Chapter 24 #2
Kolter pulls back eventually, his face beaming with a light I’ve never seen before. He looks at Booker, then at me, and his grin is so wide it actually hurts. “So, when do we go?” he pushes, already moving to grab his cars from the grass. “Can we go now?”
Booker laughs, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the ground beneath us.
“I think we can manage that,” he acknowledges, standing up and reaching down to pull me to my feet.
He keeps his hand firmly on my waist, pulling me into his side.We stand there for a moment, the three of us, watching the sun dip lower in the sky.
We walk toward the clubhouse together, Kolter running ahead, his energy boundless as he hollers, “I’m gonna pack some of my other toys!
” I giggle as I lean into Booker, resting my head against his shoulder.
He smells like woodsmoke and safety, the best scent I’ve ever known.
“Who needs clothes when you have toys,” I remark, a smile plastered along my face.
“For a boy, his toys are everything,” he says, defending my boy.
He stops me before we enter the clubhouse, letting his emotions pour out. “It’s a beautiful start,” he murmurs into my hair.
“It’s the only start,” I reply, and I know he understands.
We reach the porch, and I stop, turning to look back at the spot where we were sitting. It’s just a patch of grass. A square of dirt and weeds. But to me, it’ll always be the place where we stopped running and started being a family.
“Are you ready?” Booker questions, his eyes locked on mine.
“I’m ready,” I confirm.
We walk up the steps and into the house.
It’s waiting for us, filled with the potential of tomorrow.
I think about the paint for the walls and the art supplies for the table.
I think about the quiet mornings and the chaotic evenings.
I think about the girl with the baby in her womb and the promise of a life that isn't measured in battles or scars. The front door swings open, and the house welcomes us in. The light shifts, dancing on the floorboards, warm and inviting. Kolter’s already inside, his voice echoing as he runs toward what he hopes is his room.
He’s laughing, a pure sound that has no despondency in it.
I close the door behind us, locking out the world and everything that used to haunt us.
The house is silent for a moment, a space carved out of time, designed just for us.
It isn't perfect, but it’s real. And in this house, with this man and this boy, I finally know what it means to be home.
Hand in hand, we wander through the rooms, the space feeling different now that we’ve claimed it together.
It’s an empty vessel waiting to be filled with the messiness of our lives.
I can see where we’ll put the table, where the drawings will hang, and where we’ll sit when the world feels too big and we need to retreat into our own little kingdom.
Booker walks beside me, his hand never leaving mine, as if he’s afraid I might vanish if he lets go.
He doesn’t have to worry. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
We stop in the living room, the windows towering above us, turning the outdoors into a painting.
It’s a stunning, clear vista. I think about how many nights I spent staring at the monitors, looking for a glimpse of hope, and now, all I’ve to do is look out the glass.
“Everything we need is right here,” Booker states, his voice low and intimate. “We don't have to search anymore. We don't have to fight. We just have to be.”
Anchored by the strength of his frame, I lean into him, finding a steady point in a world that’s finally stopped spinning.
He’s right—the fight’s over, replaced by this quiet, burning certainty.
Beneath the tattoos and the tough exterior lies the man I see so clearly now.
He’s the one who designed this house with us in mind, a man who wants to build, not break. He’s ready to be a dad.
A terrifyingly beautiful realization hits me and I don’t want to hold it in. “I love you,” I confess, the words feeling right and true in the stillness of the house.
He kisses me then, a soft, slow pressure that says everything.
“I love you, too, my Vixen. Now and for always.” It’s a vow.
It’s a promise. It’s the beginning of the rest of our lives.
We stay like that for a long time, held in the quiet, watching the sun finish its slow descent.
The house seems to hold us, protecting us, a fortress of light and glass.
And as the stars begin to poke through the dusk, I know that this isn't just a house. It’s the start of everything.
We turn away from the view, drifting toward the quiet heart of the farmhouse where our future waits in those empty, sun-drenched rooms. The old panic—that tight, jagged wire that’s been wrapped around my chest for years—has finally snapped, leaving behind nothing but a vast, strange calm.
Every ugly memory, every moment of shivering in the dark, feels like ancient history, eroded by the simple, steady reality of being here with him.
I lace my fingers through Booker’s, his calloused palm a map of everything I’ve ever needed to find.
We aren't rushing, and we don't have to look over our shoulders anymore. We’re just walking forward, two people who’ve finally learned how to stand still.