Epilogue
PRESENT DAY – June | Baltimore, Maryland
GARRISON ABBEY
D irt tracks, bicycle tires, and a familiar announcement projected over a rowdy audience, “riders ready…watch the gates”—I smile, taking it all in.
Summer.
I’ve lived through thirty-nine summers, and before I met my wife, before those long drawn-out summer days in a comic book store, the few hot months out of school were hell.
I hated every summer.
My brothers were home more, and I’d do anything and everything to stay away.
Now, I hunger for the summer days, for the sticky heat and dirt under my soles. And I know with certainty—at thirty-nine—that I’ve loved more summers than I’ve hated.
Standing behind a wooden fence, I’m among the noisy crowd who cheer on racers. Sun beats on an outdoor BMX track, a little bit outside of Baltimore.
I run my palm back and forth over my head, hair buzzed short. I prefer nothing in my eyes. Not needing to hide anymore.
I haven’t for a long time.
My parents never tried to reconnect. Not even when I was in my early twenties and first left. They released me from their household like a crow who flew through the window and found its way out.
I never had to attempt to pull away twice or a third time. Once was all it took. And I’m grateful for that.
All three of my brothers ended up working for our father’s tech company. I never see them. Never speak to them, and like my parents, they’re gone from my world.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” people shout from the sidelines, pumping up the teen racers as they catch air over dirt hills and skid along the curves of berm turns. Pedaling towards the finish line.
I drop my left arm, while my right arm remains loosely draped over my wife’s shoulder. And I smile as my eyes graze Willow and her fingers that are laced with my hand.
My gaze keeps traveling across the event. Competitors in full-face helmets, visors, and long-sleeved jerseys line up with their BMX bikes and wait for their moto , what Lo still calls a “heat” even after the tall one corrected him a hundred times.
Loren Hale is still that guy.
The corner of my mouth rises, and I glance down the fence. Where Lo has his arms around Lily while they watch the race. Lo is smiling, and in a quiet beat, he catches my gaze and we exchange something pure and happy.
Something I think only guys like me and him can ever truly understand. How long it’s been and how far we’ve come. To peace around us and to peace with ourselves.
I nod.
He nods back.
Johnathan Hale died twelve years ago after his many years of alcohol abuse finally caught up to him. He started laying off me after my kid was born. And by the time he passed away, we were on better terms.
Close by Lily and Lo, Rose spritzes water on her neck and collar. Connor says something to his wife, inaudible over the crowds. She glares up at him. He grins down at her.
My office is still inside Cobalt Inc.—so that weird back and forth between Connor and Rose is too commonplace.
Willow always thought they’d have like eleven children. Enough to fill out a football team. They didn’t end up with that many. But all the Cobalts are at the BMX track today, and their seven kids make up a large portion of our group.
An empire.
Literally the media calls them the Cobalt Empire , and Willow and Lily own too much Cobalt Empire merch. I love the T-shirts and water bottles. Hate the snow globes.
“Oh…no, I’m out of storage,” Willow says beside me, and I glance back as she untangles our hands and quickly tries to free up storage on the DSLR camera strapped around her neck.
Keeping my arm splayed over her shoulder, I use my other hand to hold the camera and help Willow.
Daisy notices the dilemma after Ryke drops her on her feet.
He had her upside-down. Even after all these years, Ryke is a beast. Physically able to climb any mountain and also toss his wife over his shoulder.
Paparazzi aren’t allowed in the event, but I bet their telephoto lenses captured that shot.
Media loves a flirty Raisy.
“I still have the video camera.” Daisy holds up a newer digital camcorder, Velcro-ed to her hand. “We won’t miss a thing.”
Everyone also has cellphones. No matter what, the competition will be recorded a billion times over by the core six.
Willow smiles at Daisy, who smiles brightly back, and they let me fix the DSLR. My eyes skim the women as they talk and laugh.
Their friendship has only strengthened through the years.
Even as work pulls everyone away at times.
Willow is the Chief Brand Officer for Superheroes & Scones, and every now and then, we’ll return to London.
We always make a point to time meetups with Tess and Sheetal.
They live in Atlanta, but they visit Sheetal’s family in Liverpool about twice a year.
We went to their wedding in London.
And currently, Tess is an actress on a medical TV drama that we tape every Tuesday night, and Sheetal is a producer on the same show.
I click into the camera settings. Two clicks later and the no storage warning sign disappears. “Got it.”
Willow grins up at me. Rising on her toes, we kiss and she whispers, “Thanks.”
My lips upturn more, and I cup the back of her neck in tender affection. “Anytime, anywhere.” Still, to this day, my heart belongs to Willow.
At the sound of a familiar whistle, my gaze drifts. Near us, twenty-two-year-old Jane Cobalt has two fingers in her mouth, whistling the way her Aunt Daisy taught her.
Bright smile, freckled cheeks—Jane cheers on other teens, basically strangers, while we wait for the next moto.
She’s smart. Like genius intellect. In a minute flat, she calculated the points needed for the top ten racers to qualify for the Grand Nationals in Tulsa.
And I thought I was good with numbers.
While Jane lives in Philly, she’s been seen out with some douchey bro.
Connor acts like it’s not the worst thing in the world, but I see how his face twitches whenever Lo and Ryke bring up the subject.
Connor has run about ten different background checks on the guy and was even a heartbeat away from asking me to hack into the bro’s computer.
I don’t blame him.
Jane is severely famous.
The five oldest kids are.
I glance over my shoulder at our tent. Coolers surround pop-up chairs under the shade. Maximoff Hale has a few bottles of Ziff in arm, on his way back to everyone. Athletic, kind-hearted, unwavering confidence is in his entire demeanor.
I feel fucking old. Because next month, he’ll turn twenty-two, and I look at him and still see the little kid I’d babysit.
The one who made me feel alive when being away from Willow seemed like certain death.
His thick brown hair is dyed lighter and blows in the wind.
Moffy smiles as he stops beside me. “Is it time yet?”
“Should be next.” As he passes a blue flavored Ziff to Willow and limeade to me, I notice a wet piece of paper in his hand. “What’s that?”
He makes a face and stuffs the paper in his back pocket. “A guy gave me his number.” His eyes briefly flit towards a group of twenty-something racers before landing on me. “I didn’t want to reject him in from of his friends.”
I glance between the smiling guy and Moffy, a lot more coolly than his dad would be. Lo has no chill when it comes to his kids and dating. “You’re not interested?”
He shakes his head. “He’s cute, but…” Moffy stares off in thought. He’s bi and considered a top “eligible bachelor” in the nation. He’s never been in a serious relationship, and I think whoever ends up with Moffy will probably need to be tough as hell.
As new riders reach the gate, we all face the track.
Willow squeezes my hand in excitement and then starts snapping pictures.
“Let’s go!”
“You got this!”
Everyone shouts around me.
I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, “Ride smart! Stay sharp!” My pulse ratchets up.
USA’s BMX East Coast Nationals has been in full swing. Day three, and my kid already raced six motos to qualify for this Main.
Every time I watch my thirteen-year-old, I’m fucking nervous. It’s not a safe sport, and we’ve already dealt with a broken arm at age six. Lost control of the bike during a district championship.
Crowds cheer, “Come on! Let’s go!”
Eight competitors grip their handlebars. My thirteen-year-old among them. In the blue and black jersey and full-face helmet.
Let’s go.
I keep my arm over Willow.
“Set yourselves,” the announcer calls out. “Riders ready…watch the gates.” Beep beep beep. The gates drop, and I hold my breath as tires descend on dirt track. Speeding and flying over hills.
I clap and yell, and when the last lap comes, Willow grips my shoulder.
Our kid is in third and shooting for first.
“Wait, wait…” Willow says and then we wince when two competitors pass at the turn.
Shit.
We see the standing.
Sixth place.
“Good race!” I shout and clap. This year, our thirteen-year-old came in first at the East Conference Championships and needed to place fourth at this event to have enough points to attend Grand Nationals.
Have to wait till next year.
Willow and I meet the competitors at the end of the track.
“Awesome job,” I say with a hug and tap of the helmet. “You did great out there.”
“Except I screwed that turn.”
“You’ll get it next time,” Willow encourages with a loving smile.
And then our kid grips the helmet with two gloved hands. Taking it off and shaking out a loose sandy-brown braid.
Our daughter smiles a gap-toothed smile like she won the race, even when she lost. “I did better than last year, faster start out the gate.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Willow says, passing her a water bottle.
“Thanks, Mom.” She takes a swig. “So I can go to Arcadia Galactica tomorrow, right?”
I lift my brows. “You’re still grounded, Vada.”
“Aw, come on.” Her voice is light, knowing she shouldn’t get a reprieve for biking after dark. A rule she constantly breaks. We still live in the city, in the same Philly loft.
Vada is brave like her mom. And she’s also nonconfrontational, in a way like me. I rest easy knowing she walks away from fights.
“Next week,” Willow reminds her, “you can always go then, unless you get grounded aga—”
“I won’t,” she says quickly, walking her bike back to the tent with us. “I’m having Pac-Man withdrawals like so bad.” Her aquamarine eyes flit to me. “Literally, Dad.”
I hate that game. She knows I hate that game, and honestly, I can’t believe my kid loves playing for hours upon hours. Vada pulverized Willow’s high score when she was four, and not because her mom is bad. Willow is fucking good at that one.
While we keep walking, Vada talks and smiles over the pics that her mom captured.
They both laugh.
And my chest rises in a light breath. In happiness.
Vada Lauren Abbey was born from love, and we named her Vada after the character in the movie My Girl. Lauren after the guy who changed our lives.
As soon as we enter the tent, Vada is rushed by family, by her cousins, three of which are girls around her age—and also her best friends. They pour ice water over her head. Laughing. Congratulating.
I extend my arm back around Willow, sharing a gentle smile with my wife. Summers are my favorite part of the year, always full of family.
And with this family, these people who protect and love without question, sixth place can feel like first.