Chapter Thirty-Seven Epilogue
Xalori Carson
There’s something sacred about the sound of your children laughing on a sun-warmed shoreline. The kind of sound that cracks open your chest and fills all the hollow places you once thought would echo forever.
I sat in the sand, belly soft, heart softer, watching Ginger and Nasir run wild through the shallows—barefoot, free, and whole. Their joy rose into the sky like a hymn, crashing louder than the waves.
This was peace. This was healing. And somehow, after all the fire, betrayal, grief, and war we made it here.
Eason was somewhere behind me, dragging the umbrella and cooler like he didn’t have enough money to hire a whole damn staff. But that’s the thing about him, he’d rather do it himself when it comes to us.
As I reached down to smooth my palm over the stretch of healed skin on my stomach, I realized I wasn’t just surviving anymore.
I was living and I was finally ready to let the sun touch every piece of me again. For the first time in forever, I knew we were safe.
The breeze off the ocean was warm, wrapping around me like a lullaby, but inside there was still a cold part of me.
One that never fully thawed. One that still reached for Aaliyah in the dark, still flinched at sudden sounds, still replayed hospital monitors and silent screams behind my eyelids when I closed them too long.
I watched Ginger chase Nasir with a plastic bucket, both of them shrieking, their curls bouncing like they had no idea the world had ever been unkind. And God, I wanted to protect that, bottle it up and keep them innocent forever.
Deep down I was scared. Scared that joy like this had an expiration date. Scared that something—or someone—might come back and try to steal it all again. Scared that maybe I didn’t even deserve it in the first place.
I had blood on my hands, grief in my lungs, and regret [MH7]curled under my ribs like old scars that never fully healed. And yet here I was, still breathing, still loved, and still being asked to show up as a mother, a partner, a woman who could carry it all without letting it crush her.
But what if I dropped it? What if I failed again?
Surviving ain’t the same as living and healing wasn’t linear. It curved and dipped and sometimes dragged you back through the pain just to see if you still remembered how to fight.
I didn’t hear him walk up. Of course I didn’t, he was damn near a shadow when he wanted to be—but I felt him the second he dropped down behind me, legs on either side of mine, chest against my back like he was trying to hold my whole world together with his body alone.
“You alright, Muffin?” Eason’s voice was low, rough, all that gravel and gravity he carried like armor.
I didn’t trust my voice not to crack so I did answer right away, I just nodded once. But of course, he didn’t let that shit slide.
Eason’s hand slid over mine, fingers threading together, firm and grounding. “Talk to me.”
And even though the tears didn’t fall, my voice did.
“I don’t know if I’m good enough for this,” I whispered, my gaze locked on our children. “This life. This love. Them.”
Eason was quiet for a beat. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing my temple. “You think they would’ve survived all this if it wasn’t for you?”
My throat tightened.
“You think I’d be breathing if it wasn’t for you?”
I swallowed hard, leaning into him. “Sometimes I still feel broken.”
“You are,” he said. “But that’s the best part. Because broken don’t mean weak, Muffin. It means you’ve been through hell, and you still chose to build a home in the middle of the ashes.”
I turned to him, heart cracking open like a soft shell. And when his eyes met mine—dark, unblinking, full of heat and truth—I finally let myself believe I didn’t have to be perfect. I just had to be present. And maybe that was enough.
Eason didn’t say anything right away. He just sat there, silent and still, like he could feel the war happening inside me. Like he knew better than to interrupt a storm mid-spin.
Then he moved, slow and purposeful. His arms slid around my waist from behind, locking me in like I was something fragile and holy. His chin rested on my shoulder, breath brushing against my skin as he pulled me tighter, like if he could just hold me close enough, he’d carry it all for me.
“You didn’t just survive, Muffin,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “You rebuilt.”
That’s when the ache hit me. Not grief. Not guilt. But the ache of being seen.
“You think I don’t see how you move?” he whispered, his hands spreading over my stomach, over the place that still ached from the life we brought into this world.
“You carry pain like it’s part of your DNA, but you still show up.
Still love. Still fight. You ain’t weak, baby. You a goddamn phoenix.”
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back. Because this wasn’t a breakdown, it was a breakthrough.
“You hold my kids like you birthed every one of them. You hold me like I’m worth something. You hold yourself even when the world tried to break you. And every time I look at you, I see a woman who should’ve folded a long time ago.”
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, voice dipping lower.
“But you didn’t.”
I turned in his arms, sliding my hands up his chest until my fingers curled into the collar of his tee.
“I wanted to,” I confessed, my voice cracking just a little. “So many times, Eason. I wanted to disappear.”
He nodded slowly. “But you didn’t. You stayed. And now you’re here—soft, loved, and still strong as fuck. That ain’t a coincidence. That’s divine, Muffin. You’re divine.”
A sob broke loose before I could stop it. One of those guttural, half-laugh, half-cry sounds that shake you from the inside out.
Eason cupped my face, thumbs brushing away the tears as they fell. “You deserve this life. All of it. The softness, the second chance, the love that don’t hurt.”
I swallowed, lips trembling. “Even after everything?”
He didn’t flinch. “Because of everything.”
His response broke me in the best way.
I leaned into his chest, buried my face in his neck, and let myself fall apart a little more—because for the first time in a year, I didn’t just feel like I was surviving, and I knew I was home.
Eason Storm
This ain’t no fairytale. Ain’t no white horse, no magic kingdom, no glass slipper bullshit. It’s better. It’s ours.
I stood on the edge of the deck, ocean breeze hitting my face, sun melting into the horizon, and her right there in the middle of it all.
My woman. Sitting cross-legged on the blanket, curls wild from the salt air, smile soft like she ain’t been through hell and back twice.
Ginger was asleep in her lap, Nasir stretched beside her with a Popsicle stick hanging out his mouth, and that little bundle pressed to her chest—our son—was cooing like the world never gave him a reason to cry.
I watched Xalori press a kiss to the baby’s forehead, whisper something I couldn’t hear but felt in my chest like a scripture. Her whole body curled around them like she was built for this shit—love, softness, protection. And maybe she was.
I should’ve felt calm. I should’ve felt peace. But all I felt was fire. The good kind. The kind that made a man drop to his knees and thank God for giving him something this real, this raw, this fucking untouchable.
And the dangerous kind, the kind that whispered violent things into my ear whenever I thought about what we survived to get here.
Xalori shifted her weight, pulling the baby closer to her chest, and I swear my whole body responded like she was the center of gravity. My feet moved before my mind did. In seconds, I was behind her—one arm wrapping around her waist, the other sliding beneath hers to cradle our son.
Her body softened into mine on instinct. Always did. She could talk all that “independent woman shit with everybody else. But with me she melted, every time.[MH8]“You feel that?” I whispered against her ear, my voice low, rough.
She tilted her head slightly. “Feel what?”
“This. Us. Them. All of this. This is what the fuck they tried to steal from me. From us.”
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Her fingers just curled tighter around my forearm, grounding me.
I looked down at my son. His tiny fist gripped the collar of my shirt like he already knew who the fuck I was. I stared at his little face and saw pieces of Nasir. Saw the curve of Ginger’s cheek. Saw Xalori’s fire in the shape of his eyes. He was all of them. All of us. A fresh start.
“I ever lose this?” I muttered, my grip tightening around all of them, “I’m not just burning the city down. I’m taking the whole damn map with me.”
“Eason…” She whispered, her voice warning and warm all at once.
I kissed her shoulder, slow and possessive. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going back to war unless war come knocking. But I mean it. I’ll rip flesh from bone before I let anybody break this.”
She turned her head to look at me, her lips brushing mine, soft and steady. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s what scares me.”
“Don’t be scared,” I growled gently. “Just be mine.”
“I am.”
My jaw clenched. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours, Eason.”
There it was. That fucking feeling. That madness behind my ribs that made the world fade every time she reminded me who she belonged to.
“You’re mine, Muffin. You, Nasir, Ginger, and my son. Mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine to kill for.”
She gave me that small, quiet smile—the one she only gave when she knew I was walking the line between unhinged and home. The smile that told me she loved every fucking version of me. Even the ones she should’ve run from.
And in that moment, watching her hold our baby with the ocean wind tangling her curls and the sunlight hitting her skin just right, I knew one thing without a doubt:
This wasn’t a happy ending. This was a beginning. And anybody who even thought about testing it, they’d better pray they got wings. Because I’d already buried every version of me that gave mercy. And this version, only knew how to keep what was his. Forever.
For the first time in forever, shit felt still. Not quiet, just still like the universe finally backed the fuck up off us and gave us breathing room.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t wanna answer that shit, didn’t want nothin’ breaking this moment. But something in my gut told me to pick up.
“Yeah,” I answered, voice low.
“Eason…” Kavell’s voice came through tight, clipped. “You ain’t gonna believe this shit.”
I stood, careful not to jostle Xalori. “What now?”
“They just picked up Sayani.”
My eyes narrowed. “Picked her up for what?”
“Money laundering. Some old accounts Prime tied her name to. Apparently, she didn’t know or claim she didn’t. Shit’s a mess.”
I sighed slow, rubbing my thumb across my temple. “Even from the grave, that nigga still causing problems.”
“Yup.”
I glanced down at my family—my woman, my kids, and my peace.
“That ain’t my problem no more,” I muttered, already tuning the drama out.
“Sayani’s book of fuckups? That’s her problem,” I shrugged. “She should’ve known better than getting in bed with the devil.”
I hung up and slid the phone back into my pocket, walking back over to the woman who damn near brought me back to life.
And as I sank back onto the blanket, wrapping my arms around her and our baby, I kissed the top of her head and whispered.
“You ain’t never gotta worry about anybody else’s war, Muffin. We made it.”
The End!