Page 85 of Burned in Stone
“So,” he says, pulling me closer. “What do we do now?”
“Now?”
“Gabriel’s gone. Summit’s going down. You’re free.” He turns to face me. “What do you want to do with that freedom?”
I think about it for a moment, but the answer isn’t far from my mouth. For the first time in over a year, the future isn’t about running or hiding or surviving. It’s about living.
“I want to stay here,” I say. “In Stoneheart. With you. With the club. Maybe help rebuild Devil’s when the insurance comes through. And I really like your idea of us getting a place together.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I cup his bruised face gently. “This is home now. You’re my home.”
And I mean it. Not the way I meant it when I told Gabriel our apartment in Ailington was home while secretly planning my escape. Not the way I meant it when I first arrived in Stoneheart and was just looking for somewhere to hide until I figured out my next move.
This is real. This is mine. Not because I’m trapped here or because I have nowhere else to go, but because I choose it. I choose Cash, I choose this family, I choose this messy, chaotic, beautiful life where people fight for each other instead of against each other.
Gabriel tried to make me believe I didn’t deserve this. That love meant losing yourself, that family meant obligation, that home meant prison. That I was too broken, too difficult, too much to ever really belong anywhere.
He was wrong about all of it. And I finally—finally—believe that.
He kisses me, soft and sweet despite his split lip. When he pulls back, his good eye is bright.
“I love you, angel.”
“I love you too.” The words come easy and without fear. “Even when you’re beat to hell and making terrible life choices.”
“Especially then.”
We stay out there until the cold drives us inside, where someone’s left the couch free and a blanket waiting. We curl up together, Cash’s arm around me, my head on his chest, listening to the sounds of the clubhouse settling into sleep.
Tomorrow there will be statements to give, lawyers to meet with, insurance to file. The work of rebuilding will start.
But tonight, I’m free.
And I’m home.
EPILOGUE 1 - CASH
In the days after Gabriel’s arrest, the clubhouse shifted into holiday mode. Ginger decided we needed to go extra big this year, and now the place looks like Christmas threw up everywhere.
And I mean everywhere.
The annual Christmas cookout’s this weekend, with Stone’s daughter Emma coming home as guest of honor. Maggie’s got Duck on a ladder hanging lights. Ginger’s directing prospects hauling boxes of decorations. Tank’s wrestling with the new inflatable lawn Santa—a 20-foot monstrosity clutching two beers and barfing tinsel onto a blinking North Pole sign. Kya and Lee are stringing lights out front, threatening to electrocute each other twice an hour.
Inside, the energy’s wild and contagious. Nobody admits it, but we’re all shell-shocked at how fast everything crashed into freedom. Especially Mercy, who’s sitting beside me, laptop between us while we look at houses. It’s normal, domestic shit that makes my chest feel weird and tight in a good way.
“This one’s got three bedrooms,” Mercy says. “Garage big enough for two bikes. And look—there’s a yard.”
“For what? We getting a dog?”
“Maybe.” She grins. “Or just a place where you can work on bikes without Duck complaining you’re taking up space in the shop.”
“Duck loves when I’m at the shop. Gives him someone to boss around.”
“Duck loves complaining. There’s a difference.”
She’s right. She’s always right about these things.
