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EPILOGUE

F aith

One Year later – Nashville, Tennessee

Tonight, we’re at The Green Room – an intimate local spot known for hosting poetry, music, and stories that punch you in the heart.

Recommended by my small town singer friend I made almost one year ago to the day.

The lights are warm and low, and there’s that quiet kind of hush just before something real happens. My palms are sweating a little, but my voice is steady as I step up to the mic.

I glance down at the notecards in my hand, then back up at the crowd.

In the front row, I see him.

Hunter.

Leaning forward, elbows on knees, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knows I’m about to set this room on fire.

He’s been clapping louder than anyone tonight—but not in a way that takes over. Just…solid. Steady. There. The way I always dreamed someone could be.

I clear my throat.

“This is an excerpt from the memoir I’ve been working on. It’s called My Summer with Thor. ”

A few scattered laughs, some knowing chuckles from the friends who’ve already heard pieces. April’s got her phone out, probably live-streaming the whole thing. Maya’s beside her in a vintage jacket she thrifted just to look ‘Nashville chic,’ and Alex’s pretending not to tear up already.

I glance back down at my cards. Then I look up.

“I used to think life was about being good . About being safe . About following the plan. The path. The expectations.”

Beat.

“But then I met someone who wore a mask and called me by a fake name. And somehow? It was the first time I’d ever been completely myself.”

I see Hunter smile.

“I made choices that terrified me. That pissed people off. But I’ve learned something:

Easy choices, hard life. Your soul feels uncomfortable. It’s not being fed right.

Hard choices…easy on the soul.”

The room is quiet. Still. Listening.

“I wouldn’t be standing here tonight if I hadn’t risked it all. For love. For truth. For myself.”

I close my notecards, heart pounding.

The room erupts in applause.

Hunter’s on his feet. He doesn’t rush the stage. Doesn’t need to. He just mouths it: I love you.

I smile, lips trembling a little, and nod.

I know.

Me too.

Always.

And as I step off the stage, into a new version of my life—unmasked, unapologetic—I know this time?

The story is mine.

Hunter

Another month later

Mr. Easton grins as he finishes walking Faith down the aisle.

Her dress is exquisite. Snow white. Classic. She looks like a literal princess.

And I—Hunter Holloway—somehow get to be the guy waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

“You better not screw this up, Holloway,” Mr. Easton mutters with a wink. A reminder that I’ve invaded enemy territory. This is the enemy’s princess. But the energy is different now. He knows I love her.

The Capulets and the Montagues have united. Or something like that.

I grin, and for one reckless second, I consider saying something like, “You know your daughter and I actually met at a sex club, right?”

But I hold my tongue. Because I’ve learned a thing or two.

Yeah, I know I started this story bragging about a certain attribute below the belt. And while it’s still objectively impressive, I’ll say this:

That’s not my whole personality.

Thanks to Faith, I’ve evolved. I’ve got new layers now. Some emotional. Some literary.

Fellas—do yourselves a favor. Don’t start your love story wearing a metaphorical mask. Because the deeper it gets, the harder it becomes to keep up the act.

Take it from a guy who tried.

And if she’s literally into masks? Well then, hell. Put on the damn mask. That’s a girl worth keeping.

The pastor says something about commitment and forever, and I’m barely listening. Because all I can think about is how this woman—this fierce, brilliant, maddening, beautiful woman—is now mine .

She loved Thor the trucker.

Now she’s getting the yacht.

I kiss the bride. A deep, possessive, grateful kiss that says you’re everything .

When we break apart, she whispers, “Forever, Hunter?”

I wrap my hand around her waist, grinning. “You’re not getting away from me again. So don’t even try.”

And yeah, I see that flash in her eyes—the wild, feral heat I’ve loved since night one. The spark that told me she was never a good girl. Not really.

She’s Faith Easton.

And she’s all mine.

* * *

The reception’s held at this new wedding venue on the outskirts of town—mostly outdoors, partly inside a renovated barn that used to host tractor pulls and flea markets.

Ironically, it’s the exact same field where Faith and I first… well. You know.

Did the thing.

In the back of my VIP truck.

Now there’s fairy lights overhead. A champagne tent. A charcuterie bar. The whole damn town came out for it—Faith’s college friends, my teammates, Daphne and her sister, even Mr. and Mrs. Stinson in the corner pretending they’re not eavesdropping on every table.

Faith and I sit at a private sweetheart table a few yards from the crowd. For the first time since saying I do , it’s just us.

She sips her wine, cheeks still glowing. “So,” she says, her eyes playful, “what were the red flags you saw in me?”

She’s referencing Maya’s speech, where she called me a walking red flag. Accurate.

I raise a brow. “You mean besides the fact that you agreed to hook up in a field. In a truck. With a stranger. Whose face you hadn’t seen.”

She grins. “I did listen to serial killer podcasts. I knew the risks.”

“And yet you still took a leap. Why?”

Faith looks out over the lawn, where Ty’s doing the worm. “Sometimes,” she says, “you just have to trust your gut.”

I lean in, dropping my voice. “Sometimes your gut tells you, ‘This trucker’s probably sexy as hell under that mask.’”

She runs her hand slowly down my arm. “Little did I know…”

“Little did you know he also had a face mangled by D-linemen and an ego the size of Texas.”

She laughs—and we keep laughing, keep dancing under the stars until our feet ache.

“You ever picture your wedding?” she asks quietly, after our third slow dance.

“Never,” I say.

“I did.” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “And tonight’s better than anything I imagined.”

I wrap her tighter. “I never pictured a wedding. But I did imagine the girl.”

“What did she look like?”

“I didn’t know what she looked like,” I whisper. “But I always knew what she sounded like.”

Faith leans back just slightly. “And what did she sound like?”

I nuzzle into her hair. “She sounded like you. Like someone full of love to give.”

She presses her body to mine and shivers as I growl something low into her ear, something for her alone.

And just then, the DJ calls last call.

Maya and Grant wander over. “Where’s the afterparty?” Grant asks, grinning like a man who’s just danced to too much Lizzo.

“We didn’t plan one,” Faith says, glancing at me. “Thought we’d stay here late.”

“Bummer,” Maya says. “It’s only eleven.”

I slide my hand around my wife’s waist, fingers teasing at her hip, then lower—just enough to remind her the night is far from over.

“You know what’s open till late?” I say.

Faith’s eyes snap to mine. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Mont du Marquette.”

Maya gasps. “Let’s fucking go! ” she shouts loud enough to startle a few cousins.

Faith laughs and kisses me like we’ve just eloped.

And that’s how our marriage begins: with full hearts, loud friends, and one hell of an encore.

* * *

We have our limo driver drop us off.

I surprise us with a stash of masks that I’d had him bring just in the case we ended up here.

I take Faith’s hand, noticing the ring wrapped around her finger now.

“So, you ready to have some fun, babe?”

“I think so.”

“Maybe we should participate this time.”

“I don’t think so. I’m a good girl.” Faith twists her tongue up and sticks it through her teeth.

I whisper in her ear as we head through the doors. “Guess I’ll have to bring Luna in here with me, then.”

“I thought I married Hunter Holloway,” she murmurs, pressing against my side as the door swings open.

“You did,” I say. “But tonight?” I nudge her mask into place. “You’re riding with Thor.”

Thank you for reading!

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