Author's Note: And just like that, it's all over. I first and foremost need to thank everyone who has been beyond supportive of this story! Thank you for your continued love and comments. Thank you for your patience. Just thank you. This is my first real dive into full-on chapter fics and it has been an amazing experience. Words can't describe how much I'm excited to say IT'S FINISHED, but how sad I am that it's over. I loved putting this two in this universe. Thank you again for going on this loooong journey with me!

This story has seriously grown with me over these last three years and I'm so thankful for the people involved in it from start to finish. It probably sounds so melodramatic, but thank you guys for sticking with me! You've really made this story what it is.

No beta for this chapter. All mistakes are mine. And be warned: it's fluff and cheesiness galore.

Summary: There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

Lone Star State of Mine
Epilogue: The Boys Of Fall
"It's knockin' heads and talkin' trash."

Thanksgiving preparation.

The grocery list alone can be the size of small novel. The menu consists of three meat selections, enough different side selections to appeal to anyone, and the dessert table might as well be its own country. There are even some things on the list that everyone knows no one is going to eat. Like Grandma Everdeen's cranberry sauce? She used to swear it was homemade. Of course, homemade doesn't explain the can shape still apparent as it jiggles in the middle of the table. Homemade or store bought doesn't really matter though. No one ever asked for that recipe. No one even tasted that recipe.

And yet there it sat every year until she passed. Even then, I think my mom continued to buy the concoction from the store. Again, no one even bothered to cut into it.

When Prim and I were young Thanksgiving was a big to-do. The Everdeen family would all gather at our house. My dad was the oldest of five and therefore it became an unspoken rule that all holidays were to be spent at his residence. The preparation would take days. My mother would be completely stressed out and down to her last burst of energy by the time that fateful Thursday actually rolled around.

The week leading up to the event meant for a near-complete home remodel. Single bedrooms were organized into makeshift hotel rooms for entire families. The four-person dining room turned into a buffet-style set up. Our small driveway transformed into a tiny parking lot. And the cleansing that our home went through would put Martha Stewart to shame. There wasn't a surface that wasn't dusted, a piece of wood that wasn't polished, and you could see yourself in the linoleum. Prim and I were under strict rules to make no messes and our father had to all but wash off with the hose before coming inside from working at Snow's farm.

My mother really could put on quite the production and everyone always seemed to be impressed with our modest belongings. They would always compliment her on the décor that never changed and her impeccable "style". My father always joked that it was their guilt taking shape in the form of compliments. They figured if they flattered her enough she'd never make them do too much work for the next holiday.

It always worked.

And then it all changed.

After our father passed away we stopped hosting holidays. We were always invited to them, but it was soon realized that my mother was far from able to cope with an average day without my father let alone a holiday. My aunts and uncles would always bring us leftovers. Offer to take Prim and I over to their house to spend time with family, but none of that ever came to pass. Sooner or later the offers slowly disappeared and the leftovers stopped showing up.

Our holidays did a complete 180-degree turn. Soon we were left with the three of us and wherever it was I could manage to whip up. Sometimes Gale would stop by with festive offerings from their full house, but that was rare since they hardly had enough for a typical meal let alone something that was to be considered a holiday feast.

So Thanksgiving, like the rest of the tradition holidays, soon took a backseat to everyday survival. I always tried to make it something for Prim, but my offerings were nowhere near the miracle workings my mother could preform on a nearly nonexistent budget. And we never complained because growing up with little meant nothing to us because we had each other. We had what we needed and Prim was always just excited to have a day off school.

And then another 180-degree turn happens.

I become a Mellark.

First in tradition and then in name; the summer after Peeta is drafted into the NFL.

Those were his terms. When the agents started calling and the questions started being raised about his future during his senior year Peeta kind of shuts down. He doesn't want to talk about football and he certainly doesn't want to talk about a career in it. It isn't his comfort zone. It isn't his plan. He'd gone to college to please his parents and now he is ready to do what he wants. Live a quiet life back in Dawson, Texas. It's all he ever wanted. And there are times my selfish nature takes over and it's all I want for him as well. But everyone knows he is meant for more.

So he finally decides, one night while we are sprawled out on his bed in Ohio, he'll enter the draft if I'll marry him. The statement comes out as if he were talking about what we'd had for dinner and my response comes just as easily.

"Looks like you're entering the draft."

Little does he know I'd marry him if he'd sprouted wings and turned a strange purple shade.

Our wedding is as simple as his proposal. On the Mellark Ranch inside that old barn we'd shared our first kiss. I'm not normally one for sentiment, but seeing that place lit up with old fashion hanging lights and wooden chairs filled with our closest friends and family brought a new wave of emotions to my feelings for the man at the end of the aisle.

Gale walks me down the aisle and Prim stands by my side. Peeta's brothers are next to him. And when the minister announces us as husband and wife is the first time I've seen my mother truly smile in years. There wasn't a dry eye in the house when Peeta's father gives a heartfelt toast during the reception. Our first dance has Peeta holding me close as the familiar song plays over the speakers, whispering his love and admiration against the shell of my ear. And I've never felt safer.

But within weeks of our wedded bliss, Peeta takes off for Dallas for training to begin.

He's officially a Dallas Cowboy, picked fourth in the draft, and everyone in Dawson feels as though the golden son has finally made it. Within weeks of the announcement there is a large road sign made and placed under the "Welcome To Dawson" billboard. "Home of Peeta Mellark" reads proudly and before Peeta has a chance to leave for several weeks I make him stand beneath it while I snap his picture.

That picture still hangs in our hallway. And that road sign still stands proudly beneath the Dawson city plaque.

And missing him becomes an almost regular emotion that first year. Traveling, practices, and media keep him far from Dawson. Dawson, where we decide I would stay for awhile — at least his first season in the NFL. He's not ready to completely give up on his small town dreams.

But with a rookie season for the record books, it's soon realized that his time in Dallas isn't going to be short lived. I move there the following July. And as much as I love being closer to my husband, my idle hands are no good for me. A kept woman was never a lifestyle I was meant for. So I start volunteering at a local girls' shelter. It's a pastime I never thought I'd enjoy, but they have a rather strong archery program that I find myself completely wrapped up in.

It's not the long hours and hard manual labor I'm used to as a ranch hand, but it's something I find pride in doing. And it keeps me far from the spotlight, which is exactly where I wish to be. Peeta jokes that he wishes he could join me there because within a year of being in the NFL he becomes the media's darling. And I knew he would. He's always been such a charming individual it's hard not to be drawn to his light. I know I am. It's what keeps me going some days.

Ava Pearl is born five years into his football career. She wasn't something either of us had been planning for and honestly children seemed the farthest thing on our radar, but the moment she enters world we're both completely helpless without her. Peeta finds it harder and harder to leave for away games and if we aren't in the stands for home games he's breaking every speed record to get back to us. It's not hard to see what Peeta's real job in life needs to be.

A father.

He's an all-star on the football field, but he's the man of legends when it comes to caring for us. And from the second I see him interact with our small daughter I know I need to give him more of this life he's obviously meant for. I'd give him an entire litter if he asked me to.

Fortunately for my body, he's satisfied with two. And Eryc Hershel is born three months after the Cowboys win the Superbowl in Peeta's eighth year in the NFL.

And this crazy life somehow becomes normal for our small family. During the season we spend our time in Dallas, but as soon as the team breaks for time off we're back in Dawson and we're home. This is where we — and even our small children — feel the most comfortable. And each time we come home it's harder and harder to convince Peeta we need to leave again.

But fate has a funny way of taking care of things, because the year Peeta's contract is up for renewal — and a large pay raise is offered to keep him in Dallas — his father takes a turn for the worse. Peeta doesn't blink an eye when he announces his retirement from the NFL. He holds a quick press conference thanking Dallas for their unending support during his ten seasons as a Cowboy and wishes the team well. Several reporters ask for the reasons behind this seemingly sudden decision and he just grins — that beautiful boyish grin I feel in love with so many years ago.

"I guess I'm just homesick."

It's as simple as that. He's grateful the experiences he's had, but he's never wanted to be any other place than Dawson. He stands, shakes Jason Garrett's hand before the coach pulls him into a tight hug, and stands for one last picture as a Dallas Cowboy.

Within weeks of his announcement, we're moving into Mellark Ranch. At first we take the old home that used to be mine when I lived on the ranch. The small quarters aren't easy with two small little ones full of energy, but for the first time in years I feel like I'm finally seeing Peeta completely comfortable and it warms my heart.

Soon, and without any real formal announcement, Peeta has taken over as the lead in the family business. Clement and Reese help out from time to time, but its obvious their lives go on outside of Mellark Ranch.

His mother, still her ever-distant self, steps back to aid their father and allows for Peeta to step in completely. He doesn't make too many changes other than selling Gale part of the land the ranch sits on — only because there was no way in hell Gale would take it from him for free. We build our own home near his parents' farmhouse and it's soon apparent this is where we were always meant to be. Life, again, finds a sense of normality to us.

And even holidays find a renewed grandeur in my life and I'm more than happy to share this with my small family in every way possible. Of course, I've never been the Susie Homemaker that my mother, or even Prim, is. So I may host the holidays at our home, but they're the ones doing the cooking. And hearing their laughter in my kitchen while they help Peeta teach our children how to make a simple cake is enough to get me through any hard times I've had — or are yet to come.

But with time, Thanksgiving takes on a whole new life because this is Texas, after all, and it isn't November without football championships. So those last Thursdays in November are important for family, but Friday is important for all of Dawson. For ten years our Thanksgivings consisted of a home game at AT&T Stadium before rushing off to some team meal and then it was the in-between years before the kids entered high school. But that's all changed.

And we're going to be late.

The gravel crunches beneath the truck tires as I come to a slow stop. I watch him as I throw it in park and jump out. I know he hears me, but he makes no motion that he does. Instead his hands slide into the pockets of his worn jeans as I walk up behind him. My hands easily wrap around his middle as I rest my cheek between his shoulder blades taking in the smells that are distinctly him.

We stand there for a moment, enjoying the quiet peace that we've found in each other so long ago, before I glance from behind his shoulder and look at the dark, granite stone he's staring at.

HERSHEL T. MELLARK
loving son, father, and friend
Aug. 18th, 1954 – Jan. 4th, 2032

"He loved today." Peeta sighs, his hand coming to rest over mine.

"He loved you." I say, because we both know Hershel Mellark may have enjoyed football as a pastime, but he lived for his boys and if they had decided to become circus clowns he would have been at every performance.

Peeta turns himself around in my arms and to this day he still takes my breath away. His blonde curly hair has been cut short now and there are places that shine silver instead of their warm yellow, but his blue eyes are still as vibrate as ever. The conversations I've had with just those eyes are enough to fill a lifetime. And still they aren't enough. I could stare into them for eternity.

I wrap my arms around his neck now, running my fingers down his strong jawline before I reach up to place my lips against his. This kiss doesn't have the same wanton passion it used to have when we were younger, but there is something better. This passion is one that comes from having someone so firmly placed beside you for so long that you can't imagine life without them. They've become your right hand.

And Peeta has become my heart.

He holds me tight, pulling away just far enough to rest his forehead against mine. I close my eyes against the tenderness because to this day it amazes me the effect this man has on my entire being. I feel his fingertips sneak beneath the hem of my Dawson High School sweatshirt and I can't help but let out a child-like giggle.

"If you don't quit that we're going to be even later than we already are." I mumble, my own body betraying me as I pull myself closer to him.

"Wouldn't be the first time in the back of this old pick-up." His hands are gripping my hips and I sway against him gently.

But before I can find myself getting too carried away, I pull away, causing us both to groan our disagreement, "Later. But now we have a State game to see."

"You're the boss." He grins, swatting at me gently as I head back to the truck.

I glance behind me to see Peeta linger a moment longer at his father's tombstone before he starts for the passenger side.

Hershel would have been damn proud of this man. I know I am.

"'Bout time you got your ass here!" Johanna screams, her tongue not dulling in her older age. "It's a good thing you're goddamn royalty in this town. These seats would have been long gone."

Peeta reaches out and wraps an arm around the woman's shoulders, pulling her into a quick hug, "It has nothing to do with us. Everyone in Dawson knows the terror that is old Hawthorne's wife."

"Hey!" Gale chimes in from the other side of Johanna. "I am not old."

"Keep telling yourself that." I laugh, finding my place next to Johanna as Gale reaches over and tugs at my ear.

"You're all about as old as dirt." Finnick makes sure to get his comment in from where he's sitting behind us.

"What's that make you?" Peeta turns around, greeting Finnick with a firm handshake as I hug Annie. "A fossil?"

"It's a good thing we're at a high school event, Mellark." The older man responds, "Or there'd be words."

Peeta laughs as the announcer comes across the speakers. We all turn forward and the crowd is practically humming with anticipation. Dawson has been fortunate enough to make it to the State championships multiple times in the last several years, but this is the first time it has happened with home field advantage. The away team comes running out onto the field and the stands on the other side start cheering.

"Mom! Dad!" My attention goes to the left of where we're sitting and I see Ava standing with her peers waving frantically at us. She's sitting with several of her friends that have returned home from college for the holiday and Finnick's oldest son.

I nudge Peeta's arm and point in her direction as I wave. Peeta does the same thing before leaning over to me and mumbling against my ear, "Should I be concerned she's sitting with Chance?"

"Hush." I say, elbowing him in the side before quietly deciding its time to be that conversation with my husband. Ava hadn't wanted me to tell him right away because she knew he would overreact and as much as I love my husband, I knew she was right. But it has been almost six months since the two became an item and I know Peeta will be finding out before Christmas. Especially with the way those two are.

"Alright y'all, it's time to get on your feet for your favorite home team!" The announcer calls and the stands erupt into wild applause.

The boys come running onto the field and out of the corner of my eye I see Haymitch standing on the sidelines, leaning against his cane, smiling like a child who's meeting his hero. Hershel would have been right there with him.

"There they are," Johanna grins, her hands resting just below her chin as she smiles like a proud mother I never thought she'd have in her. She's looking at the two boys with our family names plastered across the backs of their jerseys. They're running side-by-side out of the tunnel to join the rest of their team.

After they all huddle up some start to warm up while others are walking toward the sidelines. My eyes never leaving the senior with Mellark above his number. He removes his helmet, and like his father used to do, starts scanning the crowd for the three people he's looking for. He spots his sister first and I hear her cheer, "Lets go Eryc!" And he grins wide before his scan starts again. And soon Peeta's hand is coming up to wave as he lets out a quick whistle. That grabs our son's attention and he's grinning ear to ear.

He looks just like his father, except his mop of curls is my chestnut brown color. But his eyes and jawline are the same strong features standing next to me. He raises his helmet to us and I wave. This is his last year in high school and I'm suddenly emotional about this being his last game in Dawson. After graduation he'll be back off to Ohio and we'll be making that very familiar trip nearly every weekend next fall.

And it all rushes back like a beautiful dream.

My hands go to wrap around Peeta's arm as I rest my chin on his shoulder. He reaches up to grab my hands and squeezes. He looks down at him, placing a quick kiss to my nose before saying, "You did good, Momma."

I shake my head and sigh, "We did good."

Author's Note: Thank you again from the bottom of my heart! And just so you all know, this will be my last story posted on . I have moved entirely over to AO3, no real reason other than I just like their set up much more. Come find me over there to stay up with my stories! Penname over there is also Jenye.