Chapter 13 Isla
Chapter thirteen
Isla
The morning light is thin and cool when I wake, spilling across the guest bedroom floor in Marjorie’s home.
I’ve barely slept, every distant rumble of a truck on the highway, sent my heart racing, convinced Travis had found a way out of custody and was coming back for me.
The sheriff assured me he’s being held without bail, that the charges are solid, but fear doesn’t listen to reason.
It sits in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold.
I force myself up, pull on yesterday’s sweater, and move through the quiet room like a ghost. My suitcase is opened, but mostly still packed.
I tell myself I’m being practical. Haven’s Cove was supposed to be a fresh start, not a place where my past could walk up the porch steps and break down the door.
Staying feels reckless. Leaving feels like surrender.
I hear three sharp knocks on Marjorie’s front door. It’s Ronan.
He’s standing on the porch in the same jacket he wore yesterday, hair wind-tousled, chest rising and falling like he ran the whole way here. His eyes are fixed on the door—intense, almost desperate.
I make my way to the front door. Part of me wants to pretend I’m not here. Part of me wants to open the door and let whatever this is crash over me one more time.
I turn the lock. Pull the door open.
He steps forward the moment the gap is wide enough, breathless, voice rough. “Isla.”
I don’t move. “What are you doing here?”
“I called. Left a message.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t answer.”
“I turned my phone off.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I needed space.”
His gaze drops to the suitcase behind me, then back to my face. Something raw flickers in his eyes. “You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
He exhales hard, like the word punched the air out of him. “Don’t.”
I laugh once, but it’s small and brittle. “You told me to go, Ronan. You said you’re broken. You said this ends now. I listened.”
“I was wrong.” The words come out low, urgent. “I was scared. Still am. But I’m done letting fear decide.”
I search his face. The lines around his eyes are deeper this morning, shadows under them dark enough to tell me he didn’t sleep either. “You can’t just show up and change your mind.”
“I’m not changing my mind. I’m finally admitting what I’ve known since the day you fell off that ladder and I caught you.
” He takes another step closer, close enough that I can smell pine and salt on his jacket.
“I want you, Isla. Not just for a night. Not just because we’re both hurting.
I want to wake up next to you. I want to fix your roof when it leaks.
I want to stand between you and anything that tries to hurt you. ”
My throat tightens. “You said you couldn’t save me.”
“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.