Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I grip her hips gently. “I want you to stay here tonight.”
“I was planning on it.”
“And tomorrow night.”
She smiles. “Probably.”
“And most nights.”
Her smile widens. “I like most.”
“But,” I add, “I don’t expect you to move in.”
“I know.”
“But I want you here anyway.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m here, Tony.”
“And if one day,” I say, “you want your own house nearby, or your own space, or whatever you need—I’ll help you build it.”
She kisses me.
Slow.
Soft.
Certain.
When she pulls back, she whispers, “You’re not losing me.”
The breath leaves my lungs.
She lays her head on my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around her, letting her weight settle into mine.
I never thought I’d get another chance at something that feels like a life.
Not just survival.
Not just routine.
But a life that opens its doors every morning with someone humming softly in my kitchen.
I don’t know where we’re going.
I just know I want to go there with her.
And for the first time in years, maybe decades, I let myself imagine something more than loss.
Something good.
Something mine.
Something ours.
Epilogue
Stud
I don’t come out here often.
That’s the first thing I think as I step onto the soft ground of the cemetery, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The place is quiet—birds fluttering in the branches above, wind brushing through the row of evergreens like a long, steady sigh.
The air smells like rain and cut grass.
I shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking until I reach the familiar headstone near the back. White marble. Smooth edges. Her name carved deep, like it was meant to last a thousand years.
Tammy Sue Brocato.
Wife.
Mother.
Wild spirit.
I stare at the words for a long time before I crouch down.
“Hey, Tammy”
My voice sounds strange here. Rougher. Softer. Like the world muffles everything but the truth.
“I should’ve visited sooner. I know that.”
I let that guilt sit there. It’s earned.
I brush a few fallen pine needles from the top of the stone.
“I’ve been busy,” I say, then huff a humorless laugh. “That’s a shitty excuse. You’d call me out on it.”
Silence answers like she always did—patient, calm, waiting for me to get to the point.
“You were a good woman,” I say quietly. “Better than I deserved back then. I didn’t know how to be a husband. Didn’t know how to be soft. Didn’t know how to show up the way you needed. I was always halfway gone—military life, then club life, duty, everyone else’s problems.”
The wind shifts, lifting the side of my cut.
“I’m sorry for that,” I add. “I’m sorry for the hours I didn’t give you. For the nights you felt alone while I pretended being tough was the same as being strong. I didn’t realize until it was too damn late how much you carried.”
My throat thickens. I clear it, but it doesn’t help.
“You gave me Tiffany and Anthony. You gave me years I didn’t earn. You taught me how to care about something other than myself. I hope, I hope you knew I loved you. Even if I didn’t know how to show it right.”
A long breath leaves me.
I glance down at my hands—scarred, rough, stained from years of grease and blood and all the things I swore I’d survive. But for the first time in a long time, they don’t feel empty.
“I need to tell you something,” I say, lifting my eyes back to her name. “Something important.”
The breeze stills.
“I met someone.”
Saying it out loud sends a ripple through my chest—fear, guilt, relief all tangled together.
“Her name’s Holley.” I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You’d like her. She’s stubborn as hell. Sweet, but not fragile. Quiet until she’s not. Stronger than she knows. She’s been through things—real things—and she still meets the world with open hands.”
My chest tightens.
“She’s not you.” I make sure the words are clear. Respectful. True.
“And she’s not replacing you. That’s not what this is.”
I touch the edge of the headstone with two fingers, like I’m grounding myself.
“I thought I’d spend the rest of my life hollow. Just raising our kids, watching our grandkids grow up, repairing engines, riding with the club, and waiting to wear myself down to nothing. I didn’t think I had… anything left. Not love. Not hope. Definitely not softness.”
I swallow.
“But Holley she woke something up in me. Something I thought dried up the day you left this world.”
A breath shudders out of me.
“I feel things again. Real things. Big things. And I think… I think you’d want that for me. I think you’d be yelling at me if you saw how long I spent convincing myself I didn’t deserve another chance.”
I manage a small smile.
“You always said I was stubborn.”
The wind stirs again, gentle this time.
“I need you to know,” I say softly, “I won’t stop loving you. That doesn’t go away. It just… shifts. Grows into a space where grief doesn’t choke it anymore.”
I stand slowly, knees creaking, and place my hand flat on the top of the stone.