Epilogue
GRAY
Five hundred days sober, and I'm standing in Leslie's living room while he adjusts my bow tie for the fifteenth time, muttering about symmetrical perfection.
“Leslie, it's just a fitting,” I remind him, though I'm grinning at his intensity. “The actual wedding isn't for another two weeks.”
“Just a fitting?” He steps back with his hands on his hips, looking personally offended.
“Gray Garrison, this is your final fitting for the most important outfit you'll ever wear. This suit will be photographed, preserved, and passed down through generations. Your great-grandchildren will look at these photos and judge your fashion choices.”
“I don't have grandchildren yet, let alone great-grandchildren.”
“Details.” Leslie waves dismissively. “The point is this moment matters. Now stop fidgeting before I stick you with a pin.”
Through the window, Main Street bustles with life.
The scent of coffee from Mountain Mornings anchors me, steadying the low hum of anxiety.
Mrs. Patterson's laughter mixes with Emma's chatter.
Jake paints by the fountain, while a local high-school guitarist fills the air with gentle notes.
Each scene roots deeper, reminding me that this messy, beautiful village is my haven.
Our village.
The phrase still makes my chest warm with a sense of belonging. Six months ago, when I proposed to Rhea during that surprise concert, this place officially became more than just a refuge. It became home in every sense that matters.
“You're thinking about the proposal again,” Leslie observes, smoothing the jacket's shoulders. “You get this particular smile when you remember that night.”
“How could I not think about it? It was every-fucking-thing.”
The entire village contributed to creating that moment. Mrs. Chen oversaw logistics, Emma managed refreshments, and the band played.
The instant Rhea understood, when I fell to one knee, mid-song, as the entire village watched, her face changed. The shock, then the radiant joy, hit me like sunlight after rain. To this day, that memory sends a rush of awe through me. It takes my breath away every time.
“It was rather magical,” Leslie agrees, then immediately returns to business. “Now, about the pocket square. I'm thinking silk, but Andrew insists linen would be more appropriate for an outdoor ceremony.”
“Whatever you think is best. You're the expert.”
“Finally, someone acknowledges my expertise.” He adjusts the pocket square with the precision of a surgeon. “Your brother has opinions about everything lately. Yesterday, he tried to tell me that the flowers for the ceremony should be arranged by height rather than color gradation. The audacity.”
The flowers are just part of the village-wide effort.
Mrs. Chen organizes the book-themed centerpieces, each table named for a romance novel that Rhea loves.
Emma's handling the coffee bar because, as she says, “No one's getting through a Garrison wedding without proper caffeine.” The band is preparing a setlist of originals and every cheesy love song we know.
My phone buzzes with a text from Koi Hendrix at Red King Records.
Koi Hendrix: Regional tour numbers are incredible. 'Solid Ground' just went platinum. Call me.
I smile at the message but don't answer right away. Success still matters, but now it's the music itself that matters. It’s the joy in making it and the deeper connection it gives me. My pride surges, warm and fierce, not for numbers but for trusting myself to choose what matters most.
The decision to turn down the massive tour and change labels in favor of regional shows was one of the best choices I've ever made.
We play two or three weeks of shows, separated by a three-week break between each mini leg of the tour.
It allows us to decompress and maintain a sense of normalcy.
It's sustainable in a way the old touring schedule never was.
“Success on your own terms. It suits you,” Leslie says, reading my expression.
“It does, doesn't it?”
“Speaking of success, Kip called yesterday. He and Henley want to come early for the wedding, and they’re bringing the whole crew of Broken Access and Abandoned Shadow. They need a 'small-town detox'.”
“The more the merrier. Rhea loves Henley.” It warms my heart that even a legendary rock goddess like Henley Hendrix sees how amazing my girl is.
“Everyone loves Henley. She's like gothic sunshine in leather pants.” Leslie steps back to admire his handiwork. “There. You look like a man ready to make eternal promises.”
“I've been ready for months.”
“I know, Suga Bear. The way you look at that girl makes my cold, dead heart remember what feelings are.” He makes me worry about him.
“Your heart isn't cold or dead, Leslie. Why are you single? Is it a preference, or is it that life hasn’t brought you the soulmate you deserve?” I ask, hoping he understands that he indeed deserves a special, significant other to share his life with.
“I…” he stops and starts again. “I haven’t found the right person to accept and love me for who I am.
I’ve settled a lot in my life when it comes to romantic partners.
I’m not growing any younger, Suga Bear. I see that people often have only two options in life when it comes to romance and intimacy — they can settle out of loneliness and spend their time unhappy in a relationship they can’t grow or evolve in.
Or they can learn to love themselves and become their best version, so that when that soulmate crosses our path, we’re ready. ”
I’ve always known Leslie had a ton of layers and depth, and I realize there’s too much I don’t know about my friend. “I think that’s a positive, healthy way to look at it.”
After the fitting, I head to the studio, now transformed from a warehouse to a creative sanctuary, filled with our gold records, tour posters, and photos. A photo from a difficult night reminds me how far we've come, surrounding me with a sense of hard-earned peace.
“Five hundred days,” Parker says as soon as I walk in, not looking up from his drums. “I saw you counting on your fingers during coffee this morning.”
“You saw that from across the coffee shop?”
“I see everything. It's my superpower.” He smirks.
“Your superpower is annoying people with your perfectionism,” Zep counters from where he's restringing his guitar.
“Says the man who spent three hours yesterday tuning one guitar,” I fire back in good humor.
“It needed precise calibration!” Zep argues.
“It needed you to stop obsessing and actually play something,” Parker teases.
This is our new normal. At any given moment, one can find us gently bickering, but it's out of love rather than frustration, or in a creative session that feels more like a family gathering.
“How was the fitting?” Andrew looks up from the mixing board.
“Leslie has opinions about pocket squares.” I smile even as I say it because I’ve grown incredibly fond of Leslie.
“Leslie has opinions about everything,” Zep adds.
“And we love him for it,” Cody tacks on, because Cody has appointed himself as Leslie's chief defender ever since Leslie helped him through a rough patch with his anxiety last month.
“Speaking of the wedding… we need to finalize the setlist. Rhea requested 'At Last' by Etta James for your parents’ dance.” Wyatt walks into the conversation.
“And 'The Ballad of Us' for our first dance,” I add, feeling the familiar warmth that comes from thinking about that song. “But I want to record it with the acoustic, just me and my guitar.”
“You sure you don't want the full band?” Andrew lifts a brow.
“I'm sure. That song is just for her. The fact that other people witness it is already more public than it was meant to be.”
My phone rings, and Xavier's name appears on the screen. My sponsor has become more than just a recovery support, he's become a friend, a mentor, and the voice of reason when my brain tries to complicate simple things.
“Gray, how's four-thirty looking?” Xavier asks when I answer.
“Four-thirty's perfect.”
Xavier's voice is gentle as he says, “Good. We need to talk about your recovery plan for the wedding. Big events can be triggers, even happy ones.”
Comfort should follow, but instead, dread crawls in. My heart thuds, my mouth goes dry, and there's a cold, creeping tightness across my chest – a warning of the dangers that lurk even in joy. “I know. I've been thinking about that.”
“Good. Thinking ahead is half the battle. See you at the usual place.”
After I hang up, Andrew looks at me with the kind of brotherly concern that used to feel suffocating but now just feels like love. “You okay?”
“More than okay. That was Xavier, so I’m just maintaining the practices that keep me that way.”
The afternoon blurs with new music and wedding logistics. We're working on Cody's upbeat anthem and video-calling with Koi Hendrix about regional shows. Debates over guitar tones stop only when Leslie brings in sandwiches and insists on a break.
“You're all going to waste away before the wedding,” he declares, distributing food with the authority of a mother hen. “And I refuse to have gaunt musicians in my wedding photos.”
“Your wedding photos?” Andrew asks with amusement.
“I'm the unofficial wedding planner, which makes them partially mine. It's called creative ownership.” He nods once as if to say, “And that’s that.”
Later that day, at four-thirty, I meet Xavier at our usual coffee shop in Dahlonega—not because we need to hide our meetings, but because the drive gives me time to transition from daily life to recovery work.
It's a ritual that's become sacred to me, this regular checking in with a person who understands the daily choice of sobriety.
“Five hundred days,” I tell him as we settle into our usual corner booth.
“How does it feel?” He grins, pride lacing his tone.
“Like a miracle and completely normal at the same time.”
“That's exactly how it should feel.” Xavier pulls out his worn notebook, the one where he keeps notes from our conversations. “Let's talk about the wedding. What's your plan for managing the stress?”
We spend an hour on strategies - a quiet retreat space, Andrew as my partner, and plenty of non-alcoholic options. Planning keeps me safe, even when life's good. Still, anxiety lingers under the joy. All eyes on me at the wedding feels daunting without the crutch.
“Remember that your sobriety is the foundation on which everything else is built. Without it, the wedding, the music, and the love don’t exist.”
“I know. That's why I protect it so carefully.”
“Good man. Same time next week?”
“Wouldn't miss it.”
Driving home, I think about tomorrow’s label call. Koi wants a documentary about our journey and my recovery. I resist the exposure but wonder if sharing could help another person find a fresh start. That’s the best reason to say yes.
That evening, I arrive home to find Rhea surrounded by wedding magazines. Duke sprawls across the couch like a furry paperweight.
“Please tell me Leslie didn't try to convince you that we need synchronized bow ties for the groomsmen,” she says without looking up.
“He might have mentioned something about ‘visual cohesion.’”
“I knew it.” She finally looks up, and her smile makes my heart skip the way it has every day since she agreed to marry me. “How was Xavier?”
“Good. We talked through the wedding day plan.”
“And you're feeling okay about everything?”
I slide beside her, careful of the chaos and Duke's peaceful sprawl. I find her hand, squeezing tighter than usual. “I'm grateful for you, for every dawn I wake up clear, and for the chance to be here for all of it, completely. Sometimes I'm still scared, but I'm here.”
“Five hundred days,” she says softly, and I realize Parker isn't the only one who's been counting.
“You keep track?”
“Of course, I keep track. Every single day you choose sobriety is a day we get to continue our story together.” She leans against my shoulder, and I breathe in the familiar scent of her shampoo mixed with coffee from her shift at Mountain Mornings. “I'm proud of you, Gray. So proud.”
“I couldn't have done it without you.” My voice is thick with emotion.
“You could have. But I'm glad you didn't have to.”
We sit surrounded by wedding plans and work on our own plans for something lasting.
It's not perfect, but it's real. Rhea meets my eyes.
“Sometimes I worry about what's next, but I remember how strong we are together.” She smiles at the memory of a sunset and our dreams. In two weeks, I'll marry the woman who stayed, no matter how big a gamble I am.
I love her with all my heart. On our special day, we'll dance to “The Ballad of Us” and become husband and wife.
But tonight, we're just two people in love, planning a wedding and our tomorrow, one day at a time.
And that's everything.