Chapter 14
Kori
I can’t believe I suggested midnight swimming, but something about Kane’s lost expression makes me want to do something—anything—to help him feel grounded again. Or maybe I just need to feel something besides the hollow ache in my chest when I think about Mark and Lana.
“We should probably grab towels,” I say, suddenly practical. “And maybe jackets for after.”
I find two large beach towels in the hall closet and hand one to Kane, then pull on a zip-up hoodie over my t-shirt. He watches me with an amused expression.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing. It’s just... you’re really serious about this.”
“Of course, I am. Why suggest it otherwise?”
He shrugs. “Most people just talk about doing crazy things. They don’t actually follow through.”
“I’m not most people,” I say, heading toward the door. “Especially not anymore.”
The night air hits me like a slap when we step outside, cold and sharp. The moon is nearly full, casting enough light to see the path leading down to the beach.
“You sure about this?” Kane asks, following close behind me as we pick our way carefully down the steep path. “The water’s going to be freezing.”
“That’s the point,” I say, though my conviction wavers as we reach the sand and I feel the biting wind cut through my clothes. What are we doing? This is insane.
But insanity feels right tonight. My life has already been turned inside out—what’s a little hypothermia in comparison?
We drop our towels on a relatively dry patch of sand near the waterline. The beach stretches empty in both directions, silver-blue in the moonlight. It feels like we’re the only two people left in the world.
Kane kicks off his shoes and socks, then looks at me expectantly. “Ladies first?”
“Coward,” I tease, but I’m stalling too. I toe off my borrowed Wellington boots and peel away my socks, wincing as my bare feet touch the cold sand.
“On three?” he suggests.
I nod, my heart suddenly racing with a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. “One...”
“Two...” he continues.
“Three!” we shout together, and then we’re running toward the water, sand flying beneath our feet.
The first wave hits my ankles, and I gasp—it’s colder than I imagined, so cold it burns. But I don’t stop. I push forward, feeling the water rise to my knees, my thighs, soaking my underwear and sweatpants with icy salt water.
Beside me, Kane lets out a string of creative curses as he plunges deeper. “Holy fucking hell, it’s freezing!”
“Keep going!” I urge, though my teeth have already started to chatter. “We have to get all the way in!”
Another step and the water is at my waist, stealing my breath. My t-shirt clings to my skin as the next wave splashes up to my chest. It’s so cold it feels like knives stabbing into every inch of my submerged body.
Kane is shoulder-deep now, his face contorted in a grimace that’s half-pain, half-laughter. “You’re insane, Kori Blake!”
“Probably,” I agree, then take a deep breath and dive under the next wave.
The cold is absolute, enveloping, shocking. For one suspended moment, all thought vanishes—no Mark, no Lana, no betrayal, no pain—just the primal need to survive this cold. I surface with a gasp, pushing wet hair from my face.
Kane emerges beside me, water streaming from his hair, his expression wild. “Jesus Christ!”
“Still feel like the same person?” I challenge, treading water.
He laughs, the sound echoing across the empty beach. “I don’t feel like a person at all! I feel like a fucking ice cube!”
I can’t help but laugh too, even as another wave crashes over us. The cold is clarifying, stripping away everything but the essential. I am alive. I am here. I am freezing my ass off in the Irish Sea with a man I barely know.
And for the first time in days, I feel something other than pain.
“Okay, I’m done,” Kane announces after another minute. “Any more of this and you’ll be explaining to Declan why his newly discovered brother turned into a popsicle.”
We wade back to shore, our soaked clothes heavy and clinging. By the time we reach our towels, I’m shivering violently, my fingers numb as I try to wrap the towel around my shoulders.
“That was...” Kane begins, teeth chattering.
“Therapeutic?” I suggest hugging the towel tighter.
I was going to say, ‘borderline suicidal,’ but sure, let’s go with therapeutic.” He gathers his hair at the nape of his neck, twisting to wring out excess water. “Feel any different?”
I consider the question as we gather our shoes and begin the trek back up to the cottage. My body is numb with cold, but my mind feels strangely clear, like the sea has washed away some of the fog of grief and confusion.
“Actually, yes,” I admit. “Like I’ve been reset somehow.”
Kane nods thoughtfully. “Like being buried in wet sand, but more voluntary.”
I laugh, stumbling slightly on the path. Without hesitation, his hand is there, steadying me. Even through the towel, I can feel how cold his fingers are.
Back at the cottage, I light a fire, then we both take a quick shower, separately, of course. Before I hopped in, I left dry clothes outside the door for him—a pair of oversized sweatpants and a hoodie that Jen’s brother left behind years ago.
When he emerges, his hair damp, I notice the clothes fit him perfectly. Almost too perfectly. I groan inwardly. Why, of all things, did I pick out sweatpants?
“Better?” I ask, holding my hands toward the growing fire, trying desperately to avert my eyes from his package.
“Much,” he says, joining me on the hearth rug. “Though I may never regain feeling in certain extremities.”
I snort, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. “Too much information.”
“Not those extremities,” he clarifies with a grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Airplane Girl.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the flames dance.
Outside, the wind has picked up, whistling around the eaves of the cottage.
The contrast between the howling cold outside and the warmth of the fire makes me feel cocooned, safe in a way I haven’t felt since seeing those photos on my phone.
“So, what happens tomorrow?” I finally ask. “With your family and the riddle?”
Kane sighs, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to tell them all to go to hell—let them solve this. But another part...”
“Wants to know the truth,” I finished for him.
“Yeah,” he admits. “About my sister. About why Tomas kept all this a secret. About who I really am.”
“You know who you are,” I say softly. “You’re still the same person you were yesterday.”
He turns to face me, his expression half-hidden in the dancing shadows from the fire.
“Four days ago, I was just the black sheep. Now I’ve got a whole new family tree.”
“The packaging might be different,” I say, pulling my knees to my chest, “but what’s inside is the stuff that matters—that hasn’t changed.”
“What if the core of who I am is shit?” he asks bluntly.
The question hangs between us, raw and honest in a way that catches me off guard. I think about my own identity crisis—how finding that photo shattered not just my marriage but my sense of self.
“I don’t think it is,” I say finally. “I think you just believe that because it’s what you’ve been told.”
“By a man who wasn’t even my father,” Kane says with a bitter laugh.
“Exactly.” I meet his gaze steadily. “So maybe it’s time to decide for yourself who you are.”
He stares into the fire, considering my words. “Maybe,” he concedes. Then, abruptly changing the subject: “What about you? What happens when you go back to Toronto?”
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I haven’t allowed myself to think that far ahead.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Divorce, obviously. Finding a new place to live. Getting a job again.”
“What did you do? Before becoming Mark’s wife?”
“Marketing executive,” I say, surprised by the pride that still lingers in those words. “I was good at it, too. Had my own team, clients who specifically requested to work with me.”
“Why’d you quit?”
I look away, suddenly ashamed. “Mark said he made enough for both of us that I was working too hard, too stressed. That we could start a family if I weren’t so focused on my career.” I laugh humorlessly. “Turns out he just wanted me dependent on him while he screwed my sister.”
Kane’s expression darkens. “Your husband sounds like a real piece of work.”
“Ex-husband,” I correct. “Or he will be, anyway.”
“Good,” Kane says firmly. “You deserve better.”
“So do you,” I counter, not wanting to dwell on Mark anymore. “Most people cut toxic relatives out of their lives.”
He laughs, the sound warm in the firelit room. “Fair point.”
We fall silent again, but it’s comfortable, like we’ve known each other for years instead of days. The fire crackles, sending shadows dancing across the walls. Outside, the sea continues its endless conversation with the shore.
“I should probably go,” Kane says eventually, though he makes no move to stand. “Let you get some sleep.”
“It’s late,” I say, surprising myself. “And your family doesn’t know where you are. You could...” I hesitate, suddenly unsure. “You could stay. On the sofa, I mean.”
He looks at me, a question in his eyes. “You sure about that? Offering your sofa to me might be asking for trouble.”
“I think I can handle it,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Besides, it’s pouring out there now.”
As if to confirm my words, thunder rumbles in the distance. Kane glances toward the window where rain lashes against the glass.
“If you’re sure,” he says finally. “But just for tonight. Tomorrow, I face the music—and whatever family secrets are waiting at the Hill of Tara.”
I nod, relieved he’s staying and not entirely sure why. “Deal. I’ll get you some blankets.”
As I arrange pillows and blankets on the sofa, I can’t help but wonder what I’m doing. Twenty-four hours ago, I was determined to be alone, to lick my wounds in private. Now I’m playing hostess to a man whose family apparently has Russian enemies and buried treasures.
But as I bid Kane goodnight and climbed the stairs to my bedroom, I realized something: for the first time since meeting him, I’d gone hours without crying. Hours without that hollow ache consuming me.
Instead, I’ve been cold and wet and terrified and exhilarated—but most importantly, I’ve found myself again, thanks to Kane.