I hadn’t said much at the time, just mentioned offhandedly how uncanny it was. How maybe I’d come back to buy it some other time. But I’d thought about it again and again since. The resemblance had gutted me then. Now, without Damon here, it hits like a wave to the sternum.
“Guys…” My voice catches, thick and unsteady. But the words don’t matter—because they already know. They see it in my face, the same way I see it in theirs: how much I love this place, these people, this life I’m finally, fully, building.
When I first arrived in sun-soaked Hawai‘i, my greatest fear wasn’t the coursework or the dives—it was not knowing who I was beyond the title I was chasing. Outside of “future marine biologist,”I worried there might be nothing else. I’d wrapped so much of my identity around achievement, around meeting the expectations of my scholarship and proving I deserved my spot, that I never stopped to ask what was left when the lab coat came off.
In hindsight, I think I clung to the science so tightly because it gave me permission not to look too closely at the rest. It was easier to focus on plankton samples and reef formations than to admit I wasn’t sure who I was outside of the ocean.
But now, I know this: I still want to be a marine biologist—badly. I still want to be great at it. But I also want to be afullperson. A woman with friends who debate on the best cheeses and build playlists like they’re fragile works of art. A woman who can sequence DNA and still not understand how one island needs this many ABC stores. Someone who calls home to check on her mom’s tomatoes and her dad’s arthritis, and who answers honestly when they ask how she’s doing.
I can be the woman who commands a stage with research on octopus cognition—and also the one who falls, completely and unapologetically, for a man who sees every version of her and never flinches.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BONUS CHAPTER
Holden
I touch the side of her neck for what has to be the twelfth time in the past hour. Maybe more. I’ve stopped keeping track.
I don’t precisely know what compels me to do so. It’s not exactly like she needs it. She's fast asleep—has been since I tucked that strand of hair behind her ear and whispered something quiet and stupid like,You’re okay now.Maybe I needed to hear it more than she did.
The only sounds left on this damn island are the wind curling through the open cabin slats, waves gnawing gently at the shore, and the sharp crack of birds smashing shells against rocks. And her breathing.
Soft. Even. Her lips are parted just slightly—pink again, thank fuck, not that terrifying blue—and warm air spills out in the kind of rhythmthat would normally lull me to sleep, if I weren’t this fucking strung out.
Still, I keep touching her. Not to wake her. Not to hover. Just… tofeelthe soft thrum of her pulse under my fingertips. Just to prove that it’s still there. Thatsheis still here.
Because I can’t stop remembering how cold her skin felt just hours ago, how her body didn’t fight me the way it should’ve when I wrapped her up in my hoodie, when I held her as close as I dared. I’ve seen shit go sideways in the field before—lost equipment, riptides, broken bones, even a panicked diver or two—but I’veneverfelt the kind of fear I did today. Not even close.
I saw her get caught in the current near the corals. Watched the moment it pulled her too fast, too far. I almost went after her right then, but I didn’t. Because Coralie Taylor is capable as hell, and one thing I’ve learned about her is that she will always fight to solve her own problems. So I trusted her. I watched. And shedidhandle it—precise kicks, sharp turns, the kind of technique that would make a Dive Master nod in respect.
But then the pressure valve blew.
And just like that, she started sinking. Her bubbles spiraled upward, and she started going the opposite way—down, down, fast—and I didn’tthink. I moved. No deliberation, no logic, no self-preservation. Just instinct.
I shoved my regulator into her mouth. Over and over. Bought her seconds, then bought her more. My lungs screamed, legs nearly gave, but I didn’t stop—not when she smiled at me, that dreamlike, almostpeacefulkind of smile that told me her mind was slipping somewhere it shouldn’t go.
That was the moment I knew. Not just that I was a goner for her. I’ve known that for a while—probably since Waikiki, when she wiped out,stood up, and looked at me like I was the one interruptingherday. That girl—drenched, shivering,impossible—still had the audacity to argue with me. And I knew then. I knew.
But this was different.
This was the kind of knowing that crawls under your ribs and settles in for life. The kind of knowing that rewires your heartbeat. Because watching her sink—not metaphorically, not academically, butliterallyvanish under the weight of the water—I understood in my marrow that there would not be a single day, for the rest of my stupid life, where she wouldn't matter more than anything else.
And yeah… part of me thought about Jacob, too.
My brother. My compass. The person who steadied me when nothing else could. I lost him. Not for lack of love, not for lack of trying—but because sometimes trying isn’t enough. Sometimes, life doesn’t let you reach far enough, fast enough.
But today, the ocean didn’t get to decide. Not this time.
Because Coralie was within reach. And I wasn’t going to let her slip beneath the surface—not when I still had breath left in my lungs, not when she still had so much of her story left to write.
So I held on. And I brought her back.
Now, hours later, she’s here—safe and warm, her breath soft against my collarbone—and still, I keep checking her pulse. Not because I don’t believe she’s okay… but because Ineedto feel the proof of it. Again. And again.
I shift, trying to find something close to comfort on the wooden floor. I don’t trust the bunk frame enough to take the top, and I sure as hell don’t want to spook her by sliding in next to her on the bottom. So Istay here—on the floor, within reach but not too close, elbow bent so I can rest my chin on my arm and just... watch.
She’s facing me, her features relaxed in sleep, all the little tells smoothed away. No crease between her brows, no thoughtful pout tugging at her lips, no smile lines crinkling the corners of her eyes. Just peace. Quiet. Stillness.
