Chapter 35
Archer
It’s Lottie’s birthday, but it’s also the anniversary.
The one day of the year I can’t escape.
The day I saved Lottie, and lost Luke.
I stare at my phone, thumb hovering over the message Thomas sent earlier.
Thomas
Are you coming tonight?
Am I?
I exhale through my nose, setting the phone down on the counter. Do I even deserve to be there when I couldn’t save him?
The question seems to hang there, like smoke, thick and heavy, choking me, because I already know the answer. Thomas has been trying to get everyone together—those of us who served with Luke—to celebrate his life instead of drowning in the guilt of losing him.
“Celebrate,” he said, like it could erase the weight of failure in my chest.
It’s been three years.
Three years since I’d dropped Luke off after deployment.
Three years since I watched him laugh and wave me off, still wearing that faded green jacket he always swore was lucky. Three years since I told him I’d see him soon, and never did.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension that’s sitting there. No amount of time changes the fact that I was supposed to save him. I should have gone back, should have noticed something was off. Instead, I stopped at the beach and saw Lottie in danger.
I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. I just ran.
I can still feel the cold bite of the water when I dove in after her.
The shock hit like electricity. The way the current pulled, the way her body floated, limp and pale.
I can still feel the burn in my lungs as I dragged her to shore, the desperation as I pressed my hands to her chest, counting out compressions.
And then that single, violent gasp that had her coming back to life.
That sound is burned into me.
The best sound I’ve ever heard.
But Luke… Luke didn’t get a second chance.
The guilt is a scar I can’t stop picking at. “Hey,” a soft voice says behind me. I turn, and Lottie is there, in one of my shirts, hair still damp from her shower. She smiles, but it’s small. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, too fast.
She walks closer, stopping just close enough that I can smell that she used my shower gel. “You’re thinking about what day it is.”
I nod, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah.”
She rests her hand against my arm, her eyes flicking to my phone that’s still unlocked. “Thomas texted.”
“Mmhmm.”
“You’re going right?”
I hesitate.
I want to say no. I want to stay here with her, hide from the ghosts that have been gnawing at me since I woke up, but I owe it to Luke.
To the men we were deployed with.
To myself.
“Thomas said partners can come,” I add, voice rough.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
I look at her then. Really look. Life has felt so chaotic right now that I feel like I’ve barely been able to see her.
She’s standing there barefoot in my shirt, collar slipping off one shoulder, damp strands of hair stuck to her neck.
There’s no trace of makeup, no trace of the girl I pulled out of the waves.
She’s here. Warm, soft, and alive.
But her eyes… those are what get me because they carry the same heaviness I feel.
“It’s your birthday,” I remind her. “You should be here celebrating, not having to spend it at something like this.”
Her mouth curves, but it’s sad. “It hasn’t been my birthday for a long time, Archer.”
Something in my chest twists. I knew this, but it still guts me. “Lottie—”
She shakes her head before I can go on, wrapping her arm around herself like she’s cold.
“I stopped celebrating it after that night. It didn’t feel right…
I didn’t feel right. How do you celebrate being alive when someone else didn’t make it?
I changed my name. I got to live because you saved me, but I tried to kill myself…
” Her voice cracks a little on that last word, and it kills me.
“Lottie, that wasn’t your fault,” I promise, pulling her into my arms.
“I know,” she replies quickly. “I know. But still, every year when it comes around, I think of the way you looked that night. The water, the cold, the relief that was on your face when I opened my eyes… but I also remember the guilt, the absolutely shattered look on your face when you got the call that Luke was gone. I remember it all too clearly, and it doesn’t feel like something you put candles on a cake for.
” She lets out a breath that sounds tired.
“So now I celebrate a month later. That’s my birthday.
The day I started living again. The day I stopped wanting to die. ”
That silence after her words… God, it’s deafening.
My hands settle on her waist. “You deserve every celebration there is,” I murmur. “You deserve the whole damn world, Lottie.”
She tilts her chin up, eyes glistening. “Claire’s made sure the others know I’m not celebrating in case they got any ideas. So, I’m coming with you and we’re going to celebrate Luke because that’s what we both need to do.”
Her hand slides down, fingers finding mine. It’s such a small thing, that touch, but it grounds me. I let out a long breath and nod. “Okay.”
Thomas picked a bar that wasn’t too far.
A quiet place by the harbor where the ocean wind stings your face.
The drive there feels longer than it should.
My hands are tight around the wheel, and Lottie rests her hand on my thigh, thumb brushing over the rough fabric of my jeans every few seconds, like she’s reminding me she’s here, reminding me to breathe.
The sky’s already shifting to that dull, steel grey, looking like it’s going to rain. The place Thomas picked isn’t flashy. A quiet pub tucked against the edge of the water, old wood, brass light fixtures, and the faint smell of salt, whiskey, and cheap beer.
When we walk in, I spot him immediately, same buzzcut, same crooked grin, but there’s something in his eyes, too. The kind of knowing that only people who’ve seen what we have and lost who we have recognize.
“Archer,” Thomas chirps, clapping my shoulder as I pull him into a brief hug. “You came.”
“Nearly didn’t.”
He nods in understanding, then glances at Lottie. “And you must be the woman who got his ass to leave.”
Lottie laughs lightly, shaking his hand. “I think it was all him, but I’m not complaining.”
Thomas grins. “Well, I’m glad you came too. Nice to finally put a face to the name we’ve all heard about for the last three years. Luke would’ve liked you.”
We join the others, the table crowded with pints and plates nobody really touches. Thomas. Declan. Reese. Men I’d lived with, fought beside, lost pieces of myself with. Glasses clink, stories about Luke and our time away start flowing.
They talk about the way Luked used to hum off-key during long drives, how he could never cook to save his life but somehow made the best coffee in camp.
Reese tells the one about Luke’s “lucky” jacket that he refused to take off during training. Declan brings up the time Luke got caught sneaking a dog onto base because “he looked lonely.” We all laugh, and for a few minutes it feels light.
Almost easy.
Then someone asks the question. The one I’ve been waiting for.
“You ever think about that night?”
Everything in me goes still.
Thomas’s eyes flick to me. He doesn’t stop it. Maybe he thinks I should talk. Maybe he’s right.
I swallow hard, fingers tightening around my glass of soda, because I refuse to drink while driving. “Every day.”
Lottie keeps her hand on my thigh, thumb tracing slow circles. It’s like she can sense every time the guilt creeps up.
The words come out quieter than I mean them to, but everyone hears. “I was the last one to see him. I dropped him off and told him I’d see him soon. Then I stopped by the beach on my way home.”
They know what happened next. They know about Lottie.
“I don’t regret it,” I say, forcing the words through the lump in my throat. “Not saving her. But sometimes I wish I could’ve done both. That I could’ve saved him, too.”
Silence. Just the hum of low music and the clink of glass.
Lottie’s hand finds mine under the table, firm and steady.
Thomas gives me a look that’s more understanding than words.
“You were where you were meant to be, brother. You saved someone that night. Doesn’t erase what we lost, but…
maybe it balances something. You can’t carry the guilt of it forever, Archer. ”
I want to argue, but the words won’t come because deep down, I know he’s right.
Lottie squeezes my hand. “Luke saved me, too,” she whispers.
“You said he convinced you to take the drive home that night instead of staying. If he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been there.
” Her voice trembles, but her eyes stay fixed on mine.
“He did save me, Archer. Just… not in the way you expected.”
And somehow, that breaks me a little more.
When we leave the bar later, the sun’s starting to dip, painting the water gold. We walk in silence for a while, shoes crunching against the gravel path that leads down to the beach.
She stops when the waves are a few feet away, wind lifting her hair. “You saved me that night.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, because I can’t stop the guilt creeping into my voice.
Her eyes stay fixed on the shoreline… remembering. “You still blame yourself?”
“Every day, Lottie.”
She turns to me then, eyes wet with tears. She steps closer, reaching up to touch my face. “You can’t keep doing that. You can’t hate yourself for saving me.”
“I don’t hate myself. I just hate that it had to be one or the other.”
Her thumb brushes my cheek. “You didn’t choose who lived, Archer. You just refused to let someone else die.”
I close my eyes, breathing her in. “If I could go back—”
“You’d still jump,” she finishes for me. “You’d still save me.”
I open my eyes. “Yeah. I would.”
“Then stop punishing yourself for it.”
The wind picks up, tugging at her hair. She looks like she belongs here—wild, untamed, beautiful. The same girl I pulled from the ocean three years ago, only now she’s stronger. I stare at her, words caught somewhere between my chest and my mouth. “You think Luke would understand? That I couldn’t—”
She cuts me off with a gentle shake of her head. “I think he’d tell you to stop torturing yourself. That you did exactly what he would’ve done.”
The wind tugs at her hair, and I reach up to tuck a strand behind her ear. “I miss him,” I say quietly.
“I know,” she whispers. “But you honor him every time you live. Every time you let yourself be happy. Every time you love.”
I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, holding it there for a moment longer. The ocean hums around us, a quiet heartbeat, and for the first time since that night, the air doesn’t feel heavy. “Happy birthday, Lottie,” I whisper.
Her smile is small, watery. “Not yet.”
“Then I’ll say it again next month,” I promise. I take her hand, fingers threading through hers. “You saved me, too, you know.”
“We saved each other… thank you for saving me that night, Archer,” she says softly.
The waves crash close to our feet, cool spray dusting our jeans. Luke’s name still echoes in my mind, but tonight it doesn’t sting. It settles. Like something I can finally set down. “Let’s go home, baby.”
The drive home is quiet are first. The windows are cracked, the faint smell of the sea drifting in as we drive away.
Lottie hums along softly to the radio, some slow, old song that used to make Luke roll his eyes while we were in training.
Her fingers are linked with mine where it’s on the gearshift, and every now and then, she glances at me with that small, tired smile that lets me know she’s ready for bed.
The road winds along the cliffs, and I ease it around a corner. I should feel lighter after tonight. I should feel free, but the guilt still sits on my chest… but I feel okay somehow.
But then, headlights flare in the rearview mirror. I squint, adjusting the mirror. “What the fuck are they doing?”
Lottie glances back. “They’re pretty close.”
I nod, easing the car towards the shoulder to let them pass, but they don’t. The lights stay bright, and the car gets too close.
My pulse starts to hammer. I press my foot down a little. The engine hums louder, but the car behind us matches the speed.
Then it surges forward.
“Archer!”
The impact slams into us. The steering wheel jerks in my hands. Tires screech against asphalt. I fight to keep control, but the back of the car fishtails.
Another hit—harder this time—and the world tilts.
Glass shatters. Lottie screams. The car spins, metal screaming against gravel and guardrail until everything explodes in white noise and pain.
Then… silence.
My head lolls forward, the taste of blood in my mouth. My vision swims, dark around the edges. Somewhere beside me, Lottie’s breathing is ragged, panicked.
“Lottie…” My voice is hoarse. I can’t move my legs—pinned under the dash. The smell of gasoline fills the air.
“Archer—” Her voice breaks into a sob.
I blink hard, trying to clear the blur from my eyes. Headlights. A door slamming. Heavy footsteps crunching on glass. Then someone’s tearing her door open.
“Hey!” I shout, or try to. My throat burns. “Get away from her!”
The blurry figure yanks open her door and reaches in. Lottie screams as they grab her. Her shoulder pops with a sickening crack, and the sound that tears from her throat is all pain.
“Stop!” I struggle against the seatbelt, clawing at it, at the crumpled metal trapping me. “Don’t touch her! Lottie!”
She kicks, fights, and I try to get a good look at who it is, but the man’s face is in the shadows as he hauls her out. She’s crying, screaming my name, and I can’t move. I can’t move. “Lottie!” My voice rips apart. “Lottie!”
Tires spin. Gravel sprays. The car peels away into the night, tail lights vanishing down the road until all that’s left is silence and the pounding of my own heart.
I can’t breathe. My chest heaves against the seatbelt. “No, no, no—”
My hands fumble for my phone, slick with blood. I can barely see the screen through the blur. One name. Dad.
It rings once. Twice. Then, “Archer?” His voice is groggy, worried. “Son? What’s wrong?”
I choke on the words. “Dad… they took her.”
“What? Who—where are you?”
“Lorenzo’s men,” I cough, the taste of copper thick in my mouth. “The road by the cliffs… Lottie… She’s gone. They ran us off—”
“Stay there. I’m calling the police. Don’t move. Do you hear me?”
“Dad, please—” My vision tunnels, the world fading to black around the edges. “They took her…”
The phone slips from my hand, clattering against the floor. The last thing I hear before everything goes dark is the echo of his voice through the speaker, frantic and breaking. “Archer! Stay with me, son… Archer!”