Epilogue
EMERSON
The roar of the crowd is deafening as Ender plays the opening chords, the energy unlike anything I’ve seen at one of Garrett’s shows.
Maybe it’s because this is their first tour in more than six years with their new lead guitarist—the same one Garrett and I had seen play the night we’d gone to Gin & Porter.
Or maybe it’s because they know this show is different.
Because he’s different.
The lights flash, illuminating the stage, and like he doesn’t have tens of thousands of people cheering for him, he looks to his left where we’re standing and winks, his grin contagious as our daughter stomps her feet.
She feels it too.
Winslow, or Winnie for short, may look like me but she’s all Garrett. Creative and edgy even at four, she’s the coolest girl in the world. She’s sweet and sensitive but still fierce as hell.
And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure she’s never made to feel like she needs to be less because she’s bright and beautiful and warm where I was harsh lines and a sharp tongue.
She’s perfect.
Her innocence and unwavering love healed me in a way I never knew I needed—the parts of me even loving Garrett couldn’t touch. The pieces that I thought were lost forever when my mother died, when I saw my father lose the person he was meant to grow old with. Those things changed me.
And Garrett and Winnie brought me back to life.
I smile as she twirls around, her pink headphones the only pop of color because she wanted to look like her daddy.
Black shirt.
Jeans.
Black boots.
My heart squeezes in my chest like it does every time I watch him sing—that wave of gratitude that I didn’t sign the divorce papers and that I married Garrett North for real in a small backyard ceremony so my father could walk me down the aisle.
We’d written our own vows, because I needed him to hear the promises out loud, the ones that never existed until him—promises I intend to keep until my last breath.
“Momma, look!” Winnie yells, tugging at my hand as the venue quiets. The lights dim and the crowd is a sea of lights, swaying as Garrett croons into the mic. “It’s my song!” she squeals, her little arms reaching for me, and I oblige, lifting her up and spinning her around.
I remember the night I found Garrett in the kitchen at three in the morning, a guitar in his hand, pencil between his teeth and sheets of paper strewn across the kitchen table. I was seven months pregnant and Winnie had kicked the second he started to play.
My husband sang that song to our daughter every day until the day she was born.
And he hasn’t stopped.
Because she changed him too, her compassion soothing in all the things I’ve never been able to get right no matter how hard I try.
Becoming a wife and mother might have taken me further from the boardroom most days, but I’m still Emerson Fucking Andrews, and I still command attention and respect when I walk through the doors of Andrews International.
I just know where my priorities lie.
The crowd goes wild, everyone singing the words as Garrett turns back to look at us, his smile sexy and full of adoration when he catches us dancing.
God, I love this man.
And to think I almost missed out on this because I thought I wanted to rule the world. Now the little girl in my arms rules mine.
And we’re the center of his.
We watch and we dance and sway to the music, the energy of the fans vibrating through me as much as the bass. But it’s nothing compared to the deafening sound as they start playing the opening notes of the encore.
“Surrender.”
My song.
I asked him why he’d want to play it at all, let alone as the encore, and he just smiled, singing the last two lines before taking my mouth in a bruising kiss.
A savior, a queen, a battle cry heard
And all that to say she set fire to my world
THE END
Thank you so much for reading All Tied Down!