32. Ash
32
ASH
T he salty breeze rolls off the water, the gentle rocking of the boat making the world feel a little looser around the edges. I take a sip from the beer Rowan just passed me, watching as Jake stands behind Grace, his hands over hers, guiding her through the motion of casting her line.
She’s grinning, eyes bright, enjoying the simplicity of the moment.
Rowan leans against the railing beside me, his gaze locked on them. I can tell he’s deep in his head, something simmering under the surface.
I nudge him with my elbow. “You good?”
He exhales, cracking open his beer before answering. “Lena being brought up always catches me off guard… That and… the curse. Or the supposed curse.”
I study him for a second, noting the tension in his jaw. “You think maybe you haven’t let her go yet?”
His groan is immediate, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe.”
I let that sit between us for a beat before deciding to shift the energy. “All right,” I say, standing up, stretching my arms over my head. “Let’s swim.”
Jake laughs, reeling in his line. “Man, you and the ocean.”
Grace’s eyes light up. “We’re really getting in?”
“Of course,” I say, already pulling my shirt over my head. “It’s beautiful out here.”
Rowan’s face twists with discomfort, a flicker of unease in his expression. “I?—”
I shake my head. “Nope. No excuses. We helped Jake face the cliffs. Now it’s your turn with the sea.”
His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “Ash…”
Grace is already peeling off her shorts, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and her bikini bottoms. Jake’s watching her like she’s the only thing that exists in the world, his admiration so blatant it’s almost tangible.
I glance at Rowan. “It’s just water, man.”
His grip tightens around the railing, but I see it—the struggle, the way his pride wars with his hesitation. I step up beside him, lowering my voice.
“I won’t let anything happen. You know that, right?”
He exhales sharply, his shoulders sagging a fraction. “Yeah.”
“Then let’s go.”
Jake’s already climbing onto the edge, his grin sharp. “Grace, you coming?”
She nods eagerly, her excitement infectious. She steps up beside him, and with barely a second’s hesitation, she jumps. The sound of her laughter echoes as she splashes into the deep blue below.
I turn to Rowan, raising a brow. “No turning back now.”
He mutters something under his breath, but before he can talk himself out of it, he pulls off his shirt and follows us to the edge. One last deep breath, and then we dive in.
The water is cool, lapping around us like an embrace, and I can feel the tension in Rowan’s body from where I tread water beside him.
Grace is already swimming a few feet away, her laughter echoing across the waves. Jake treads water near her, grinning as he flicks droplets at her face.
But Rowan—he’s frozen. Watching.
I place a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I—” His voice falters. “I haven’t been in the sea since Lena died.”
The words hit the air like a confession. Even Grace and Jake pause, their easy smiles fading.
Rowan doesn’t look at us as he speaks. His gaze stays locked on the water, a faraway look in his eyes. “The myth that Fiona asked about… It’s about a family curse, if you believe in that shit.” He lets out a breathless laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “The Thorne men are always claimed by the sea. That’s how it’s always been. And sometimes… I wonder if it was supposed to be me, not her.”
A deep silence settles over us. The only sound is the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull of The Helene .
Grace moves first. She swims closer, pressing her hands to his chest, her eyes full of warmth and something fierce. “Rowan…”
“I should’ve saved her.” His voice cracks. “I should’ve done something. Anything.”
I clear my throat, stepping in. “You know, in every fisherman’s tale, there’s always a trade,” I say softly. “The ocean doesn’t just take—it gives, too. Maybe Lena wasn’t taken from you. Maybe she became part of something bigger. The tide, the current… the very thing that carries us forward.”
Rowan stares at me for a long moment, his jaw tight, his throat working.
Grace reaches for his hands. “Maybe we should say goodbye to her properly. A memorial. Just us.”
Jake nods. “It doesn’t have to be big. Just something to honor her. Maybe the sea will release you from the curse if we do that.”
Rowan hesitates. Then, finally, he gives a small nod.
We move together, but before wading into deeper waters, Grace plucks a delicate shell from the ocean floor, cradling it in her palm before passing it to Rowan. He turns it over in his hands like it’s something precious.
I clear my throat. “There’s a tradition where sailors send off something small—natural—back to the sea, as a farewell. It’s not about loss, but about release.”
Rowan swallows hard. “Yeah,” he murmurs.
One by one, we take turns whispering our goodbyes.
Jake runs a hand through his wet hair, exhaling. “I didn’t know you, Lena,” he admits, “but if you were anything like Rowan, you must’ve been damn stubborn.” He chuckles, then grows solemn. “Rest easy.”
Grace cradles the shell in her hands, closing her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. “I promise to keep him safe. I’ll keep him happy.”
Rowan’s breath shudders. And then he does something none of us expect.
He cries.
Not silent tears. Not a single, stray drop. No, he breaks, shoulders shaking, hands gripping the shell so tightly his knuckles turn white.
Grace is on him in an instant, wrapping her arms around him, holding him like she can take some of the weight on her own shoulders. Jake and I exchange a glance before stepping in too, creating a circle of warmth in the cool water.
Finally, Rowan exhales. And he lets the shell slip from his fingers.
We watch as it drifts beneath the waves, swallowed by the sea.
There is no dramatic sign. No sudden change. But as we float there together, held by the water and each other, something shifts.
Rowan breathes.
And for the first time in a long time, I think he lets go.
* * *
The lighthouse is quiet except for the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing below and the occasional creak of the old wooden beams. I’m at the workbench, carefully sealing sample vials, preparing them for shipment to the university.
The familiar process keeps my hands busy, but my mind is made up. I’m not leaving Driftwood Cove when this study is done. I’ll negotiate a way to stay.
Behind me, Jake is flipping burgers in the small kitchen, humming along to an old rock song playing on the radio. The scent of grilled meat fills the air, mingling with the salt from the sea.
It’s comforting, grounding.
And then, of course, there’s Rowan and Grace on the couch, fucking.
I smirk when I hear her breath hitch, the soft sigh of pleasure that escapes her lips. Rowan chuckles low, rough with amusement, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” Grace says, voice breathless.
Jake laughs, lifting his spatula. “If you’re still thinking with an Alpha’s cock inside you, Rowan must not be doing it right.”
“Fuck off,” Rowan mutters, but he’s laughing too, and I hear the shift of bodies, the press of skin against leather as he moves.
Grace giggles, but then she says, “No, really. I was thinking about Jake.”
Jake arches a brow. “Not mad about it.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
I lean back against the workbench, arms crossed, curious now. Rowan doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but I can tell he’s listening too.
Grace exhales. “I was thinking about how you know everyone in town. People like you, Jake. They trust you.”
Jake flips another burger onto the plate, nodding. “Yeah?”
She sits up a little, bracing herself on Rowan’s chest. “What if the only way to stop the mayor from convincing people to sell to Westbrook Real Estate is to have a new mayor?”
There’s a pause. Then Jake laughs. “Me?”
I straighten, considering it. “It’s not a bad idea.” My family won’t be willing to up their prices in order to make the people sell their homes and stores, and constant friction with the public might deter them even more.
Jake shakes his head, setting down the spatula. “No way.”
Grace’s expression is determined. “I think it is. People come to you when they need help. They respect you.”
“Damn right, they do,” Rowan mutters, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Though I could probably think better if I finished first.”
Grace gasps, smacking his chest. “You’re insufferable.”
He smirks, flipping her onto her back, pinning her against the couch cushions. “You love it.”
She tries to glare, but her lips twitch, betraying her.
Rowan presses a kiss to the curve of her jaw before glancing at Jake. “You know she’s right.” His voice is more serious now, thoughtful. “You’re the best candidate. And we’d help you.”
Jake rubs a hand over his jaw. “Campaigning? Meetings? Politics? I don’t know.”
Grace smiles at him. “You wouldn’t be doing it alone. You’d have all of us.”
I glance between them, nodding. “You’ve always cared about protecting this town, Jake. This is just another way to do it.”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring at the plate of burgers like they hold the answer. Then, finally, he exhales and shakes his head with a grin. “You’re all a pain in my ass.”
Grace beams. “That’s a yes.”
Rowan smirks. “We’ll call it a strong maybe.”
Jake groans, “Fine. But if I do this, you’re all damn well campaigning with me.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say, smiling.
And just like that, there’s a new purpose… a new fight. But this time, we’re in it together.