Epilogue

Riggs reaches to turn the radio down. "Do you still feel like you made the right decision?"

"Yeah. I could never live in my mama's house again. Not without her there. I have no desire to live in Ruston ever again, really. My family is all gone and buried, my mama was the last of her kin. There's nothin' left for me there anymore. I belong with you, in North Carolina."

"So you allowed Brewer to turn it into another halfway house for vets?"

"It's really the best use of it. He's puttin' Miles in charge of running it. You know, my mama would love that, a house full of good people workin' to make their lives better. She loved a full house."

"Miles is a good guy. Former Marine, he served eight years. He's quiet and closed off, but every time I've met with him, I get the impression he's a really nice guy. A responsible guy. I think he'll make a great house manager."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know his story, you'll have to ask him."

"Let me ask you a question. It's been eatin' away at me for a long time, and whenever I think to ask, I always get sidetracked."

"You can ask me anything," he offers.

"Last year, when my mama was in the hospital, right before you left for Louisiana, she said she wanted to talk to you, alone. I stood out in the hall with Mandy wonderin' what was so damn important and secretive that she couldn't tell me." Riggs grins at the memory. "What did she say to you?"

"She told me that apples make you constipated, that your grandfather's wedding band was tucked away in a mason jar in the cellar for safekeeping, and that she wanted you to have it someday when I married you."

"What?" My heart skips a beat.

Riggs just chuckles and continues. "And she told me to promise I would always look after you. That I would always keep you safe, and she made me promise to name our first son Clark." He reaches for my hand and rubs the fourth finger where I hope to God my grandfather's ring sits someday.

"And you made a promise to her, even way back then, when we weren't sure about our future?"

"You weren't sure?" he asks with a shit-eating grin. He's fucking with me. "I was sure. Besides, there's no way I wasn't going to keep a promise to your mama. She'd haunt my ass forever." Riggs pulls into the gated parking lot beside the airfield. "You ready, soldier?"

"Hell yeah. I've waited a long time to get you up in the air. The last time we flew together was…" My face tightens with the pain of the memory. Afghanistan. The day I lost everything.

"Hey," he reaches out to grip my chin, turning my face toward him. "This is going to go a whole lot smoother. You're the pilot, and I'm the passenger, and we're about to spend two weeks together on an unforgettable adventure."

Swallowing past the dark shadow crawling its way up my throat, I nod and paste a smile on my face. "Right. It's going to be unforgettable."

I climb out of his truck, opening the passenger door to reach for my bag. A small box containing a portion of my mama's ashes is tucked away inside.

"Not so fast." Riggs halts me. He grabs a bag from under his seat and hands it to me.

"What's this?"

"Just a little something every pilot should have."

Curiosity gets the better of me and I peek inside. "Get the fuck out!" Lifting the brown leather bomber jacket from the bag, I turn it over, checking out all of the patches. "Get all the way the fuck out! This is sick."

The Bitches with Stitches logo is sewn onto the right shoulder. The BALLS logo is beneath a bar patch bearing my last name on the breast. The 82nd Airborne patch graces the back of the jacket, and it looks badass. The leather looks vintage, even though it's brand new, and I know without a doubt it will fit perfectly.

"Thank you." I can't stop smiling as I hug him.

"You can thank me tonight by wearing it without anything else on."

"Fuck that, I'm wearing it right now." I hand him the bag and slip into the jacket. The leather feels thick and heavy on my shoulders, which is necessary when I'm up in the air, where the air is thinner and colder.

"You look like a proper fly-boy," he smirks, fingering the lapel. "So, remind me again where we're going?" He grabs his bag from the back and locks the truck. We head to the security gate, hand-in-hand.

"First stop is Marietta, Georgia. We're gonna spread some of my mama's ashes at the Gone With The Wind Museum at Brumby Hall. Then we're stoppin' in Ruston to check on the house. I've got to pick up my mama's cookie jar from the kitchen."

"The one that's a replica of Scarlet and Rhett?"

I already put him out by displaying my mama's sparkly urn on the mantle above our fireplace, and I know he's even less excited about the cookie jar. "That's the one," I grin.

"I can't wait," he lies with a smile. "It's going to look lovely next to the coffeemaker."

"Exactly! And then we're headed to Fort Worth to visit Brian's grave."

"Is that the last stop?"

"Welllllll," I hesitate, giving him the side-eye. "We may have one last teeny-weeny stop to make."

"Hopefully something that doesn't involve dead people? A Bed and Breakfast? We could rent a boat and go fishing."

"That sounds great! Unfortunately, it's not quite what I had in mind." I show my security badge to the security guard and he waves us in.

"What did you have in mind?" he asks warily.

"There may be a small Gone With The Wind museum about thirty minutes south of Fort Worth."

Riggs stops dead in his tracks. "You're kidding," he says, but from the look on his face, he knows I'm not.

Damn, this would have landed better if I had blown him while he was driving here.

"Is it your mission to visit every single Gone With The Wind museum in the United fucking States?"

Maybe I should play the sympathy card. "I only wish I'd taken my mama while she was still alive. She would have loved it."

Reluctantly, his face softens. "Think of it this way. When you spread her ashes there, she'll get to stay forever. She'll never have to leave."

I squeeze his hand. "Thank you for understandin'."

Riggs snorts. "Please, you owe me big time. Now, take me up in your plane and show me what it is about flying that makes your dick so hard."

I cup his cock and pull him close for a teasing kiss. "Not nearly as hard as you make it."

Saying goodbye is so hard… so don't do it! Grab Hotdoggin', Stiles's and McCormick's story. Hotdoggin' is the first of three Bitches With Stitches novels.

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