Still hers.
When she cried out and broke beneath him, he followed—hard, ragged, breath caught in his throat. He collapsed into her, still shaking, forehead pressed to her shoulder.
She wrapped her arms around him and held on. Not for stability. For closeness. They stayed that way, tangled together in the sheets, skin damp, hearts thudding in sync.
“You okay?” he asked after a long silence, voice hoarse.
Charlotte kissed his temple. “I’ve never been more okay in my life.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t ever want to be apart from you again.”
“You won’t be,” she murmured, her hand resting over his heart. “I’m done running.”
He tightened his arm around her, the quiet settling over them like a blanket.
Outside, the night carried on summer air, stars over trees. But here, in this room, in this bed, in her arms—Alex Marcel finally believed he’d survived.
And that maybe, just maybe, he was free.
Epilogue
The Weddings of The Everhart Sisters
It wasthe kind of autumn afternoon that feels borrowed from fiction—crisp air laced with woodsmoke, golden light slanting through the oaks, and leaves drifting gently over the long, manicured lawn of the arboretum like nature’s own confetti.
Strings of warm lights arched between tree trunks, delicate and glowing. Rows of white chairs were packed with friends, family, and more than a few uniformed officers who traded body armor for tuxedos and now proudly stood beside the grooms.
Beneath a wooden arch draped in wildflowers and trailing ivy, five brides stood side by side, luminous in ivory and lace, strength and grace shining brighter than any veil. They weren’t just brides. They were survivors. Fighters. Forged in fire. And today—they were starting again.
Olivia Everhart and Jackson Reynolds.
Sophie Everhart and Tristan Blackwell.
Molly Everhart and Ethan Hayes were repeating their vows. They’d married quietly before a judge when Molly found outshe was pregnant, but her sisters and Ethan insisted she still deserved the day, the dress, the moment. Today was for her too.
Isobel Everhart and Brad Killian. Ruth Everhart and Noah Kaldor.
Five love stories. One new beginning.
Charlotte stood off to the side in a floor-length slate-blue dress, her hair swept up in loose, elegant waves. She watched with glassy eyes as Alex Marcel walked each of her daughters down the aisle—his girls now too.
He moved like the weight of the facility was finally lifting, smiling through the threat of tears, lips pressed in a line to keep from breaking. As she reached the end of the aisle, Molly Everhart Hayes—matron of honor, fierce protector, and one of the beating hearts of Waverly’s recovery, stepped forward in her pale rose silk gown, her hands gently clasped, eyes filled with pride. She caught Alex’s hand each time he reached her. Ethan stood beside her, their love—quiet, constant—the anchor around which this day spun.
At the altar, waiting with an irreverent grin and fire chief’s dignity, stood Turk Crenshaw, Waverly’s battalion chief and beloved chaos magnet. “I didn’t think I’d need a mic today,” he squinted into the rows of smiling faces, “but apparently when half of Waverly decides to tie the knot together, you better bring backup.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Turk glanced at the couples, his face softening. “You didn’t get here easily. None of you. You crawled through grief, war, betrayal, loss. But look at you now, still standing. Still loving. That’s not luck. That’s choosing each other again and again.”
He looked at each couple, one at a time.
“To Noah and Ruth: You lead with calm. “To Brad and Izzy: You lead with fire. “To Tristan and Sophie: You lead with strength. “To Jackson and Olivia: You lead with faith.
“To Ethan and Molly: You lead with thought.
“And to all of you,” he added, “don’t forget, you earned this. Every damn moment of it. So hold on.”
The vows were tearful, some improvised. Rings slipped onto trembling hands. A breeze swept through when they kissed, five couples under a canopy of trees as the crowd rose to their feet in a roar of applause and happy tears.
