Page 53 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)
Four months later… March
The heavy iron doors of the prison gate slide open with a metallic clang, echoing through the still morning air. And there he is.
My little brother.
Our eyes lock, and for a split second, something flickers—something familiar.
The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying to fight back a smile, but it doesn’t quite make it.
He’s bigger now. Harder. All muscle, shaved head, tattoos, and grit.
At twenty-eight, Colt’s packed on serious mass—his neck as thick as a tree trunk.
We used to tease him that he looked like a young Tom Hardy in Band of Brothers .
But now? Now, he’s looking a lot more like the version of Hardy who tore through Venom or Mad Max .
All grit. No mercy.
I know from my visits that he’s spent most of his days in the prison gym, lifting with the other inmates to stay out of trouble. It worked—for the most part. Kept him occupied. Kept him sane. But the weight he’s been carrying on the inside doesn’t just show in his body. It’s in his eyes.
I adjust my baseball cap, tugging it lower.
It’s a weak disguise, but I’m hoping it’s enough to dodge any reporters who might’ve trailed us from Raleigh.
Word got out the moment Colt’s release was set, and with me being governor now, the press loves a good redemption story.
But this? This isn’t a story. This is personal.
My brother’s first step back into freedom.
And I’m not about to share this moment with cameras or headlines.
“You look good, brother.” My voice is steady, but there’s a tightness in my chest as I hold out my hand.
Colt’s grip is strong—solid, unyielding. His strength, both physical and mental, is undeniable. His appeal was finally accepted after I took office in November, and while he should’ve been home for the holidays, bureaucratic delays stole that from him. Four years inside. Four missed Christmases.
But now?
Now, spring’s back—and so is he.
“And you look old, old man,” Colt jokes, pulling me in for a hug, slapping my back hard.
“You’ve gained some neck mass too,” Cash chimes in, stepping up to hug Colt. “You got some new tats under those prison clothes?”
“Can’t survive in there without some ink,” Colt shrugs, rolling up his sleeves to show off the full-sleeve tattoos covering both arms now, something he didn’t have four years ago. “Nothing to do but work out, read, and get tattoos.”
The tattoos suit him. They’re like an armor, a reflection of the battles he’s fought inside.
Georgia steps forward, a smile on her face as she embraces Colt for the first time outside of prison walls.
“Good to see you again, Georgia—the girl who managed to wrangle the grumpy governor of North Carolina.”
We’d visited Colt often over the past few months, trying to keep his spirits up while delay after damn delay stalled his release.
During that time, Georgia and Colt had grown close.
She’d been there when I couldn’t be—bringing Liam and Max to visit when work or the campaign kept me tied up.
She’d sat with him, talked to him, and gave him a piece of family when I wasn’t able to.
She’d been his rock.
And I knew that bond would help Colt adjust to life on the outside—especially now, with a few months of check-ins with his probation officer and community service hanging over his head.
“So…” Georgia’s voice is bright with excitement as she claps her hands together. “What’s the first thing you want to do now that you’re free?”
Colt rubs the scruff on his jaw, his expression thoughtful.
“Been thinking about this moment for four damn years,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting toward the horizon like he’s seeing something none of us can.
“Had a million ideas… but right now? I want to check out the distillery and take a look at the plans for the brewery we’re launching next month.
Then…” His smile softens, the weight of everything he’s missed lingering in his eyes.
“I just want to sit at the dining room table at Whitewood Creek Farm with a good cigar and catch up on everything I’ve missed with the family. ”
My chest tightens, pride and relief. I clap a hand on Colt’s back, the solid weight of him grounding me. “That sounds damn good, brother. Let’s get you home.”
He chuckles as I guide him toward the blacked-out SUV that’s waiting to take us home. I can tell Colt has a lot on his mind—plans, unfinished business.
But not today.
Today, he’s out.
Today, my family is whole again.
And that? That’s all that matters.
THE END.