Extreme Courage Bonus Chapter
BERK
The snow fell in slow, lazy flakes outside our cabin window, the kind that made the whole world quiet. For the first time in a long time, that silence didn’t feel lonely. It felt like peace.
Geneva was in the kitchen humming—not some pop song or lullaby, just a sound she made when she was content. It carried through the house, making everything feel like home.
I glanced down at the little boy balanced on my knee, his chubby hands gripping my hoodie strings. “You planning to strangle me, buddy?”
JP giggled, drool glistening on his chin. My son’s laugh. It still wrecked me every single time. After losing so much, I’d stopped believing I’d ever laugh again, that I’d ever deserve this kind of joy.
Geneva turned at the sound, her blonde hair piled into a messy knot, one strand trailing down her neck. She caught me watching her and smiled—that slow, knowing smile that said she could still read every thought in my head.
“Don’t let JP put those filthy strings from your hoodie in your mouth,” she said, staring over the pot of soup she was making.
I chuckled. “You’re bossy, you know that?”
She raised a brow, her lips curving. “That’s rich coming from the guy who alphabetized the spice rack.”
“I like order,” I said, nuzzling JP’s hair. “Makes the chaos make sense.”
Her gaze softened. “Then I guess we balance each other out. I make the mess, you clean it up.”
I stood, caring our son with me on my hip. “You make the mess worth having.” I kissed her gently on the neck.
She laughed, shaking her head as she turned back to stir the soup simmering on the stove.
This was our rhythm now, easy, quiet, grounded. It had taken both of us a long damn time to get here. The ghosts still came sometimes—my wife and daughter, Geneva’s past mistakes, the weight of guilt we both carried. But every time JP reached for me, every time Geneva smiled that shy smile that was all hers, it was like the universe whispered, you made it through.
The front door creaked and a gust of icy air rushed in. “Knock, knock.”
“Grandpa!” Geneva called, grinning as our son squealed.
Geneva’s father Paul stomped snow off his boots and dropped a bag of groceries on the counter. “Here are the groceries you asked for. You guys seriously live too far up this mountain.” Our son practically fell into Paul’s arms. Considering JP was Paul’s namesake, he wasn’t surprised the two were close.
“Privacy,” Geneva said, her grin playful. “Some of us actually like not hearing our neighbors argue through the walls.”
Paul leaned down to kiss her cheek, then ruffled JPs hair. “Kid looks just like his dad.”
“Poor thing,” Geneva teased, winking at me.
Paul laughed, bouncing JP on his hip.
“Pa-pa,” JP cried.
“That’s right big man,” her father said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Da-da,” JP said, pointing at me.
I grinned wider than canyon below our house. There was just something about a child acknowledging you as their father that brought a man to his knees.
“That’s right, big man,” Paul said, holding JP in the air. “That’s your daddy isn’t it?”
After everything I’d done, especially almost signing over my parental rights to this adorable creature, I was glad that Paul and Caroline still welcomed me into their family with open arms.
Paul handed JP back to me. “Well, I’ve got to go.”
“Wait, that’s it? You’re not sticking around for soup?”
“I’ve got to get back home. Caroline is redecorating.”
“Uh-oh,” I said, staring at Paul with empathy in my eyes.
Paul held out a fist. “You know what I mean.”
“I have a wife,” I said, tapping his knuckles with my own.
“Oh, pish, posh,” Geneva said, replacing the lid on the soup pot and wiping her hands as she made her way toward her father. “I’m sure she’s not spending that much money.”
I stared at Paul and he stared at me, that knowing fear in his eyes. When put together, Caroline and Geneva could put a serious dent in a person’s wallet.
“You better head out.” I laughed. “If she’s anything like your daughter.”
Geneva swatted his chest but smiled.
“Worse, I’m afraid,” Paul said, rolling his eyes. He kissed Geneva on the cheek then snuggled into JPs neck, giving him kisses.
“Pa-pa,” JP squealed, his belly laughs echoing through the cabin.
“Bye, squirt,” he said, rubbing JP’s back.
“Bah-bah,” JP said.
I stared at Paul, seeing the same glimmer of fascination in his face that mirrored my own anytime JP spoke.
Paul walked toward the front door. “Don’t forget tomorrow—dinner at our house.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
Paul hesitated at the door, staring back at the three of us, a look of pride in his eyes. “I love you all, very much. And I’m so proud of what you’ve built together.”
I stared down at Geneva, not surprised to find tears welling in her eyes. She raced toward her father, taking him into an embrace, murmuring words into his ears that sounded a lot like thanks.
When the door shut, Geneva turned, wiping at her eyes.
“Come here,” I said, holding out an arm.
She came willingly, her hands wrapped around my waist, clinging to my shirt as she nuzzled JP’s neck. “I love you both so much.”
I slipped my free arm around her shoulders, kissing her head. “We love you too, Mommy.”
She stared up, a look of adoration in her face. This was the Geneva I’d fallen in love with, the one few people saw until they got to know her better.
Before the scene could turn melancholy, Geneva pulled away.
I led her to the couch, sitting down with JP in my lap, tugging her down beside me.
She shook her head. “I still can’t believe my father bought another house in Colorado.”
I turned to face her, JP reaching out for her. I watched, satisfied as he fell into Geneva’s arms.
“He said he wanted to be close. You were the one who said family was chaos. Guess you manifested it.”
Her smile dimmed into something softer. “You don’t regret moving back here?”
“Not for a second.” I kissed her knuckles. “Colorado’s where my ghosts used to live. But now it’s where my heart does.”
She swallowed hard, blinking up at me. “You and your poetic lines, Mr. Rigby.”
“I snowboard,” I said, smirking. “I’m not a poet.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” She brushed her thumb along my jaw. “You still think about them? Jaime and Alana?”
“Every day,” I said honestly. “But it’s different now. I don’t feel like I’m betraying them by being happy. You and JP… you gave me permission to live again.”
Her eyes filled, and before she could say anything else, JP let out a loud squeal and smacked both hands against her face.
“Guess he agrees,” I said, laughing.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Guess he does.”
GENEVA
Later that night, after JP had finally drifted off in his crib, I found Berk sitting outside on the porch, his breath clouding the air, the glow of the firepit flickering over his face.
He still took my breath away—rugged, calm, carved by years of surviving. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and joined him. “You thinking or freezing?”
“Little of both,” he said, patting the spot next to him.
I curled into his side, tucking my socked feet under his leg for warmth. “You did good today, Dad.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “He’s the one who did all the work. Kid finally figured out how to stack his blocks without eating them.”
“Small victories,” I said. “I’ll take them.”
The fire crackled. Snow drifted through the halo of light, settling on the railing. “You ever think we’d end up here?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. But I think Jaime did.”
I looked up at him, startled.
“When I was packing up her old things,” he said quietly, “I found this letter she wrote before she… before everything. It said, ‘Don’t let grief steal the rest of your life. Promise me you’ll find joy again.’ For a long time, I thought that was impossible.”
Tears stung my eyes. “You think she’d be okay with us?”
“I think she’d be grateful someone loved me enough to put me back together.” He tilted my chin up and kissed me, a slow, deep, embrace. The kind of kiss that said thank you and I’m home all at once.
Heat stirred low in my belly, familiar and sweet. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “You cold?” he murmured.
“Not even a little.”
He grinned, that smile that still made me melt. “Then maybe we should go inside before the neighbors get a free show.”
“We don’t have neighbors,” I teased.
“Exactly my point.”
He scooped me up in his arms before I could protest. “Berk!” I yelped, laughing as he carried me inside.
JP slept soundly down the hall, the baby monitor glowing on the counter. Berk set me down in front of the fireplace and kissed me again, softer this time, reverent.
“I missed this,” he whispered. “Not just the touching. The quiet, the knowing we made it here.”
I cupped his face. “We fought for it. Every step. You forgave yourself, and I finally forgave me.”
He traced the edge of my collarbone with his thumb, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re stronger than you know, Geneva.”
“So are you.”
We found each other in that moment, no pain, no past, just the steady heartbeat of two survivors learning how to love without fear.
When his lips met mine again, everything inside me softened—the old anger, the old doubt, all of it fading beneath the weight of his tenderness. It wasn’t about lust anymore, though that spark still burned bright. It was about belonging.
Later, tangled in the blankets with his arms around me, he whispered against my hair, “You ever think we’ll add to the chaos?”
I laughed sleepily. “You mean another baby?”
“Maybe. A girl this time.”
I smiled into his chest. “If she has your eyes, we’re both in trouble.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll teach her to snowboard before she can walk.”
“And I’ll teach her to fight like her mama.”
He chuckled. “Deal.”
BERK
Morning sunlight poured through the window in our bedroom, lighting up the room with the first rays of daylight. Geneva slept beside me, one arm draped across my chest, her hair a tangled halo.
I should’ve gotten up an hour ago to start the fire, but I couldn’t move. There was something about watching her like this, peaceful and real, that felt sacred to me.
When JP’s cry broke the quiet, she stirred, blinking up at me. “Your turn, Rigby.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I kissed her forehead, slipped out of bed, and padded down the hall.
JP was standing in his crib, his cheeks pink from sleep, fists gripping the bars. The moment he saw me, his whole face lit up. “Da-da!”
Those two syllables would never stop wrecking me. “Yeah, buddy. Daddy’s here.”
I lifted him into my arms, breathing in that baby smell—milk, soap, and something that was purely him. Geneva appeared in the doorway, smiling.
“You know,” she said, “when I used to picture motherhood, it never looked like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like peace. Like family. Like not having to prove anything to anyone.” She came closer, sliding her arms around both of us. “I spent so long trying to be tough, to be right, to be enough. Turns out, I just needed to be loved.”
I kissed her softly. “You always were enough.”
Outside, the wind rattled the pines, but inside, everything was warm. Our son squealed between us, tugging at Geneva’s hair. She laughed, that sound that still hit me straight in the chest.
This, the laughter, the chaos, the second chances, this was the only gold medal that mattered.