Prologue
Prologue
Ryan
T wenty-Two Years Ago
The house feels wrong from the moment I walk in. There’s a stillness that shouldn’t be there, like the place itself is holding its breath. I drop my bag by the door, the thunk echoing too loudly.
“Mom?” I call out, stepping into the living room. My voice feels small, swallowed up by the silence.
No answer.
I head down the hall toward her bedroom. The door is cracked open, and something cold curls in my gut. I push it open all the way.
The first thing I notice is the pills—an empty bottle tipped over on the nightstand, a few white capsules scattered next to a half-empty glass of water. She’s lying on the bed, so still. Too still.
“Mom!” My voice breaks as I rush to her side. I grab her shoulders and shake her gently. “Mom, wake up!”
But she doesn’t move. Her skin is pale, waxy. Her lips are slightly parted, but there’s no breath. No warmth.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, my hands trembling as I check for a pulse. Nothing.
The room spins, and I stagger back, the pieces slamming together in my mind. The pills. The glass of water. Her silence over the past few days.
But it doesn’t make sense. She wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t just leave us—not me or Brennen or Emma.
And then the thought hits me like a freight train: Dad.
He’s been getting worse lately. The drinking. The yelling. The arguments that always seemed to end with him storming out and Mom locking herself in her room.
I stumble into the kitchen, grab my phone, and dial 911, my hands shaking so badly I almost drop it. When the operator picks up, I barely hear her over the roaring in my ears. I manage to get the words out. “My mom…she’s dead. I think… I think my dad might have done it.
Dad’s standing in the kitchen when I get back from answering the cops’ questions. His face is hard, but his eyes are bloodshot.
“You think I don’t know what you told them?” His voice is low, but the anger is there, barely contained. “You think I had something to do with this?”
“I do.” I explode, my chest heaving. “You broke her, Dad! With your drinking and your yelling and your goddamn temper. You drove her to this!”
His hand slams down on the counter, rattling the empty beer bottles. “Don’t you put this on me, boy. She made her choice!”
“Bullshit!” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “You killed her just as sure as if you’d put a gun to her head. You never cared about her. Or any of us.”
The words hang between us like smoke, choking and heavy. He looks at me for a long moment, his face unreadable, then turns away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I leave before I slam my fist in his face.
I sit stiffly in the courtroom, my hands clenched into fists on my knees as the coroner reads the findings.
“Based on the evidence presented, we determine that the cause of death was a deliberate overdose of prescription medication. The manner of death is suicide.”
I feel the words hit me like a punch to the gut, even though I saw it coming. I don’t wait for the proceedings to wrap up. I push out of my seat and walk out, ignoring the whispers of my brother and sister as they call me. I know I’m the oldest, but if I stay, I swear I’ll kill the old man.
Outside, the sun is too bright, too cheerful, as if mocking me. My legs move on autopilot, carrying me through the streets until I’m standing in front of the Naval recruiting office.
I walk in and meet the recruiter’s eyes. “I want to enlist,” I say, my voice steady.
The recruiter looks me up and down, then nods. “You got a specialty in mind?”
“SEALs,” I say without hesitation.
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s not easy. You sure about this?”
I nod, my jaw set. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Because there’s nothing left for me here. Because I need to get as far away from this town, this house, this life, as I can.
After a brief chat, the recruiter makes a call before he slides a clipboard across the desk. “Sign here.”
I grip the pen tightly and sign my name. As I hand it back, a strange calm settles over me. For the first time since I found my mom, I feel like I’m moving forward. Toward something. Away from everything else.
Candace
The test is sitting on the bathroom counter, the faint pink lines mocking me. My stomach twists, my hands trembling as I press them against the sink for balance. Pregnant. I didn’t think it would hit me like this—part shock, part fear, and a flicker of something I’m too scared to name.
I glance at the cheap plastic stick again, as if it’ll change. It doesn’t.
I need to tell Ryan. I need to tell him now. ‘It’ll be okay,’ I assure myself. It has to be okay. Ryan loves me. We’re planning a life together. We had planned to start a family down the road, but it’ll be okay that it’s a little earlier than anticipated.
The drive up to the winery feels longer than it should. Every bump in the road feels magnified, rattling my nerves until I want to scream. The familiar gates swing open, and I park at the edge of the gravel lot, staring up at the house.
I rehearse the words in my head, over and over. Ryan, I’m pregnant. He’ll take my hand, kiss me, tell me it’ll all be okay. That’s who he is. That’s who we are.
But when I knock, it’s his father who opens the door, his face twisted in that permanent sneer I’ve grown to hate.
“What do you want?” he asks, his words as sharp as glass.
“I need to see Ryan,” I say, my voice smaller than I intended.
His eyes narrow. “He’s gone.”
I blink. “Gone? Gone where?”
“Left,” he says, leaning against the doorframe like he owns the world. “He’s not coming back.”
“No, that’s… that’s not true. He wouldn’t just leave without telling me.” My voice cracks, but I push forward. “Where did he go?”
He shrugs. “Dropped his phone at the Naval recruiting office with instructions no one’s to know where he went. Told them he doesn’t want anyone from this place tracking him down. Especially you.”
The words hit me like a slap to the face. “You’re lying. He can’t be gone. We were planning a future together. I’m… I’m pregnant.”
He tilts his head, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “Face it, Candace. You’re white trash. Always have been. Ryan got what he needed from you. Take your bastard and go ruin someone else’s life.”
I can’t breathe. My chest tightens as his words wrap around me like barbed wire. I stumble back, shaking my head, the tears already burning in my eyes.
“I’ll tell him,” I whisper. “I’ll find him, and I’ll tell him.”
“You won’t find him,” he says, slamming the door in my face.
I barely see the road through my tears as I drive away. My hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. My mind races, jumping between Ryan’s father’s sneer and the faint pink lines on that damn test.
Through the blur, I see it—the ring on my finger. The promise ring Ryan gave me last year. I’ve never taken it off, not even once.
‘Always and forever,’ he said when he slipped it on my finger.
The words haunt me now as I claw at the ring, trying to pull it off. My fingers are swollen, shaking. It won’t budge.
“Dammit!” I yell, yanking at it harder, my tears blinding me completely. The car jerks as the wheels catch gravel, and I lose control.
The world tilts, spins. A scream tears from my throat as the car careens off the road, crashing through bushes and trees. The last thing I see is the sky flipping upside down before everything goes black.
I drift back to consciousness slowly, the world around me hazy and unfamiliar. The scent of antiseptic fills my nose, sharp and clinical. My eyelids feel heavy, my body weighed down by something deeper than exhaustion. The steady beeping of machines echoes in the quiet room, each sound grounding me a little more in reality.
My head throbs. My limbs ache. Everything is dull and distant, like I’m floating just outside myself. I blink up at the sterile white ceiling, my thoughts sluggish as I try to piece together where I am—why I’m here.
A soft knock at the door pulls my attention. A doctor steps inside, his expression calm but unreadable. He stops beside my bed, checking something on the monitor before meeting my gaze.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is low, careful.
I swallow, my throat dry. “Like I got hit by a truck.”
His lips press into a thin line, a small nod acknowledging the pain I haven’t fully registered yet. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says. “But you’re lucky. No debilitating injuries. We were able to repair everything robotically without having to open you up. You’re going to be okay.”
Okay.
The word sits strangely in my mind.
His expression shifts, something heavier settling in his eyes. He hesitates, just for a second, before continuing. “But… I’m sorry. The baby didn’t survive. And the damage was significant.” A pause, a breath. “The surgeon doesn’t believe you’ll be able to have children in the future.”
The air in the room vanishes. The world shrinks down to the space between us.
He says something else—I see his lips move, hear the murmur of his voice—but the words don’t reach me. My chest tightens, my fingers clenching into the stiff hospital sheets.
The baby is gone.
And I will never…
A sharp, stinging pressure builds behind my eyes, but I refuse to let it spill over. Instead, I stare past him, past the too-bright walls, past the hum of machines that keep reminding me I’m still here.
I don’t feel lucky. I don’t feel okay.
I feel hollow.
His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. I feel like I’m drowning. My hands instinctively go to my lower belly, now so achingly empty.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No.”
The doctor tries to comfort me but looks uncomfortable. His voice is gentle, but he looks like he’d rather be anywhere other than here. Me too.
They wheel me up to a shared room where I give my body a few days to heal. No one visits me. When the doctor announces they plan to discharge me the next day, I wait until he leaves the room, the door clicking softly behind him.
After he leaves, I sit up slowly, my body screaming in protest. My body isn’t ready to be discharged, but I don’t have a choice. I’m taking my future into my hands—right here, right now. I remove the IV from my arm, ignoring the sting, and pull off the monitoring equipment. Before the machines can wail in protest, I turn them off. I don’t want to be here.
I grab my shoes but don’t see my clothes. Taking the shoes with me, I slip out of my room and down the hall to some kind of lounge area. I find a set of scrubs that look like they’ll fit and put them on. I head to the staircase. I’m in pain and walking is difficult, but I need to get out of here… now. I don’t stop moving, not until I’m outside, the cold night air biting at my cheeks.
I hitch a ride back to the winery with a trucker who doesn’t ask questions. When we pull up, the place is dark and quiet. I sneak around to the back, where Ryan’s truck is parked.
The keys are in the visor. He always keeps them there. Thankfully, Ryan always parked his truck so it was pointed straight down the drive. I release the emergency brake and take it out of gear so that it rolls down the driveway. Once I’ve put a bit of distance between me and the house, I start the engine and drive to the foster home I’ve been stuck in for years.
I climb through the window and gather my things—a duffel bag, some clothes, and the few keepsakes I’ve held onto. No one stirs as I leave, slipping out the same way I came in.
Back in the truck, I grip the steering wheel tightly, my hands still shaking. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t stay here.
As I drive away from Pelican Point, the only thing I feel is the loss of my baby and Ryan. One I will never get back and one I vow to get revenge for.
The future I thought I had is gone, but I will find a way to make a new one.