Chapter 20 Home
One Year Later
The first review appeared at six thirty-seven on a Tuesday morning.
Not that I was obsessively checking.
Or refreshing pages every twenty minutes.
Or searching my own name online.
Definitely not.
The fact that I knew the exact time was completely unrelated.
At least that was the story I planned to tell.
Unfortunately, nobody believed me anymore.
Especially not Jaxon.
"You're doing it again."
His voice drifted from across the kitchen.
I looked up from my laptop.
Blinking innocently.
"What?"
The expression on his face suggested he was deeply unimpressed.
Fair.
He'd known me too long.
"The refreshing."
I glanced toward the screen.
Then back at him.
Then toward the screen again.
Purely by accident.
Obviously.
A laugh escaped him.
The sound had become one of my favorite things in the world.
Mostly because it still felt rare.
Not uncommon.
Just special.
The kind of laugh he only gave when he was genuinely happy.
The realization never failed to make me smile.
I finally closed the laptop.
Reluctantly.
Painfully.
Like a hero making a noble sacrifice.
Jaxon rolled his eyes.
The reaction felt deserved.
A year had passed since the proposal.
A year since the hospital.
A year since everything changed.
And somehow life remained wonderfully unreal.
The Rider's Muse had officially released three months earlier.
After years of dreaming.
Months of writing.
Countless rounds of revisions.
The book existed.
An actual published novel.
The realization still surprised me sometimes.
Readers bought it.
Reviewed it.
Recommended it.
Connected with it.
The experience felt simultaneously incredible and terrifying.
Because pieces of my heart existed inside those pages.
Pieces of us.
Not literally.
The story remained fictional.
Mostly.
Still, every time someone loved the book, it felt strangely personal.
The thought warmed something deep inside my chest.
A notification appeared on my phone.
Instinct immediately urged me to check it.
Jaxon pointed a spatula directly at me.
The gesture felt threatening.
Surprisingly threatening.
"Don't."
I laughed.
Caught.
Again.
The man had become annoyingly good at reading me.
Unfortunately.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and breakfast.
Morning sunlight streamed through wide windows.
Outside, the distant sound of motorcycles echoed from the garage.
Home.
The realization arrived effortlessly.
Naturally.
A year later, the word still felt precious.
Because for so long, home had been a place.
An address.
A building.
Now it felt different.
Now it felt like people.
Jaxon.
Our friends.
The life we'd built together.
The distinction mattered.
More than I could explain.
I stood and crossed the room.
Stopping beside him.
Without looking away from the stove, he wrapped an arm around my waist.
Automatic.
Familiar.
Comforting.
My favorite kind of habit.
"Good morning."
The greeting came late.
Considering we'd both been awake for nearly an hour.
Still.
It counted.
I pressed a kiss against his shoulder.
"Good morning."
The response earned a smile.
Small.
Private.
Mine.
The realization filled me with ridiculous happiness.
A year later and I still wasn't used to it.
The garage remained busy that morning.
Like always.
Kane Customs had transformed dramatically over the past twelve months.
The expansion succeeded beyond anyone's expectations.
Restoration projects arrived from across the state.
Custom builds attracted waiting lists.
Special events regularly filled the property with motorcycle enthusiasts.
What began as a small repair garage had become something much larger.
Something thriving.
The best part wasn't the success.
It was watching Jaxon enjoy it.
Watching him finally believe he deserved it.
The change remained subtle.
Most people wouldn't notice.
I did.
Because I knew what he'd been like before.
The guilt.
The fear.
The constant belief that happiness would eventually disappear.
Those shadows hadn't vanished completely.
Maybe they never would.
But they no longer controlled him.
The difference showed in everything.
The way he laughed.
The way he planned for the future.
The way he allowed himself to want things.
The realization felt beautiful.
Around noon, I wandered into the main workshop carrying coffee.
Several mechanics worked throughout the building.
Music played from speakers overhead.
Customers browsed completed restorations.
The atmosphere buzzed with energy.
Life.
Possibility.
Exactly the environment Jaxon had always deserved.
Mason spotted me immediately.
Unfortunately.
The man possessed supernatural abilities when it came to finding opportunities for chaos.
"There he is."
Several people looked up.
Wonderful.
Exactly what I wanted.
Attention.
My favorite thing.
Mason ignored my expression completely.
Naturally.
"Celebrity author."
The title earned laughter from nearby mechanics.
I groaned.
Immediately.
Loudly.
"Please stop."
"No."
The answer arrived without hesitation.
Predictable.
Reliable.
Terrible.
The man was a menace.
Rhett appeared moments later carrying paperwork.
The contrast between the two remained hilarious.
One was organized competence.
The other was Mason.
Somehow the partnership worked.
Nobody understood why.
Including them.
A customer approached carrying a paperback copy of The Rider's Muse.
My stomach immediately tightened.
The experience remained surreal.
Every single time.
"Would you sign it?"
For a moment, I simply stared.
Because no amount of success prepared you for moments like that.
The realization still felt impossible.
Someone wanted my signature.
On something I created.
The thought nearly short-circuited my brain.
Thankfully, I managed a response before complete system failure occurred.
"Of course."
The customer smiled.
Excited.
Happy.
The sight warmed my chest.
Because once upon a time, publishing had felt impossible.
A fantasy.
A dream too fragile to say aloud.
Now it existed.
Real.
The realization followed me throughout the afternoon.
Through conversations.
Through work.
Through ordinary moments.
Eventually, the day slowed.
Customers left.
The garage quieted.
The evening sun stretched across the property.
Golden light painted everything warm.
Peaceful.
Beautiful.
I found Jaxon outside near the restored motorcycle that had started everything.
The bike he'd delivered the night we met.
The bike he'd been riding during the storm.
The bike that unknowingly changed both our lives.
He leaned against it comfortably.
Watching the sunset.
Thinking.
The sight immediately drew me closer.
As it always did.
I stopped beside him.
Neither of us spoke.
The silence felt familiar.
Comfortable.
One of my favorite things about us.
After a while, Jaxon glanced toward me.
"What are you thinking about?"
The question sounded casual.
Simple.
Yet the answer arrived instantly.
Everything.
The storm.
The highway.
The fear.
The rescue.
The journey afterward.
The entire impossible story.
I smiled softly.
Then looked toward the horizon.
The sunset burned gold and orange across the sky.
Beautiful enough to belong in fiction.
Maybe that was fitting.
"A year ago, I thought my life was over."
The confession came quietly.
Honest.
Real.
Jaxon didn't interrupt.
Just listened.
The way he always did.
"My car broke down."
I laughed softly.
The memory felt distant now.
Almost unreal.
"I was soaked."
"Terrified."
"Completely lost."
The truth settled warmly between us.
Because it no longer hurt.
Not anymore.
The storm had given me something unexpected.
Something priceless.
I turned toward him.
Meeting his gaze.
"My life started that night."
Emotion flickered briefly across his face.
Gone almost immediately.
Yet I saw it.
Always.
The same way he saw mine.
The understanding felt intimate.
Special.
Ours.
I reached for his hand.
Intertwining our fingers.
The gesture remained one of my favorite things.
Simple.
Meaningful.
Home.
Together, we watched the sun sink lower.
The garage stood behind us.
Thriving.
The novel existed.
Published.
Successful.
Our friends filled our lives.
Our future stretched ahead.
Bright and uncertain and wonderful.
And standing there beside the man who'd stopped on a lonely highway when everyone else kept driving, I found myself reflecting on a simple truth.
A year ago, a storm had destroyed the path I thought I was supposed to follow.
At the time, it felt like disaster.
Now I understood it had been something else entirely.
It had been the beginning.
The beginning of love.
The beginning of freedom.
The beginning of home.
And I wouldn't have changed a single thing.
The Road Home
Five years later, Mason Torres was still incapable of behaving normally.
Some things never changed.
The realization hit me as I stood beside a grill watching him argue with Nico about wedding decorations.
Not important decorations.
Not meaningful decorations.
Napkins.
The man was passionately debating napkins.
For his wedding.
I took a slow drink from my beer.
Then glanced toward Rhett.
Rhett looked exactly as exhausted as I felt.
The silent understanding passed between us immediately.
Mason had been planning this wedding for six months.
Everyone was suffering.
"You're not helping."
Mason pointed directly at Nico.
Nico folded his arms.
Completely unimpressed.
"You asked my opinion."
"I asked for support."
"No."
Nico shook his head.
"You asked if the gold ones looked terrible."
A pause.
Then:
"They look terrible."
Several people laughed.
Mason looked personally betrayed.
The reaction only made the laughter worse.
Five years later, some dynamics remained beautifully predictable.
The afternoon sun hung low above Kane Customs.
The property looked completely different from the garage Elliot first stumbled into during a storm.
Bigger.
Busier.
Better.
The restoration business had expanded twice.