Page 65 of Stitch & Steel
So tonight, we light a candle in her window. Every window, really. Her way of guiding people home. Her legacy.
At midnight, Bullet climbs onto the porch, raises a glass of whiskey high in the icy air. The men fall quiet. The women stop fussing with their kids and cups. Even the kids hush up as the fire crackles and the stars shine down over this blessed mountain.
“To the woman who started it all,” Bullet says, voice rough. “To the first Queen of this cabin. To Gran—and to her first love. May they ride together again on these roads, under these stars, forever.”
Glasses clink. Eyes shimmer. And for a second, the night holds more weight than a thousand chrome engines could carry.
Bella wipes her eyes. Our son giggles, curls into her chest. I walk over, wrapping my arms around both of them. My family. My everything.
This cabin? I put it in a trust. It’ll always be here. For our son. And the ones that come after him, God willing. I’ll teach them to ride, to fix an engine, to string a line and catch a trout. I’ll teach them how to love a woman so hard it shakes something loose in your bones.
And Bella?
I still wake up sometimes just to watch her breathe. To thank whatever force decided to send her up this mountain and into my arms.
She leans into me, whispering against my jaw, “This is perfect.”
“It’s just the beginning,” I whisper back.
She smiles, our son yawns, and the world feels just right.
