Fourteen

Emery

E pilogue – Two Years Later

"Mama, I can't find my bow tie!"

I glance up from the floor, where I’m mid-wrestle with two squirmy toddlers and a half-buttoned onesie that smells like fruit snacks and betrayal.

Legend’s standing in the doorway to our bedroom, hands on his hips, dressed in his tiny sheriff’s uniform like he’s about to issue someone a ticket.

He looks almost perfect, except the bow tie, which has apparently vanished into the abyss that is our house.

“Top drawer of Daddy’s dresser, baby. If it’s not there, check under the pile of socks he pretends he’s gonna fold.”

Legend salutes and dashes off. At five years old, he’s equal parts old soul and chaotic energy, and has fully committed to his dual identities as both Big Brother and Deputy Sheriff.

Tonight’s the Wildfire Elementary Talent Show, and my boy’s got his first solo.

He’s been rehearsing for weeks, singing in the tub, the backyard, and once during a full meltdown in the Target checkout line.

As for my own music career, well, things are about as perfect as they can be. I’d always had these songs I sang to myself, written down in notebooks and tinkered with from about the age of 12. They’d evolved over time, but I never thought anyone else would ever want to hear them.

Turns out, I was wrong.

The album I recorded with Colt’s unexpected engagement gift sold enough to bring me a little bit of fame.

It’s a folk album, and it’s probably never going to make me rich, but it’s brought me enough of a following that I now get invited to a few festivals.

I played three this summer, and it was such a buzz, but my heart isn’t in touring or fame.

There are other things I want, things closer to home, and that’s meant turning down more than I accept.

“Found it!” Legend calls a second later, triumphant.

I hear Colt’s deep, familiar chuckle down the hall.

“Looking sharp, Deputy,” Colt says, appearing in the doorway with Legend’s hand in his. “You ready to show the whole town what you’ve got?”

“I’m ready, Daddy.” Legend beams up at him, all dimples and pride. That title— Daddy —still makes my chest tight in the best way. Colt’s been his father in every way that matters since day one, but it became official eighteen months ago at our wedding. Legend didn’t even flinch during the vows.

Colt, on the other hand, cried harder than I did. On our honeymoon in Nashville, he got the crack in his tattoo filled in with mine and Legend’s names, leaving room for additional Boone’s as they come along.

“Are Ruby and Mason coming too?” Legend asks, craning to peer over Colt’s shoulder.

“They wouldn’t miss it,” Colt says. Then he looks at me and raises his brows. “Need backup?”

I gesture helplessly at Ruby, who has somehow gotten one shoe off and is attempting to chew it like a feral raccoon. Mason, in contrast, is sitting quietly on the floor, blissfully unaware of the chaos, chewing on a plastic spoon like it owes him money.

“Your daughter is a tornado,” I say, eyeing Ruby as she throws the shoe and squeals.

Colt grins and swoops her up like it’s nothing. “Gets it from her mama.”

“Excuse me?” I say, trying not to laugh as he calmly slides the shoe back on Ruby’s foot like a toddler-whisperer.

“There,” he says, “crisis averted.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re squeezing into the chaos that is the Wildfire Elementary auditorium.

The place is packed, folding chairs crammed side-by-side, toddlers with juice boxes, grandparents with camcorders the size of small appliances.

Half the town’s here, and the other half probably tried but couldn’t find parking.

We slide into our reserved seats up front, the twins in our laps, the diaper bag stuffed under our feet like an overstuffed briefcase.

I spot Jack and Delaney in the third row. Emma is bouncing on Delaney’s lap like she’s mainlined pixie sticks, while their baby boy snoozes in Jack’s arms with that slack-jawed baby serenity. Jack Jr. is nowhere to be seen, but I guess he’s getting ready for his own part in the show.

A few rows behind them, Cade and Marley are snuggled together, Cade dead eyeing every other man in the room that even dares glance toward his wife.

And there’s Beau, of all people, folded into a child-sized plastic chair like a bear trying to ride a tricycle.

His face is set in its usual I’d rather be working on an engine expression, but it’s betrayed by the fact that he’s wearing a shirt with a cartoon dinosaur and holding a juice pouch in one hand.

Sarah Mitchell, the local third-grade teacher he’s been “casually seeing” for the past six months, is seated beside him with the kind of fond smile that says he acts tough, but he cried at that YouTube dog reunion video too.

“The whole crew showed up,” I murmur to Colt.

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he says, settling Ruby in his lap while I do my best to keep Mason from launching his sock into the row ahead of us. “It’s Legend’s big debut.”

It reminds me for a second, that my own parents have still stayed away. Colt helped me to call them when we got engaged, but they were short and curt. Didn’t have any interest in hearing about Legend, or when the wedding would be.

Colt ended up giving them an earful, then hung up. Said, when they can learn to act like decent humans, they can come see him. Until then, no contact.

Sad, but my grandparents are still in my life. They’re at their new place in Florida so they couldn’t make the concert but we will be visiting soon. Legend’s all in on Disneyworld and finding sharks teeth on the beach.

Life isn’t perfect, but sometimes, it sure feels like it is.

The lights dim. My pulse kicks up.

Normally, I’d be backstage—clipboard in hand, headset on, wrangling kindergartners high on juice boxes and nerves.

It’s not a full-time job, but it is my only one outside of my music career.

When I told Logan I was quitting, I might have expected him to be upset.

No such thing. He told me to chase my dreams and be happy, so long as I didn’t disappear from his life completely.

I see him all the time, and I’m getting to know his new boyfriend too.

But tonight, I’m not the choir director. I’m just a mom in the front row, silently praying my kid doesn’t forget the words or throw up from excitement.

The acts start rolling: alphabet songs, shaky recorder solos, an interpretive dance involving glitter wands and one very confused first-grader. Then—

“Next up, we have Legend Boone performing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’”

The crowd claps. I stop breathing.

And then, there he is.

Tiny. Brave. All five years of him standing under the bright lights in that sheriff’s uniform, his little bow tie now perfectly askew.

He steps up to the mic like he’s done it a hundred times, adjusts it just a little too low, and then scans the audience until he finds us. His grin breaks across his face like sunshine, and I swear, in that moment, the whole auditorium tilts toward him.

He opens his mouth. And sings.

And God .

The voice that comes out of that small, serious face isn’t what anyone expects. It’s not babyish. It’s not forced. It’s clear, controlled, heartbreakingly earnest. A sound that makes the room hold its breath.

And makes his mama so proud she’s on cloud nine.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high...”

Beside me, Colt goes completely still. I glance over and see his hands clenched together in his lap, his jaw working like he’s trying not to fall apart.

“There’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby...”

Legend doesn’t miss a note. His voice fills the space with something raw and simple and true . He’s not just singing, he’s telling a story. And people are listening. Really listening.

I catch the tear before it fully falls down Colt’s cheek, but I see the shimmer. And I see the pride. It’s written all over him, this big, strong man is now absolutely losing it at a five-year-old in a clip-on tie.

Our little boy sings, and my husband cries, and I can’t help myself. I’m sobbing too. I listen to every word, every line, and I know that I’ve made all the right decisions. I might not have wanted to bring a man into our lives, I might have promised myself that Legend would come first.

But the truth is he has. He does. Not just with me, but with Colt too.

And just like that, it’s over.

The final note hangs like stardust, then the room erupts. Applause, cheers, whistles. Even a “ That’s my nephew! ” from somewhere behind us.

Legend bows, face glowing, eyes scanning for us again. When he finds us, Colt’s already on his feet, clapping hard, wiping his face with the back of his hand like it didn’t just betray him in front of 300 people.

“That’s my boy,” he says, voice thick. “That’s my son.”

Around us, the whole Boone crew is on their feet. Even Beau, who looks suspiciously misty and mutters something about “allergies” when Sarah nudges him.

Legend practically flies off the stage and crashes into Colt’s arms.

“Did you hear me, Daddy? Did I do good?”

Colt hugs him so tightly, I half-expect the bow tie to pop off again.

“You were perfect, buddy. Absolutely perfect.”

Legend turns to me, wide-eyed. “Mama, did you cry too?”

I nod, swiping at my cheeks. “Happy tears, baby. The very best kind.”

Two hours later we’re in Jack and Delaney’s driveway, shoving overnight bags and three car seats into the back of their SUV like we’re playing emotional Tetris.

“You’re sure this isn’t too much?” I ask Delaney for the third time.

She rolls her eyes, smiling. “Emma’s been begging for a sleepover with her cousins for weeks. And Jack’s already in pajamas and emotionally prepared.”

Jack snorts. “Speak for yourself. Ruby gave me the stink eye when I adjusted her seat. I think she’s planning a coup. But Colt gave me one of his tree carvings to guard the entrance to my mountain, so we’re all square.”