We stay there until the room goes dark, until the towels dry and the heat dissipates. Then he scoops me up and carries me to bed, wrapping us in fresh sheets, tucking my head under his chin. I sleep like the dead, and when I wake, he’s still there.
Still holding me.
Still mine.
EPILOGUE - FULL CIRCLE
TARA
It’s just before sunrise on Lake Harriet, and I’m alone on the dock, wearing nothing but Hunter’s jacket and my own goosebumps.
The jacket is too big—sleeves swallowing my hands, collar scented with the ghost of his aftershave. The zipper’s stuck halfway, so the wind slides right in, lapping at my thighs, and I shiver, not from cold but from the way the world feels, fragile and brand new. The dock boards are slick with dew, stinging my bare feet, and out over the water the mist clings to the surface like a translucent white ghost. It’s the kind of morning that makes you believe in resets.
It’s been exactly a year since the accident. One orbit of the earth, one cycle of four seasons, since my old self went flying off a highway curve and got replaced with the version that stands here now: half scholar, half trouble, 100% awake.
Behind me, the cabin is dark, windows glowing with the earliest echo of sunrise. The place used to be rickety and a bit rundown—it was comfortable, but the floors were always a little crooked,the windows creaked, and there was plumbing that screamed like a banshee. Now, thanks to Hunter’s over-the-top remodel, it’s all radiant heat, soft throw blankets, and those fancy open shelves lined with espresso mugs instead of fish hooks. The porch is deep and wide, perfect for sleeping off a hangover or watching a storm come in, and the new glass sliders open onto the dock, where I’m standing now, toes numb and heart full.
A year ago, I was nowhere. Less than nowhere. I remember waking up in a daze with no name, and stumbling around the city streets until Hunter found me. Then he brought me to Sanctum for a virgin auction, and it was amazing. I shiver remembering my experience. I loved being in the spotlight being hungrily devoured by billionaires, but now, I’m with one billionaire only: Hunter McCarren.
I breathe in, and the cold punches my lungs. There’s a sharpness to the air that belongs to Minnesota in spring—a promise that winter isn’t really done with you, not ever. The lake is still iced over in places, glassy plates floating over open water. I walk to the edge of the dock, let the boards creak and flex under me, and look down at my own reflection: pale skin, wild hair, and big blue eyes which are both innocent and knowing at once. It’s the image of a beautiful woman who is loved.
I remember jumping in. I remember the way the water felt a year ago, the shock of it, the way it slammed the breath out of me and then filled my head with memories, all at once, like flipping through the world’s most vivid photo album. I remember the panic, the dark, the feeling of being pulled up from underneath by strong hands and then dragged onto the splintered dock, coughing and shivering and sobbing like a wet dog.
I remember Hunter’s voice, low and hoarse: “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”
He’s inside now, probably making coffee, but I can feel him watching me from the window. He doesn’t hover—not anymore—but he keeps his distance the way a wolf circles a campfire: always just outside the light, always waiting for the chance to save me.
I press my hand to the hollow of my throat, feeling the thump of my heart, and let the memories roll through me. The crash. The auction. The loss and confusion, and learning how to live with myself. The way Hunter held me in his arms the night I remembered my name, rocking me until my shaking stopped. Also, the loving. The endless understanding from my handsome savior which resulted in a passionate, romantic relationship. I didn’t think our parents would take it well, but in the end, it’s been okay.
The sliding door hisses open behind me, and Hunter steps out. He’s barefoot, in gym shorts and a threadbare sweatshirt, hair sticking up in every direction. He looks gorgeous, even in disarray, that bronzed chest thick, and his package evident even through the loose shorts. Some things never change.
He doesn’t say anything right away, just walks the length of the dock and stops beside me, his heat radiating through the cold.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice still thick from bed.
I shake my head. “Didn’t want to.”
He looks out at the water, hands in his pockets. “You gonna do it?”
I smile, eyes sparkling. “Would you stop me?”
He shrugs. “Probably not. But I’d jump in after you.”
We stand like that, the two of us, looking out at the ice and the fog and the tiny ripples where the wind bites the water. I can feel him wanting to reach for me, but he waits, lets me have the first move.
“Do you remember this day last year?” I ask.
His eyes flick to me, and there’s something dark and soft in them. “Every second.”
I lean into his side, letting his arm slide around me, and press my cheek to his shoulder. “I died, a little,” I say. “And then I got to start over.”
He squeezes me, and I can feel his heartbeat through the jacket.
“You didn’t die,” he says. “You just changed, a little. You became the new Tara, with a side of Daisy.”
I close my eyes and breathe him in—coffee, soap, the salt of a virile man. “You’re such a sap.”
He laughs, and the sound is a low rumble as he pulls me close to that big form.
