Page 128
Always.
EPILOGUE II
VAUGHN - THE NEXT DAY
“Unca Ells!” a stroppy little voice called out. The familiar squeak squeak of miniature red boots announced her blatant disregard for Dalton’s shop rules.
“Linney,” I said when she came around the corner, “are you supposed to be in your daddy’s garage? I think not.”
“I think yes,” she said, her mother’s blue eyes blinking at me with fake innocence. “I think Daddy told me to get you for pudding.”
I sat back on my heels and wiped my forehead off with a towel from my back pocket. Arden’s mini-me stared back at me with her little chubby fists curled on her hips, and I could barely respond without cracking a goofy grin at how fucking cute she was. “Pudding? We having pudding for lunch today, Peanut? I thought your daddy was making hamburgers on the grill when he gets back from Aunt Wanda’s.”
She made a disgusted face. “’Nanna pudding for dessert, but only if you come on.”
She turned around and squeaked her way back toward the house, the little red boots slapping against her calves as she splatted her way through a few remaining puddles from yesterday’s rain.
I stood and stretched before tossing the needle-nose pliers back into the toolbox on the ground next to the bike. As usual, Dalton had a good eye for a hidden gem. I could absolutely see why he’d picked this one up for me, and I already had plenty of ideas of how to fix her up… if I could ever find the time.
After washing my hands, I headed for the house and pulled out my phone to check for updates from Bett. He’d gotten home late last night, so I assumed the lack of texts meant he was sleeping in today. My plan was to load up the bike and head home after lunch. If I was lucky, maybe I’d catch him still in bed, all sleep soft and easy.
I kicked off my shoes in the mudroom before entering the kitchen in Dalton and Arden’s new house. It stood on the site where the Pit had finally been torn down, and Arden liked to make jokes about how—not to worry—that spot still saw plenty of fights.
In reality, the two of them seemed happier than most couples… with the sole exception of Bett and me. I still felt like I was the luckiest bastard alive because I got to share my life with Bett McNeely. Star kicker of the Tennessee Terrors (as I liked to call them), dedicated volunteer and patron of the Tennessee Justice Center and the Georgia Justice Project, and favorite uncle to a spoiled redhead and whatever new flavor of baby Arden was currently gestating.
“That you, Vaughn?” Arden called from down the hall. “Will you get a box of mac ’n’ cheese out of the pantry? Little Miss apparently doesn’t want hamburgers today.”
I still got a kick out of the fact that she called me Vaughn when her own last name was now also Vaughn. It had started as a flirty tease aimed at Dalton and had somehow stuck along the way. For a long time, she’d joked that I was her favorite Vaughn… but when Dalton had married Arden and adopted Linney, giving them the same name, the joke had died a quick and understandable death.
Even Bett still called me Vaughn most of the time. It was only when he was feeling emotional—soft and sweet or on the verge of coming—that he called me by my first name. Just the thought of my name on his lips made me miss him for the millionth time.
“Yeah, got it.” I headed for their walk-in pantry, which was hidden behind a large cabinet door.
But as soon as I opened the door, a strong hand gripped my wrist and yanked me inside.
“Fuck!” I barked, planting my feet and scrambling to remember my fighting technique… when I belatedly realized the grip was familiar. And the delighted chuckle that came with it was the sound I loved most in the world. “Bett. Fuck.”
I stepped immediately into him, pressing my nose against the side of his neck and wrapping my arms around him tightly. The cabinet door closed behind us, but the motion-sensor light stayed on.
Shelves surrounded us, filled with Dalton and Arden’s favorite staples. Canned goods, boxes of pasta, bags of flour and sugar. Juice boxes and snack packs. Wet wipes and extra rolls of paper towels.
And my beautiful fucking husband.
“You’re here,” I said.
“I’m here.” He pulled my face up so he could kiss me, hard and claiming, the way he always did after we’d been apart. “I missed you so fucking much.”
“You’ve been gone two days,” I said, though what I meant was, Me too.
“I didn’t want you to cut your family visit short, so I caught a quick connecting flight to Chattanooga. Dalton picked me up.”
Which made way more sense than Dalton’s claim to be running up to Wanda’s this morning to help her in the garden. It was late November, for fuck’s sake.
“I’m so glad you did. I was ready to hop in the truck after lunch and speed home just so I could see you.”
“We’ll still need to get home for my meeting with Aaron tomorrow about the contract extension, but I’m free for the rest of the day.” He kissed me again, his lips warm and full against mine. “What about you? Anything important in the shop that can’t wait till tomorrow?”
His hands moved over me as if reacquainting himself with my person. It was distracting as fuck. “Uh, I think… I think no? What?”
