Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)
Rally: Epilogue

Six years later . . .

“Mommy, is this where I was born?” Rally asked from the second row of our Cadillac SUV. With every word, his legs kicked the back of my seat.

I’d given up telling him to stop an hour ago and just let him squirm in his booster seat. We were all restless and ready to get out of the car. Today had been a long haul from Salt Lake, our halfway stopping point, to Mission.

But we’d made it. Finally. We were home.

“Yep, this is where you were born.” It wasn’t his first trip back to Montana, but usually when we visited, we went straight to the ranch. And in the summers, we always spent a week camping with Ryan and Macy at Gray Rock Lake. Rally hadn’t been to Mission since Gloria’s high school graduation, when he was still too young to remember.

“But not Mila,” he said.

“No, not Mila. She was born in Phoenix.”

“Oh.” He let out a big sigh. “How much longer, Daddy?”

“We’re here, Squish. Ten more minutes to the house.” Rush glanced over his shoulder from his seat behind the wheel and winked at our son. Then he stretched a hand across the console for mine, clasping it tight.

He always held my hand through the big moments. When Rally had been born. When he’d been drafted. When we’d gotten married at the courthouse in Mission the day before we’d moved to Arizona. When we’d had Mila.

Together was how we’d gone into all of our adventures.

“It feels right,” he said.

“Yeah.” I smiled. “It does.”

He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles, then he let me go to point out the Wildcats stadium in the distance as we drove past campus. “See that, Rally? That’s where I used to play football. And that’s where I’ll be working now.”

Rally shifted, stretching his little body to peer through the windows. “It’s not very big.”

Rush chuckled. “No, I guess it’s not.”

Not compared to the Arizona Cardinals stadium where Rally was used to watching Rush play.

“This is where Mommy and Daddy both went to college,” I told him.

“I thought you went to college at home?”

Home, for Rally, was still Phoenix. But soon, I hoped he’d consider home to be Montana.

“I went to two colleges. One in Phoenix. And the other here, in Mission.”

After Rush had been drafted, the spring after his last year playing for Treasure State, we’d moved to Phoenix so he could play for the Cardinals.

We’d hired a nanny to watch Rally, and I’d enrolled in grad school. After two years, I’d graduated, then spent another two in a clinical fellowship. From there, the plan had been for me to get a job and gain some experience. I’d hoped to be hired at a school or healthcare facility.

Except then I’d gotten pregnant with Mila, so after completing my fellowship, I’d put the job hunt on hold to stay home with her after she was born, like I’d done with Rally. I hadn’t wanted her to be with a nanny while she was a baby.

It had taken me a while to get comfortable seeing Rush’s income as our income, no matter how often he reminded me that we were a team. The first year after Rally was born, I’d been so damn stubborn, refusing to quit my job at the diner just so I could pay rent.

I regretted how much time Rally had spent with babysitters. Though considering usually he’d been with Rush or Maverick, it hadn’t been too bad.

Rush’s last year at Treasure State, we’d stayed in that house with Maverick and Erik. We’d decided not to move after all. There hadn’t been another rental that we’d desperately wanted for our home, and Maverick, well . . . that last year, he’d been nearly as scarce as Erik.

When he had been home, he’d doted on Rally.

Back then, if someone had told me Maverick Houston was good with babies, I would have laughed in their face.

Maverick was still living here, in Mission, and while Rush had made friends on the Cardinals team, those friendships hadn’t been the same. Both were excited to be closer again.

I peered out my window, soaking it all in as we turned onto a side street, navigating the quieter roads of town. Where there’d once been fields, there was now a subdivision of homes.

Mission had grown, but not so much that it was unrecognizable.

“See that school with the big playground, Rally?” I pointed out my window.

“Yeah?”

“That’s where I’m going to work. And that’s your new school too.”

“But not Mila’s.”

Rush shook his head, grinning as we shared a glance.

Now that Mila was eighteen months, walking and old enough to start playing with her older brother’s toys, Rally had become a bit territorial. He always wanted to know what was his and what was hers. He’d share, albeit reluctantly, as long as ownership was clearly defined.

“No, that’s not Mila’s school.”

She’d be going to a local daycare for the first time while I started as the new speech therapist at Mountain View Elementary.

Rush would be joining the Treasure State Wildcats coaching staff, working for Coach Ford Ellis, a man who’d remained connected to our lives, even after all these years. A man my husband would always consider a hero.

It was a dream, for us both, to be back in Montana.

Ryan and Macy were ecstatic that we’d be closer so they could spoil their grandchildren, though I think Rush’s dad was secretly disappointed he hadn’t wanted to take over the ranch.

It wasn’t entirely out of the question. That might be where we landed someday. Just not yet.

There was no work for me in their small town, and before we made that big of a lifestyle change, we wanted to give Mission another try.

My phone rang in my lap, Gloria’s name on the screen. “Hey,” I answered, putting it on speaker.

“Did you make it?”

“Just got to town,” I said. “We’re almost at the house.”

We’d broken the trip into two legs, but both had been miserably long. Rally had gotten bored watching movies, and Mila was so over being trapped in her car seat that she’d screamed herself to sleep a half hour ago.

“How’s my Rally man?” she asked.

“Here. I’ll let you talk to him.” I handed the phone to him so he wouldn’t have to shout.

“Hi, Aunt Glory.”

“Hey, bud. How was the trip?”

“Looong,” he groaned. “I watched all my movies two times.”

“Yikes. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” He pouted. Rally loved his aunt Glory and Gloria loved her Rally man.

“I’m going to come visit,” she said. “Soon.”

“ ’Kay.” He stretched the phone forward, apparently done talking to Gloria. “Here, Mommy.”

I took it off speaker and pressed it to my ear. “You okay?”

“This sucks.”

After Gloria had graduated high school, she’d decided Montana winters weren’t her style, so she’d moved to Phoenix for college. She’d come over for dinner at least three times a week and spent the night at our house whenever Rush was gone for an away game. She’d been my date to the Super Bowl game two years ago when the Cardinals had beaten the Steelers and Rush had earned himself a ring. And the night of Rush’s last concussion, she’d watched the kids while I’d been at the hospital with my husband.

Gloria was not at all happy about this move.

Rush suspected it wouldn’t take her long to be back on Montana soil, especially now that the guy she’d been dating for a couple years had just broken her heart. Her ties to Arizona were loose at best.

“Love you,” I said.

“Love you too.” She had as much pout as my six-year-old. “Bye.”

I hung up and glanced at Rush, a smirk toying on his lips.

“Bet she’s living here within the year.”

“I’m not taking that bet,” I muttered, earning a quiet laugh.

He slowed for one last turn into our new neighborhood, easing through the gates of the country club.

Lush, green grass sprawled between rustic homes with wooden siding and gleaming windows. The houses were all situated around Mission’s best golf course, exclusive to members of the club. Not a home here was less than five thousand square feet. The clubhouse had a pool and fitness center.

A few miles away, on the opposite end of town, was a small, rundown house that was somehow still standing. I hadn’t been to my childhood home since the day Gloria and I had packed the last of Mom’s things and put them into storage. Since we’d sold the house to a man intent on flipping it.

It felt like another life. Another place. Maybe I’d drive by one of these days, if curiosity got the best of me. Or maybe I’d let the past stay tucked away, replacing old memories with new.

Rush slowed and pulled into the driveway of our new house. “We’re here.”

The minute the wheels stopped, Rally unclicked his seat belt. “Can I get out?”

“Yep.” Rush shut off the engine, snagged the keys and climbed out to catch up to our son as he raced for the front door.

A whimper sounded from the back, so I rescued Mila from her car seat. “Hey, baby girl. Did you have a good nap?”

She rubbed a chubby fist into her eye, then sagged against my shoulder as I carried her into the house.

It was empty except for a bouquet of flowers left on the kitchen island, a gift from our real estate agent. The rest of our things, including my car, would be arriving tomorrow on the moving truck.

Racing footsteps thudded down the hall.

“Rally is picking his room,” Rush said, taking Mila from my arms.

She burrowed into his strong chest, still half asleep. Her dark hair curled at the ends as she popped a thumb into her mouth.

Rally had inherited my strawberry-blond hair, but otherwise, he was a miniature version of Rush, with brown eyes and the same nose and mouth. He’d been taller than any other kid in his kindergarten class in Phoenix, something I suspected would be the case here too. And he had Rush’s natural athleticism, always wanting to play catch or kick a soccer ball.

Mila, other than her brown hair, was mine. Caramel eyes. Tiny frame. Big attitude.

I walked to Rush’s side, both of us staring through sliding glass doors that overlooked the backyard and golf course beyond. Two men raced by in a golf cart.

“I love you.” I leaned into Rush’s side.

His arm slid around my shoulders, holding me close. “Love you too, sweets.”

There were people who thought Rush was a fool for retiring after such a short time in the NFL. Sportscasters and spectators alike had questioned his decision countless times.

But they hadn’t been in that hospital room in January. They hadn’t listened to the doctors warn us about the risks of multiple concussions.

Rush had taken a hard hit during his last game and been knocked out cold. It had been his third major concussion and had scared us both.

He wanted to be the man who helped our kids with their math homework. He wanted to live his life without chronic headaches or memory loss. Brain damage? Not worth the risk. So he’d retired and walked away from professional football. And after a call to Ford Ellis, we’d made a new plan.

“Are we sleeping here?” Rally blew into the living area, his voice bouncing through the empty space.

“Not tonight,” Rush said. “We will tomorrow, after our stuff gets here.”

Rally’s shoulders slumped. “I’m hungry.”

“Let’s get dinner. Then we can go to the hotel and you can swim.”

“We get to swim? Yes.” He pumped his fist, then ran for the front door.

“Dow.” Down. Mila kicked her legs until Rush set her on her feet, then she chased after her brother.

Rush and I took another moment to soak in our house, then we loaded up the kids, and without needing to ask where I wanted to eat, he drove us across town.

To Dolly’s Diner.

It looked exactly the same. Weathered, green siding. Red and teal neon sign. Those white block letters perched on the roof. Windows that needed to be cleaned and a parking lot in dire need of repaving.

It was beautiful.

Dusty hadn’t sold the restaurant after all. During Rush’s last year at Treasure State, Dolly’s had become a popular hangout with students from campus. Apparently, all Dusty had needed to revive her love of her mother’s restaurant was a steady stream of young customers who gushed over her cooking and left tips.

With the influx of income, she could afford a line cook to cover the nights she didn’t feel like working. She had a dishwasher and regular waitress. Her staff made it possible for her and Mike to take vacations too. They’d visited us twice a year, every year, after we’d moved to Phoenix.

I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d wanted to sell the business or close its doors, but Mission wouldn’t be home without Dolly’s.

Without Dusty.

She didn’t know we were coming into town today. I’d tried her three times last week, but she was notoriously awful at returning calls. If she bitched at me for this surprise, well . . . she’d probably bitch.

With the kids in tow, we headed inside. The door’s chime was the sound of my youth, tinny and tired. I smiled, standing beside the hostess station.

“Be right with you,” a waitress called from the drink station.

Rush drew in a long breath. The diner’s scents of bacon and cheeseburgers and french fries would stick to my hair. “I missed that smell.”

“Me too.”

He bent to brush a kiss to my lips, and for a moment, it was years ago. I was a waitress, pregnant and panicked, falling in love with the guy of my dreams.

The kitchen’s swinging door flew open.

Dusty marched out, her hair, grayer than it had been during her last visit, was twisted into a knot and secured with two yellow pencils. She had a paper pad in one hand and a pen in the other. She froze when she spotted us, blinking twice.

“Nana!” Rally raced for her, crashing into Dusty’s legs.

She wrapped him up tight and buried her nose in the top of his hair. When she looked up, it wasn’t with tears, but a glare. Aimed at me. “I hate surprises. You know this.”

“Then answer your phone.”

She scoffed, shifting Rally to a side so she could pick up Mila and kiss her cheek. “Does this mean you live here now?”

“Yep.” Rush nodded.

“Well, it’s about time.” She kissed both kids again, then set them down and waved toward the booths. “Find a seat. I assume you haven’t had dinner.”

“No, and I’m starving, Nana.” Rally groaned, clutching his stomach like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Then he took Mila’s hand, holding it tight, as he walked to a booth, helping her into the seat.

He loved his baby sister, even if he wasn’t all about sharing.

Dusty walked over to me and Rush, standing in front of me. Her eyes raked over my body, head to toe, like she was making sure I really was here, in the flesh. Her hand came to my cheek, her eyes softening for a moment. Then she hauled me into a hug that was a little too hard and a lot too short, before nudging me along to join my children.

“What are we having?” she asked.

“Pancakes,” Rush and I said in unison.

Rally held up a finger. “With no syrup.”