by Holly Hall
The dream catcher and the destroyer.
Just me and the woman who proved my fire could ignite fireworks instead of futures.
And no more smoke and mirrors to hide any of it.
Epilogue
Lindsey
“Starting to get carsick,” I groan, eyes closed against the fabric of my scarf. Jenson used my own wardrobe against me when he said we were going for a drive and fastened it over my eyes. His answering laugh is rich and warm.
“I’m not falling for that for one second.”
I slap a hand against my thigh in mock disappointment. It was a good try, but I’ve always been a bad liar. “Fine. But I do hate surprises.”
“Sometimes you don’t know what you’ll like until you try it.”
Right again. There are days I think this man knows me better than I know myself, and the grin on my face spreads like melted butter. We don’t get that much time together. Between Jenson’s music and my photography, it’s a miracle we’re able to spend one whole, uninterrupted week together for Christmas. Which is partially why I’m a little peeved—we also agreed we’d hole up in our new home, just the two of us, and wouldn’t be leaving until Christmas Day, which is the day after tomorrow, to spend it with his mom.
But I’m not really angry at all. How could I be? For the past year and a half, following Dare and Fall’s North American tour, I’ve been photographing full-time for a music magazine. A lot of the work is local, but it satisfies my creative side and has opened countless doors in my career.
As for my wanderlust-ridden heart, well, it’s been mostly sated by none other than the callus-fingered, sad-eyed wordsmith beside me. I instinctively reach for his hand, giggling when mine lands on his zipper. His fingers entwine with mine, and then I feel his lips press against each knuckle as he chuckles.
“Later, lovely. I’m on a mission to surprise you.”
“Good luck.”
Soon the truck slows, and I think I hear gravel beneath the crunch of snow. Where the hell are we? Then we’re stopping altogether, and Jenson kills the engine and comes around to my side, helping me out. Icy wind nips my cheeks, and although I’m blind, I place all my faith in Jenson’s steadying hands as he guides me.
“Can’t I look yet?”
“Not yet. Just a little longer,” he says beside my ear, warm breath caressing my neck. I pretend to be impatient, but I’m enjoying this. A blissful year and a half with Jenson has passed by in a flash, and I’ve come to recognize the telltale tone of his voice when he’s done or planned something he hopes I’ll be pleased with. He gets a thrill out of surprising me, whether it be with takeout Thai, or a new pair of badass stockings I’ve been eyeing, or a band tee from the vintage shop down the street from his old loft.
After the gallery showing all those months ago, we spent a week in Denver exploring the city and rediscovering each other. Seven days filled with unguarded conversations and getting to know each other without all the baggage—my old fears, his regrets. We made peace with those things in our separate ways, and what followed was a natural progression. I introduced him to my parents, tattoos and reputation and all, and they’d welcomed him graciously. I think Landon got to them first, and after impressing Landon, my parents were cake. He’s sweet and attentive with my mom and talks football with my dad, and somehow he’s become a salve between my parents and me, and our old wounds.
But to say the roads have been completely smooth, paved with only happiness and makeup sex, would be a lie. After all, fears manifest themselves in different ways, and regret and guilt often crop up when Jenson’s stressed and life is taking its toll. But withstanding my stubbornness and Jenson’s tough inner critic will be worth it. Forever will be worth it.
He challenges my beliefs and pushes my talents, helps me discover all the parts of life I was ignorant to, and I somehow healed his old aches. His words, not mine. I’d never in a million years think I was capable of doing such a thing, but he reminds me every day how much brighter his life is because of me. How hope and promise has filled every fissure of him that used to be bleak and lifeless.
And now, as he stops me with his hands on my waist and unties the scarf from my eyes, it’s unfathomable that he ever believed he wasn’t good enough for redemption or hope. I squint against the brightness of the sun off the snow, blinking as I take in the image before us: a single chestnut horse harnessed to a sleigh, bells fastened along the straps and a man in coveralls waiting to help us inside.
“Oh my God!” I shriek, covering my mouth with my gloved hands before pushing forward through the snow. “What’s his name?”
I can almost hear Jenson roll his eyes good-naturedly as he follows. “This is Derek.”
I shoot him a look. He knows what I mean.
“But the horse’s name is Bill.”
“Oh hi, Bill, aren’t you so handsome?” I greet, running my hands over his furry, copper sides. He snorts, his breath fogging in the frigid air. “Not that you’re not handsome too, Derek.” Derek just chuckles, offering his hand.
“Derek’s doing us a special favor. Let’s get in so he can get back to his family.”
“You can feed him a carrot later,” Derek adds, and I relent, stepping up into the sleigh. There’s a wide bench seat topped with a folded tartan blanket.
Once we’re settled, Jenson spreads the blanket over us and I nestle into his side, placing my hands between his thighs to keep them warm. I was more distracted by the fur ball of a horse at first, but now, as we glide down a path through thickets of Virginia pines, I take in the rolling hills, the stretches of undisturbed, creamy snow, the glistening tree branches, and Jenson. His cheeks are pink and there’s a smug smile on his lips that’s been permanently affixed there since we arrived.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring at him.
“You are wearing the hell out of that beanie, babe.” I pull it down over his eyes for good measure.
Once he has it back up on his forehead, and he’s clamped my hands in his so I can’t mess with him anymore, he pegs me with a gaze so serious, so full of meaning, that my breath catches in my chest. The sun highlighting the gold flecks in his eyes makes them extra arresting. I can’t help it. I kiss him right on the mouth, running my tongue along the seam of his lips, and hope Derek doesn’t turn around in his little seat at the front. Then again, I don’t really give a damn.
“Thank you for doing this, Jens. It’s perfect.”
He nods curtly, his eyes scanning the horizon for a moment before resting back on mine. “It’s nice to do something like this, after all the madness. These past eighteen months have been crazy.”
I nod in agreement. “Here here.” Our schedules are crazy, there’s still some lingering attention from Jenson’s years as a headliner, and stolen moments like this are rarer than they should be. But we’re both doing what we love, we come home to each other at night, and even when we’re too exhausted to do anything but turn on Netflix, we’re happy. Deep-in-our-bones happy.
“But you know I wouldn’t have it any other way. Writing music, getting our house together, being with you. . . How could I deserve all this?”
I give him a look, and he kisses my forehead. He knows how I feel when he says things like that.
“And life is just going to get better, you know? We still have things we want to experience, goals that we’re on track to accomplishing. There are so many great moments coming up. And I’m so fucking grateful to share them with you. I’m so fucking happy you came back to me, chose me, trusted me to get my shit together.”
“You chose me too, Jenson. Even when I was a mess.” My throat thickens with tears. Meaningful words are never far from Jenson’s lips, but they don’t usually pack this punch. He’s not usually this intense.
And then, when he looks at me again, rotating slightly, and swallows, I know.
“You’re not proposing, are you?” I widen my eyes in mock horror, but the answering look on his face is one of genuine panic. Then I b
link, and it’s gone, the characteristic furrow in his all-too-serious brow back in place.
“Good try, but no. If I were proposing to you, I’d do it when you least expected it. There’d be something morbid involved, like crispy dead flowers.
My giggles are relentless. With that look of sheer panic I glimpsed, I can’t help it. “Sounds perfect,” I say, when I can finally form the words. And it does. It sounds absolutely perfect.
Jenson
Goddammit. Leave it to Lindsey to ruin the surprise, literally the whole purpose of this outing. I mean yes, the sleigh ride is fitting for the season, and yes, it’s nice to spend time with her, doing something out of the norm, but seriously?
Luckily I saved myself. I think. I was grasping for words to explain the situation and came up with a pathetic “Good try, but no.” Smooth. Real fucking smooth. And now I have to somehow explain to the dozen people I have crammed inside our home, waiting to pop champagne as soon as we open the door, that the surprise engagement is off, without Lindsey catching on to the situation.
I should’ve known something like this would happen, that the all-out, picturesque engagement scene wouldn’t do for someone as spontaneous and off-the-wall as her, but I am who I am. Years later and I still get carried away with my plans. I’m still learning to roll with it, but more importantly, I’m learning from her—rolling with it is her mantra.
So I put my arm around her and enjoy the experience, hoping Derek up there hasn’t caught wind of my failure. I’ll send a quick text to her family when we get back to the car. The engagement party we planned will have to turn into a surprise Christmas party, I guess, but Lindsey will love it either way.
After our ride through the woods, we’re both thoroughly frozen and ready to warm up in the truck, but Lindsey insists on feeding Bill the carrots he was promised. Meanwhile, my mind is preoccupied with damage control, and the ring is burning a hole in my left pocket. I’m surprised Lindsey can’t sense it.
“That was fun,” she says as we finally head back to the truck, doing a little skip. I grip her hand tightly, keeping my eyes on the icy path because it’s the last thing on her mind.
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“Your mom would love something like that. We should come back again before they close for the season.”
My mom’s probably decorated our entire home in congratulatory balloons and streamers for the engagement that never happened, and will be cursing me once I’ve told her plans have changed, but that’s neither here nor there.
“She would.” I force myself to nod. “We can make that happen.”
Lindsey turns to me, walking backwards and giving me a smile that could thaw all the ice in this place, only something goes wrong. She takes a misstep, and I see everything happen in slow motion—slow enough to register all the horrific possibilities, quick enough that I can’t stop it from happening. Her foot goes one way and her body goes another, and I lunge forward too quickly to keep my own balance. We both go crashing to the ground; her on her hip and thigh, me on my knees and hand, landing with a bone-jarring thud.
Sharp, hot pain lances through my wrist, but my focus is on her. Her mouth forms a comical O for the span of a few seconds before she busts out laughing. True laughter that originates in her belly and comes in waves. I sit back on my heels and shake out my wrist, unable to fight my own chuckle despite the pain. Then, right there in the path, she flops onto her back and spreads her arms to make a snow angel.
Her hair is dark against the snow, her scarf askew and splayed out around her. I’m sure her clothes are getting soaked, but there she is—going with it. She isn’t perfect, and I’m far from perfect, but everything she is fills in where I’m lacking. And I hope I do that for her. I don’t care if I have to go through life forever chasing the flawless image I want to be for her, I’ll do it, even if I have to crawl on my knees.
Something seizes my heart and overtakes me, and I’m pulling out the ring. I manage to drag myself up onto one knee, holding the ring between a thumb and forefinger and reaching out my other hand for hers. Lindsey’s laughter ceases and her eyes grow wide, and then she’s pushing herself up onto her knees, covering her mouth.
“Are you serious?” she says, words garbled through her gloves.
“Yes. I’m serious,” I answer, though I haven’t even asked the question. I clear my throat, gathering all my thoughts from where they were scattered during my failed attempt. “You were my silver lining during my darkest times. You caught your dreams while somehow becoming one of mine. And you were the first person to look at me and see more. More than the man I was, the man I thought I could be. And this,” I hold up the ring, a star-burst of glittering diamonds, “this is a promise and a vow. That I’ll strive, forever, to be that man you believe I can be. That I will fight for you, every day of my life. If you’ll let me.”
The silence is somehow loud, heavy with suspense, my blood rushing in my ears. Then she’s bypassing the ring entirely, throwing her arms around my neck and knocking me off balance. We’re in the snow again, but I’m numb to the cold seeping through my jeans and beneath my collar, immune to everything but the feeling of her body on mine, gripping me with the strength of a dozen men. Then she’s sitting up and straddling my chest, taking off her left glove and offering me her hand, and I slide the band on her finger, picturing—not for the first time—her as my wife, wearing this ring and owning my heart forever.
“Is that a yes?”
She nods briskly, tears glimmering on her cheeks.
“Are you serious?” I ask, half to mock her, half to make sure I’m not dreaming.
She nods again, only this time, she bites her lip. “I have to show you something.”
Her sudden sincerity causes my smile and joy to wane, and I sit up with her still straddling my lap. “What?”
I watch with bated breath as her hand disappears into her own coat pocket, and she draws out a piece of paper. No, not a piece of paper, a photo. One I recognize instantly.
I take it gently from her, like if I move any faster it will disappear in a wisp of smoke. It’s an unmarred, still-glossy, black-and-white sonogram photo. My heart seems to stop, my throat thickening as my eyes rove over the shadowy Lima-bean shape, marveling at the little life. When I look at her, her own watery smile is confirmation of the question I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Caution dances with elation, but for once, I don’t feel fear at this prospect. I feel ready.
“I’m going to be a dad?” I finally say, my eyes burning.
“You’re going to be a dad,” she answers, resting her forehead on mine. “And I’m going to be a mom, Lord help us all.” We laugh even as our lips collide, and I kiss her ardently.
Lindsey’s given me everything—unbridled honesty, faith, laughter, a future that’s not so dark, forgiveness. But this might be the best of all. It’s a new start; not to erase the past, but to build upon it. It’s her belief that I can be the man she deserves, the father a child deserves. It’s redemption in the purest, sweetest form. It’s a chance I never thought I’d have again.
I take her face in my hands, swiping her tears with my thumbs, and wonder what might be going through her mind. “We can still travel. You can work however long and hard you want. This doesn’t have to change everything.”
Lindsey shakes her head. “I’m not worried about that. I’m not worried about anything. Because you are my greatest adventure, Jenson King. Do you know that?”
I smile with relief and happiness, kissing her again, because I feel the same way. And then I shift her and stand, pulling her up with me. My fiancé. And we walk toward the truck, and our engagement party. Toward the future.
And toward our greatest, grandest adventure of all.
THE END
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Books by Holly Hall
Raven’s story—Love in Smoke
After her former life goes up in flames, Raven Sutter needs a new start. After all, there's nothing left for her in Nashville but the shadow of her musician ex-husband's reputation and her traitorous friends who have declared their alliance with him. So Raven packs up and sets out for a rural town in northern Tennessee, where no one knows her name and no one knows her past.
The small town of Heronwood, however, refuses to let anyone enter unnoticed. When Raven catches the attention of Dane Cross, the center of nearly every rumor and small-town suspicion, she finds herself unwittingly enraptured by the one man she, and apparently the whole town, knows it's better to stay away from. It's only a matter of time before she learns that a charming facade can conceal the most twisted of pasts.
There's much more to Dane Cross than meets the eye, and Raven soon discovers that playing with Dane is not just a game of love and heartbreak. It's life and death.
Blake and Landon’s story—Forever Grace
In the aftermath of a tragedy, twenty-six-year-old Blake Kendall has all but given up on relationships. It seems that nobody truly gets her, until she meets the enigmatic owner of a charitable bookstore called Forever Grace. Landon Farrar's dry humor couldn't clash more with her cynical wit, but she senses there's more to the sharp-tongued Landon than meets the eye.
Undeterred by his coldness, Blake pushes to learn more about the stranger whose scars seem to run deeper than her own. She never imagined that the ghosts of their pasts may not be all that different. When Landon's guard falters and Blake discovers the connection between them, she's faced with a decision. Reveal their shared history and risk everything, or keep quiet and salvage the semi-relationship they've found?