’ll know home.
This isn’t choosing between always and forever. It’s about living life and finding joy in every little thing.
What to Read Next? Before We Break Again
We were inseparable once.
Three hearts tangled in a small town no one escapes, bound by secrets, sorrow, and something that always felt like fate.
We were always meant to find each other.
Even if the world tried to break us apart.
Even if love arrived far too soon.
We were just kids trying to make it through.
But together, we made something sacred.
Until the day it all shattered.
Now we’re adults with scarred hearts and fractured trust.
The love we shared wasn’t big—It was everything.
And if we dare to rebuild it . . .
We risk destroying ourselves all over again.