And he was right beside me.
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 ofTexas Fitwith 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.
