Switch Blade Romance

Epilogue

April, 2019

Katy, Texas

Andrew Grant-Frederick—four years older now, four years heavier in ways that had nothing to do with age—sat on the wide plank porch of the house he shared with Allen. The late-afternoon sun lay across the yard like a blessing that had been hard-won, the kind you didn’t question for fear it might vanish if you did.
Rachel Edison sat to his right. Lacey and Max were nearby, close enough to feel like a single, loosely stitched-together family. Dr. Anthony sat halfway up the porch steps, her posture relaxed, while John Henry stood behind her, his hands kneading her shoulders with the absentminded tenderness of a man who had almost lost her once and still remembered the terror of it. She had visited him every day in the hospital. Then every weekend after. Some habits, born in fear, refused to die. They were engaged now. June was circled on every calendar in their house.
In the yard, Allen’s daughter Katherine chased her younger siblings—twins, Casey and Kyle—through the grass. Their laughter rose and fell like birdsong. Andrew watched them with a look that still surprised him sometimes. He and Allen had married in 2016. The twins came a year later. Rachel had carried them, had given them life the way saints gave miracles—quietly, painfully, without asking for applause.
Anita’s little boy, Chris Jr., ran with them, too. He laughed the loudest. Maybe because he didn’t know what was missing yet.
“So,” Dr. Anthony said, breaking the easy silence, “your parents are coming next week, aren’t they?”
Andrew nodded. “Yeah. Mom wants to take the twins back to Fort Wayne for a bit. Give Allen a break while I’m on the book tour.”
The word book landed heavier than it should have.
Earlier that year, Andrew had written it all down—2014, 2015, Charles Grady, the cabin, the fire. The things you never forgot, no matter how hard you tried. The book was already being whispered about in Hollywood offices. A Netflix miniseries, maybe. Funny how nightmares aged into entertainment.
“Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve written it at all,” Andrew said. “People’ll say I’m cashing in. Using it to get famous.”
Allen didn’t look away from the kids. “Do you care?”
Andrew shook his head slowly. “No. Not really.”
They had lived through it. All of it. Charles Grady and his smiling, hollow evil. Andrew’s collapsed lung he still walked with a limp from being shot in the leg by the nail gun. John Henry learning to walk again. Rachael and Lacey grinding through therapy sessions that peeled them open all over. And Anita—standing in the kitchen now, getting food ready for the grill—had lost her fiancé. CJ would never know his father except through photographs and secondhand stories that would never feel complete.
“This book isn’t just about me,” Andrew said. “It’s for the ones who can’t tell it themselves.”
Lacey nodded. “Casey wouldn’t mind. She’d be tickled pink.”
Andrew laughed softly. “Yeah. She would.”
Max stood, stretching. “Guess it’s time to light the grill.”
Allen rose with him. John Henry followed. The men disappeared around the side of the house, carrying with them the sound of easy conversation and the smell of lighter fluid.
Dr. Anthony studied Andrew now. “You still having nightmares about him?”
“No,” Andrew said after a beat. “Not really.”
They’d never found Charles’s body. The cabin had burned down to its bones. Andrew had lived under constant protection for nearly a year afterward, waiting for a shadow that never came.
“You don’t think he survived?” Rachael asked quietly. She tried not to remember that Shadow on the burning porch that day, she had told herself that they were under an insurmountable amount of stress and it was just their minds coping with it. Even though, In her lizard brain, at night. Where the dark things crept she knew it hadn't been her mind playing tricks on her. She didn't dare bring it up with Andrew, even though there were times she wanted too. Especially in the kitchen earlier when they were getting the food out. She started to ask him about the shadow but froze and just dropped it.
Andrew shook his head. “No. I put a bullet through his skull. With the fire? There’s no way.” He paused, then added, “Either way, he hasn’t touched my life in years. I’m okay.”
Rachel reached over and squeezed his hand. “Yeah. You are.”
The screen door slammed.
“Jesus, Rachael,” Anita called, carrying a tray heavy with food. “I thought you and Lacey were helping me. There’s a whole salad still naked in the kitchen.”
Rachael sighed, smiling despite herself. “I’m coming.”
Lacey laughed and followed her inside.
Andrew watched the kids in the yard, the way Kyle tripped and Casey pulled him back up without thinking. He felt something tighten in his chest—not pain, not fear. Gratitude, maybe. Awe.
I survived, he thought. And I got this.
He stood, crossed the porch, and scooped Kyle into his arms. Casey lifted her hands immediately.
“Alright,” Andrew said, smiling as he gathered them close. “Let’s see what trouble we can find.”
He walked toward the side of the house, children laughing, smoke rising from the grill, the past quiet—for now.

Georgia State University

September, 2019

Jack Glosser crossed the quad with his friend Dawn, the early fall air sharp and restless.
“So,” Dawn said, “where were you last night?”
Jack grinned. “Okay, don’t freak out—but this guy I met on Tinder came over.”
Dawn stopped short. “You slut. You did not.”
Jack laughed. “Oh, I did. It was hot. Dawn, I swear—bright green eyes. Unreal.” He hesitated. “Though he’s got this weird dent in his forehead. Says it’s from an accident with his ex.”
Dawn raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
“He wants to meet my friends once this stupid curfew ends.”
Dawn’s smile faded as they walked again. “These murders are really fucking scary, you know. Kinda reminds me of those killings in Texas years ago.”
Jack laughed it off, but the sound didn’t quite land.
Some stories, after all, didn’t end.
They just waited.

2015–2024.