“I can’t save you from everything. I couldn’t save Declan. I tried—God, I tried. The helo was spinning. Fire everywhere. I got to him, pulled him free of the wreckage, but the flames were too fast. He was bleeding out, coughing smoke, and he looked at me and said, ‘Go, man. Get clear. That’s an order.’ I didn’t want to leave him. I fought it until I couldn’t breathe. But I did what he asked because he was my brother and he trusted me to live.”
Tears burn my eyes. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to stop living.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. “But I’ve been carrying that moment like a sentence. Every day since, I’ve told myself I don’t get to have anything good because I didn’t bring him home. Then you showed up. And you looked at me like I might be worth something anyway. You made me want to breathe again. You made me want to protect something, someone, without feeling like I’m failing before I even start.”
He reaches out slowly, gives me time to pull away. I don’t. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing the tear that escapes.
“You make me want to live, Isla. Not just survive. Live. And I’m all in. If you’ll have me. If you’ll let me try. I’m not promising perfect. I’m promising I’ll show up. Every day. For you.”
The words land soft and heavy, sinking into the hollow places I’ve carried since Declan died, since Travis made me feel small. I look up at him—really look—and see the man who caught me when I fell, who patched my roof in the rain, who stood between me and Travis without hesitation.
I step into him, wrap my arms around his waist, press my face to his chest. He folds around me instantly—strong, warm, steady. His heart beats hard under my cheek.
“I was so scared you’d never come back,” I whisper.
“I’m here.” His lips brush my hair. “I’m not leaving again.”
I tilt my head up. Our mouths meet—slow at first, tentative, like we’re both afraid the other might vanish. Then the kiss turns urgent, hungry, all the days and nights of holding back pouring out between us. His hands slide under my sweater, palms warm against my bare skin. I tug at his jacket, push it off his shoulders. It hits the floor.
He lifts me easily, carries me to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. We fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and need. Clothes come off fast—sweater, jeans, everything until there’s only skin and heat and the sound of our breathing.
He kisses down my throat, my collarbone, lower—slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing every inch. I arch under him, fingers threading through his hair, urging him on. When he settles between my thighs, he pauses, eyes locked on mine.
“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs.
“I want you.” My voice shakes with certainty. “All of you.”
He enters me slow, deep, and steady, filling me until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. We move together, urgent but tender, every thrust measured, every gasp shared. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my soft cries. My nails score his back. He groans my name against my lips like a vow.
It builds fast, pleasure sharp and bright. I come with his name on my tongue, body trembling around him. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep, shuddering through the release, face pressed to my neck.
We stay like that—sweaty, breathless, tangled—until our breathing slows. He rolls to his side, pulls me against his chest. His arm wraps around me, hand splayed protectively over my stomach.
I trace the scar on his jaw with my fingertip. “We’re really doing this?”
“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “We’re trying. For real this time.”
I nestle closer. “I’m scared.”
“Me too.” His voice is soft, honest. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
Sunlight creeps farther across the bed, warming our skin. Outside, the ocean keeps its steady rhythm—waves rolling in, pulling back, endless and patient.
I close my eyes, listen to his heartbeat under my cheek.
For the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel like something to run from.
It feels like something worth staying for.
We lie there a long time while the world outside keeps turning.
Chapter fourteen
Ronan
The afternoon sun hangs low over the harbor when the call finally comes. I’m sitting on the edge of Isla’s bed, our bed now, if I let myself think that way, watching her fold the last of the clothes she’d packed. She’s moving slower than before, like she’s testing the idea of staying. Her fingers linger on the edge of a sweater, smoothing it flat, and every time she glances at me, there’s a question in her eyes she hasn’t asked out loud yet.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Sheriff’s office. I pick it up before the second ring.
