Epilogue
Thanksgiving
Regan stood behind the bar and surveyed the chaos with something close to wonder.
Hill’s Tavern had been transformed. Orange and gold streamers hung from the rafters. Paper turkeys decorated the windows. Every table was draped in white cloth and set with real plates and silverware instead of the usual plastic baskets and paper napkins.
Pete was orchestrating a small army of volunteers in the kitchen, his voice carrying through the pass-through window as he directed the mashing of potatoes and the basting of turkeys.
Six of them, to be exact. Enough to feed the thirty-plus at-risk youth and their families who would be arriving in a few hours.
But first—the private lunch.
Lucy emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter of deviled eggs, her cheeks flushed from the heat. She set it in the center of a long table they’d placed near the front windows and stepped back to admire the spread.
“Not bad for a dive bar,” she said.
“Mom. It’s not a dive bar.”
“It was when your father bought it.” Lucy smiled, the kind of smile that said she was thinking about Henry, about the life they’d built here together. The Thanksgivings they’d shared. “He’d be proud of what you’ve done with it, sweetheart.”
Regan’s throat tightened. “I hope so.”
The front door swung open, and cold air rushed in.
CB walked in with Wade on his arm. The older man moved slowly but steadily, his cane tapping against the wooden floor.
His left side still gave him trouble, but the new physical therapy was helping, and the spark in his eyes had returned over the past few months.
Behind them came Jimmy and his son Collin, the newly elected president of the Canon Outlaws.
Collin was younger than Regan had expected—early thirties, with a quiet intensity that reminded her of CB.
He’d won the election by a comfortable margin, backed by the advisory board CB had helped establish.
Every major decision now required board approval.
No more unchecked power. No more Ryders.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” CB said, crossing to her and pressing a kiss to her temple. “You look stressed.”
“I’m not stressed. I’m focused.”
“Uh-huh.” He squeezed her hand. “Rule 8, original version?”
She sighed. “Fine. I’m a little stressed. A lot is riding on today.”
“And it’s going to be great.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Pete’s got the food handled. The volunteers know their jobs. All you have to do is enjoy the meal and let other people help.”
She wanted to argue. The instinct was still there—the need to control every detail, to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks.
But CB had spent the past few months gently, persistently reminding her that she didn’t have to carry everything alone.
That accepting help wasn’t a weakness. That sometimes the bravest thing she could do was let go.
He’d even added it to their list. Rule 10: Say yes to help and opportunities.
The door opened again, and Claire and Garrett walked in, followed by Vivi and her husband Ian. Claire carried a bottle of wine; Garrett had two white bakery boxes. Vivi was laughing at something Ian had said, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.
“Sorry, we’re late,” Claire said. “Someone couldn’t decide between pecan and pumpkin.”
“So I bought both,” Garrett added, setting the boxes on the bar. “Problem solved.”
Regan hugged them each in turn, struck as always by how natural it felt to have these people in her life now.
Mack, CB’s team leader, and his wife, Alyssa, had gone to her parents for the holiday, and Sebastian—she’d finally gotten his real name out of him—had said he’d be by later to help with the youth dinner.
Five months ago, Claire had been a stranger, taking Regan’s statement in a cramped office. Now she, and the others, were family—the kind you chose rather than inherited.
They settled around the long table, passing dishes and filling plates. Wade sat at one end, CB at the other, with Regan beside him. Lucy had ended up next to Pete, and Regan didn’t miss the way her mother’s cheeks pinked when he refilled her wine glass. The two of them were good together.
Desi had lain down between their chairs, the dog having accepted Pete as part of the family, too.
The conversation flowed easily. Collin updated everyone on the Outlaws’ latest initiative—a Christmas Day ride to support Sal Hutchins, the farmer who ran the stand up the road from the bar.
Sal had suffered a stroke in October, leaving his family scrambling to keep the farm running while he recovered.
“We’ve got forty riders confirmed so far,” Collin said. “CB’s been coordinating everything. Could be double that by Christmas.”
“And I’ve been working on the marketing,” Regan added. “Social media, local news, the podcast. We’re trying to get the word out as wide as possible.”
“The podcast.” Vivi leaned forward, her eyes bright with interest. “I heard you’ve had some exciting developments on that front.”
Regan felt CB’s hand find her knee under the table. This was still new territory for her—talking about the opportunities that had started pouring in after her mini-series on the Outlaws went viral. It was part of the reason for Rule 10.
“Actually, a few,” she admitted. “I’ve been interviewed for some true-crime shows. And there’s a network that’s been in touch about... well, about creating my own show.”
Lucy set down her fork. “Regan. You didn’t tell me that.”
“I’m still processing it.” Regan stared at her plate. “It would mean stepping back from the bar. Maybe finding someone else to manage things. And I don’t know if I’m ready to?—”
“You’re ready.” Lucy’s voice was firm. “Sweetheart, journalism has always been your first love. Your father knew that. It’s why he gave you the bar—not because he expected you to run it forever, but because it was to support you until you were ready to embrace journalism full-time.”
Regan looked up, her eyes stinging. “But it’s his legacy. Your legacy. I can’t just?—”
“You can.” Lucy reached across Pete to squeeze her daughter’s hand. “You’ve saved this place. You’ve made it something he’d be proud of. Now it’s time to go build something of your own.”
The table had gone quiet. Regan felt the weight of everyone’s attention pressing in around her like a warm current.
CB squeezed her knee. “Your mom’s right,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to control everything, Regan. You can let go and trust that the people you love will catch what you leave behind.”
She blinked back tears. This was what he’d been teaching her all along—not just with words, but with actions. He’d stepped into the chaos of her life and showed her what partnership really looked like. Not rescuing. Not controlling. Just standing beside her and sharing the weight.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I’ll call them back Monday.”
Lucy beamed. Pete raised his glass. Claire started a round of applause that made Regan’s face flush crimson.
CB just smiled.
The meal wound down slowly, plates emptied and refilled, the conversation shifting to lighter topics.
Ian told a story about a disastrous Thanksgiving from his SEAL days that had Garrett laughing so hard he nearly choked on his wine.
Vivi shared updates on the SPS expansion plans.
Wade and Jimmy argued good-naturedly about the best route for the Christmas ride.
When the last of the pie had been consumed, Regan started gathering plates—but CB caught her wrist.
“Leave it.”
“But the youth dinner starts in a few minutes, and we need to?—”
“Leave it.” He stood, and something in his expression made her pause. “I need to say something first.”
The table went quiet. Regan looked around at the faces watching them—her mother’s knowing smile, Wade’s soft expression, Claire’s barely contained excitement.
“What’s going on?” she said.
CB pulled something from his pocket—a small velvet box.
Regan’s heart stopped.
“I had a whole speech planned,” CB said, his voice rough.
“About how you changed my life. How you made me want to be better, do better, build something worth protecting. But you already know all that.” He opened the box, revealing a simple diamond ring that caught the afternoon light. “So I’m just going to ask.”
He lowered himself to one knee. “Regan Hill, will you marry me?”
The room held its breath. Regan stared at the ring, then at CB’s face—the hope there, the vulnerability, the absolute certainty in his green eyes. That damn easy smile that made her heart beat too fast.
She thought about everything they’d been through. The fear, the fighting, the moments when she’d doubted him, and the moments when he’d proved her wrong. The nights they’d spent talking until dawn, the mornings she’d woken up wrapped in his arms, the steady way he’d taught her to trust again.
She thought about the list on the kitchen bulletin board. Rules they’d built together, each one a small piece of the language that belonged only to them.
And now, Rule 10: Say yes to opportunity .
A laugh bubbled up through the tears streaming down her face. “See Rule 10,” she said.
“Is that a yes?” Wade murmured from the end of the table.
Regan smiled so wide it hurt. “It’s a yes. A hundred times, yes.”
CB was on his feet before she finished speaking, sliding the ring onto her finger with hands that trembled slightly. Then he lifted her off the ground in a bear hug that drove the breath from her lungs.
She didn’t care, didn’t care about anything except the solid warmth of him and the knowledge that this was real, this was hers, this was forever.
“About damn time,” Lucy said, and the table erupted.
Claire clapped. Garrett rose to shake CB’s hand. Vivi had her phone out, snapping pictures. Ian patted Wade on the shoulder, and the older man smiled.
Pete caught her eye from across the table and raised his glass in a silent toast.
When the chaos settled, CB pulled her aside, away from the congratulations and the happy tears.
“You okay?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“I’m better than okay.” She looked down at the ring on her finger, still not quite believing it was real. “I’m terrified. And excited. And completely sure.”
“That’s a lot.”
“I know.” She laughed, a little unsteady. “I can’t control the future. I have no idea what’s coming next—the show, the bar, us. But guess what? I’m okay with that.”
CB cupped her face in his hands. “You know why?”
“Because I have you.”
“Because you have all of us.” He kissed her forehead. “You built this, Regan. This family, this community, these people who love you. You don’t have to face anything alone.”
She rose on her toes and kissed him properly, not caring that everyone was probably watching.
When she pulled back, the first families were starting to arrive for the youth dinner. Kids in their best clothes, parents with cautious hope in their eyes, volunteers ready to serve a meal that would cost them nothing but would give them everything.
This was what the Outlaws had become. This was what she and CB had helped build.
Regan took a deep breath, ready to step back into the chaos. There were tables to set, guests to welcome, and a dinner to serve.
But first, she grabbed a marker from behind the bar and slipped into the kitchen. The bulletin board hung in its usual spot, the list of rules pinned in the center.
She added one more line at the bottom.
Rule 11: Say yes to forever.
When she turned around, CB was leaning in the doorway, watching her with a grin.
“Good rule,” he said.
She crossed to him and took his hand. “I learned from the best.”
Together, they walked back into the bar, into the noise and the laughter and the beautiful mess of the life they’d chosen.
Whatever came next, they’d face it together.
That was enough. That was everything.