Epilogue | Lacey
Epilogue
Lacey
I stabbed another bite of Faye's pumpkin pecan French toast and practically moaned.
Across our corner booth, Gage grinned at me, sun streaming through the windows behind him and catching gold in his hair.
Outside, the temperature had dropped overnight—forty-five degrees this morning—and I'd needed a jacket for the walk from the parking lot.
"This is dangerous," I said. "I'm going to need extra pole sessions just to work this off."
"You've got two instructors now. Make them teach the extra classes."
Nine months. We'd been together nine months.
Warren was locked away in a state psychiatric facility where he'd be for years. My business had transformed from that rented room above the pawn shop into Rise Pole Fitness Studio on Main Street. Two instructors now. A waiting list for classes.
The Fort Worth fitness magazine feature in July had changed everything. Suddenly pole fitness wasn't something shameful I did in the shadows—it was legitimate. Respected. A real business.
And with the income finally stable, I'd enrolled at community college last month to finish my Associate's degree in Veterinary Technology. Dr. Bev had been thrilled when I'd cut back to part-time at the clinic.
"About time you invested in yourself," she'd said. "That technician position will be waiting when you're licensed."
Most nights we fell asleep tangled together. His place or mine. But we each still had our own apartment. My choice. My boundary.
And he'd never once pushed.
"What are you thinking about?" Gage asked, his voice warm.
"How good this feels." I reached for his hand. Our fingers laced together. "How far we've come."
He squeezed gently. "Best months of my life."
I opened my mouth to respond—
The bell over the door chimed.
I glanced up and froze.
Dad stood just inside the entrance. He held a rolled-up magazine. His gaze found mine across the restaurant, and for a long moment neither of us moved.
Faye appeared at his elbow. "Leroy! Haven't seen you in here in a month of Sundays. Your usual spot at the counter?"
But Dad wasn't looking at Faye. He was looking at me.
Then he started walking toward our booth.
My throat went tight. Gage's thumb stroked the back of my hand—steady, grounding—but he didn't say anything.
Dad stopped at the edge of our table. Up close, I could see deeper lines around his eyes. More gray in his hair than I remembered. He still wore his Bennett's Garage work shirt even on Saturdays, the fabric faded and soft with years of washing.
"Lacey." His voice came out rough. "Sheriff."
"Mr. Bennett." Gage's tone stayed neutral.
Dad held up the magazine. I recognized the cover—the July issue of Texas Fit with the studio feature. My photo on page forty-three, mid-aerial invert, the caption reading "Rise Pole Fitness: Redefining Strength in Small-Town Texas."
"Saw this at the barbershop." Dad's jaw worked. "Frank Martinez had it sitting out."
My pulse hammered. Here it comes—more judgment, more shame, more proof I wasn't the daughter he wanted.
"I was wrong, Lacey."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"The pole classes. Judging you without understanding." He swallowed hard. "That was wrong."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
"You built yourself something real here. Going back to school. Making it work." His voice cracked. "I'm proud of you. Want to be part of your life again, if you'll let me."
Seventeen months. Seventeen months of silence, and now—
My vision blurred. I tried to answer but nothing came out.
"I know I don't deserve it," Dad said quietly, twisting the magazine in his hands. "Said terrible things. Pushed you away when you needed support. But I'm asking anyway."
The tears came then—hot and fast, seventeen months of hurt and anger and longing spilling over.
"Dad—" My voice broke.
Gage's hand tightened on mine. Silent support.
Dad's eyes went wet. "I missed you, Lacey girl."
"I missed you too." The words tore out of me.
"Sit down, Mr. Bennett," Gage said quietly, sliding over to make room.
Dad hesitated, then settled onto the bench across from us. Faye materialized with coffee and a menu, reading the situation with her usual intuition, giving us space.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The silence stretched—awkward, heavy with everything unsaid.
Then Dad cleared his throat. "So. Main Street, huh? That's a good spot."
"Yeah." I wiped my eyes. "Opened in June. Got two instructors helping me now."
"Bobby Garrett's daughter takes classes there. Says you're a good teacher."
Relief flooded through me. "Jenna comes twice a week. She's getting really strong."
"Always were good at helping people." Dad wrapped both hands around his coffee cup. "Even as a kid, bringing home every stray animal that needed fixing."
"Still doing that. Just with people now too."
He almost smiled. "And I hear you're going back to school."
"Community college. Dr. Bev's holding a technician position for me once I'm licensed."
"That's real good, Lacey. You always were smart. Wanted better for you than..." He trailed off, looking down at his hands. "Guess I had the wrong idea about what 'better' meant."
Gage spoke up then, his tone easy. "She's worked hard for it, sir. Built the business from nothing."
Dad looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time. "You been good to her, Sheriff?"
"He's good to me," I said.
Dad's face softened. "Good man."
We talked. Forty minutes, maybe more. Still awkward in places—years of hurt didn't heal in an hour—but honest. Dad told me about the garage, about the new guy he'd hired who was a good kid at eighteen.
I told him about my anatomy course starting next week, how much I felt I could learn from the professor.
When Dad finally stood to leave, he extended his hand to Gage first. "You take care of her, Sheriff."
"She takes care of herself, sir." Gage shook his hand firmly. "I just try to keep up."
Dad's mouth twitched—almost a smile. Then he turned to me, and his voice went soft. "I love you, Lacey girl. Always have. Even when I was too damn stubborn to show it right."
"I love you too, Dad."
He cleared his throat, nodded once, and walked out. Cool air rushed in when the door opened. Smelled like fallen leaves and woodsmoke.
I watched him go, fresh tears sliding down my face.
Gage pulled me against his side. I buried my face in his shoulder and just breathed.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah." I lifted my head to look at him. "Really okay."
Faye brought fresh coffee and a slice of pecan pie "on the house," squeezing my shoulder as she set it down.
We sat there a while longer, letting it settle. I picked at the pie. Gage's arm stayed around me.
Finally, he leaned forward. "Nine months we've been doing this. Me at my place, you at yours, meeting in the middle."
"It's been working."
"It has." He didn't let go of me. "But I've been thinking. Maybe it's time we find our place. Not mine, not yours. Something we choose together."
My lungs stopped working.
"You mean that? Not me moving into your house?"
"I mean finding something new together. Fresh start." His eyes held mine. "Not your cramped one-bedroom. Not my house with that weird loft that's not really a bedroom. Something that's ours from the start."
The knot in my chest finally loosened.
"What's yours is yours," he continued. "What's mine is mine. What's ours is ours. Equal partners picking it out, making decisions together."
"I'd like that very much," I whispered.
His smile could've lit the whole restaurant.
We paid the check—Faye refused to let us pay for the pie—and walked out into the sunny autumn afternoon. The air had a bite to it. I pulled my jacket tighter. Mesquite leaves scattered across the parking lot, gold and brown, crunching under our boots.
Judge was waiting in the truck, wet nose pressed to the window. The moment he spotted us, his tail started going.
Gage opened the door and Judge practically launched himself out, circling us both, beside himself with joy like we'd been gone for days instead of two hours.
"Hey, buddy." I crouched down to scratch behind his ears. "Miss us?"
Judge leaned his full weight against me, nearly knocking me over.
Gage laughed. "Thinks he's been abandoned every time we leave him for more than ten minutes."
We climbed into the truck, Judge settling in the back seat. Gage started the engine but didn't put it in gear.
"Your place?" he asked.
"Yeah."
The drive to my apartment took ten minutes. Judge recognized the route, standing up in the back seat with his nose out the cracked window, cold air rushing in. When we pulled into the parking lot of my complex, he did his excited circle dance.
Gage parked outside my building and cut the engine. Judge immediately wedged himself between the front seats, chin resting on the console, brown eyes watching us with what I swear was knowing intelligence.
"Think he knows something's up," I said.
"He always knows." Gage turned to face me. "Best wingman I've ever had."
Judge's tail thumped against the back seat.
The three of us sat in the cab of the truck, afternoon sun slanting through the windshield.
Then Gage took both my hands.
"I love you, Lacey."
The world stopped.
We'd danced around the words for months. Both of us feeling it, neither quite ready to say it out loud. But now—
"All of you," he continued, his voice rough. "The gentle way you care for Judge. The fierce way you stood up to Warren and every drunk who makes comments about your business. Your strength and your softness and everything in between. All of it."
My eyes burned. Everything I'd been afraid to want was right here.
"I love you too."
His whole face transformed.
"Even your overprotective instincts," I added. "Now that you ask first and trust me to make my own choices."
We both laughed, foreheads touching. Judge sighed dramatically between us.
"Took me long enough to learn that lesson," Gage said.
"You got there. That's what matters."
Judge wedged his head onto Gage's shoulder like he was tired of waiting for us to get on with it.
"I think your dog is judging us," I said.
"My K9 has been trying to get us together since the first time I brought him into that clinic." Gage scratched Judge's ears without taking his eyes off me. "Smartest partner I've ever had."
We sat there in the cab of his truck, cold air seeping in around the doors, Judge wedged between us like he belonged there.
"I've been thinking about rings lately," Gage said quietly.
I couldn't breathe.
"Have you now?"
"Maybe someday soon I'll make this official-official." He brought my hands to his lips, kissed my knuckles. "If you'll have me."
I leaned across the console—Judge obligingly moving his head—and kissed him slow and deep and full of promise.
"Someday soon," I whispered against his mouth, "I'm going to say yes."