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Billy nervously took in the scene as he saw all the love and support of his friends. His hands covered his face as he turned his attention forward. They met halfway, and before Billy could say a single word, Eli dropped to one knee.
Words were said, and tears were shed. But all I could focus on was Marin.
Her smile, her joy.
Our eyes locked as a chorus of cheers erupted around us.
“Thank you,” I said as everyone celebrated.
“For what?” Her eyes danced.
“Everything,” I answered.
Everything.
EPILOGUE
“Does he look okay?” I asked, a note of concern in my voice as we all sat around Billy’s, watching the mounted TVs. “’Cause I swear he looks like he’s gonna throw up.”
“No,” Billy scoffed, looking relaxed and unfazed. He sat back in a chair, sipping soda. The restaurant was closed to the public, so he was enjoying a bit of rest. Although, since Eli had moved in, he’d been looking a lot less stressed in general. “I’ve seen him throw up. Lots of times. He’s fine.”
I glared at him. “Seeing him heave his guts out when he’s drunk is not the same thing.”
Billy shrugged as we watched Macon nervously pace back and forth while we waited for more results to pour in.
We had thought it’d be an easy race.
As Ocracoke’s captain, Macon was a shoo-in, and it was just a special election.
He’d probably run unopposed.
None of those things happened.
Macon’s opponent came in from left field and was brutal. He dragged him through the mud and then some. But Macon weathered all of it—the digs against his alcoholism, his rough upbringing, even the ferry accident. The community in Ocracoke had supported him through all of it, and he was finally embracing it.
“You all right?” I asked, walking up to Macon as he stared out the window toward the water.
“What?” He looked at me, his eyes blazing. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
“Is this like when you used to say you were fine and then go out and run a bazillion miles?”
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “It was never a bazillion. And that’s what I have the meetings for now.”
I smiled. One good thing from his father’s gala rant, besides the bastard finally moving far away. Macon didn’t need to hide anymore, and he could truly take care of himself.
Now, he just ran for the fun of it.
And to make my life miserable.
He was the worst running coach ever.
“Let me take your jacket. You don’t need this anymore,” I offered.
He’d had a few last-minute stops today, trying to get as many people to the polls as possible, and played the part, suit and all.
He didn’t mind the people, but absolutely loathed the suit.
“No!” he said suddenly. “I mean, I’m fine. I’ll need to make a speech soon, good or bad, so I might as well keep it.”
