I smile into the darkness.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"For what?"
"For not giving up on me. All those years, all those times I pushed you away—you never gave up."
"Never will." He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. "You and Waylon are my whole world, Van. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."
I believe him.
After everything—the addiction, the separation, the horror of the cabin—I finally, truly believe him.
"We're going to be okay," I say. The same words I said to Leah, but they feel different now. Truer. Like a promise instead of a hope.
"Yeah." Garrett's arms tighten around me. "We are."
I close my eyes and let myself drift.
For the first time since the cabin, I don't dream of Virgil.
I dream of a little boy with Garrett's dark eyes and my smile, running through the clubhouse while his aunts and uncles chase him, laughing.
I dream of home.
EPILOGUE
Bloodhound
Two Months Later…
There's a giant pink balloon arch in my clubhouse.
I stand in the doorway, beer in hand, watching Maddox—six-foot-four of tattooed muscle —carefully adjusting a streamer that's come loose from the ceiling.
He's got a piece of tape between his teeth and a look of intense concentration on his face, like he's defusing a bomb instead of fixing party decorations.
"Little to the left," Tildie calls from across the room. "No, your other left. There! Perfect."
Maddox grunts and smooths the streamer into place, then steps back to survey his work.
The main room of the clubhouse has been transformed into something I barely recognize.
Pink and gold streamers hang from every surface.
A banner reading "SWEET 16 WRENLEIGH" stretches across the bar.
There are balloons everywhere—so many balloons that Rookie has been tasked with popping any that escape toward the ceiling with a broom handle.
It looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded in here.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"You're smiling."
I turn to find Ruger beside me, his own beer in hand, that knowing smirk on his face.
"I don't smile."
