Chapter 30
SOPHIE
After, everything slowed.
Not in the way where the world snapped back into focus and reminded you of clocks and responsibilities and consequences—but in the way where time softened around the edges, like it had decided to sit down with us instead of pushing us along.
Wyatt lay on his back, one arm bent behind his head, the other draped lazily across my waist like it belonged there.
I was half on top of him, my cheek resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat finally find something like a normal rhythm.
Our skin was still warm, still humming, like whatever we’d just done had rewired something fundamental.
Neither of us was in a hurry to talk.
His fingers traced slow lines along my skin. Touching because he could. Because I was there. Because it grounded him.
I let my fingertips wander, too, memorizing the shape of him in this quiet aftermath. The muscle in his chest. The way his breath changed when my hand slid just a little lower, like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to fully relax yet.
“We missed a lot, best friend,” I said eventually, my voice soft.
He hummed in agreement. “Yeah.”
“Twelve years is a long time,” I added.
His hand stilled for half a second, then resumed its slow path. “Feels longer. Feels like it was yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time.”
I smiled faintly. “You still smell the same.”
That got a quiet laugh out of him. “That’s either comforting or deeply unsettling.”
“It’s comforting,” I said. “Like some things didn’t change just because everything else did.”
He tipped his head to look down at me, eyes dark and warm. “Tell me about your mom.”
I shifted so I could see his face better, propping myself on my elbow. “She’s fine. Still in Austin. Still single. Still insists she’s not lonely, even though she has adopted her fourth cat.”
His mouth twitched. “Fourth?”
“Fifth, actually,” I corrected. “But she says one of them doesn’t count because it’s ‘emotionally distant.’”
He laughed then, a real one, chest lifting beneath me. “That tracks.”
“She’s leaned into it,” I went on. “Cat hair on everything. Talks to them like they’re roommates. Sends me pictures of their food bowls like it’s a family update.”
“She always had opinions,” he said fondly. “About everything.”
“She still does,” I said. “She just directs them at cats now instead of me. Well, most of the time.”
His thumb brushed my hip, slow and thoughtful. “I’m glad she’s okay.”
“Me, too,” I said. Then, after a beat, “My dad is in Dallas. Remarried a few years ago.”
Wyatt raised his brows slightly. “How do you feel about that?”
I shrugged. “The new wife is … fine. Nice. Tries hard. We’re polite. But we’re not close. Dad feels like someone I visit on holidays instead of someone I call when something happens.”
He nodded, understanding written all over his face. “So … Christmas negotiations could get interesting.”
I snorted. “Oh, absolutely. We’d need a spreadsheet.”
“Alternating years?” he offered.
“Or,” I said, smirking, “we could start the tradition where everyone comes to us.”
His eyes flicked to mine, something warm sparking there. “I like the way that sounds.”
“Charleston Christmas,” I said. “Lights. The harbor. No snow to shovel.”
“Sold,” he said immediately. “Thanksgiving, too.”
“Greedy.”
“I’m decisive.”
I smiled, then noticed the way his gaze softened, drifted somewhere past me.
“What about your mom?” I asked gently.
His jaw tightened—not sharply, just enough to signal something tender underneath.
“She’s in Marfa,” he said. “Memory care facility.”
I waited. Didn’t interrupt.
“It’s … the best place we could find,” he continued. “Private. Calm. Good staff. She’s safe. Comfortable.”
“But,” I said quietly.
“But I hate leaving her there,” he admitted. “Every time I go, I feel like I’m choosing my life over her.”
My hand slid up his chest, settling over his heart. “You didn’t choose this.”
“I still walked away,” he said.
“You walked forward,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“She always liked you,” he said after a moment. “You know that?”
I smiled softly. “I know.”
“She asked about you last week,” he added, opening his eyes again. “Remembered your name and everything. Said you were a sweet girl.”
Something warm pressed behind my eyes. “She remembers how she felt.”
“Yeah,” he said. “She does.”
I hesitated, then said it. “We could move her closer. If you wanted. Charleston has good facilities. Near us.”
He stared at me for a long second, emotion flickering across his face like light through water.
“You’d really be okay with that?” he asked.
“I always liked your mom,” I said simply. “And she’s family.”
His hand slid into my hair, holding me there, forehead resting against mine. “God, Sophie.”
The way he said my name made my stomach flip all over again.
We lay there for a bit, breathing each other in, hands still wandering—never quite settling.
Eventually, I shifted. “So. Charleston.”
He smiled. “Yeah?”
“Could you make it a home base?” I asked. “With your work. With … everything.”
He didn’t hesitate. “My home base is wherever you are.”
That hit harder than I expected.
“You don’t even have to think about it?” I asked.
“I already did,” he said. “And yeah, Dominion Hall changes things. I could stay around more. Be present instead of passing through.”
“And meet all your half brothers,” I teased.
He groaned. “All fourteen of those assholes.”
I laughed. “You’re going to need name tags.”
“And alcohol.”
“Lots of alcohol.”
He shifted, rolling slightly so he was above me now, weight braced on his forearm, gaze darkening in that familiar way. “You sure you’re ready for all this?”
I reached up, sliding my hand along his jaw, feeling the faint rasp of stubble. “I’m sure about you.”
His breath hitched.
We stayed like that—hovering, charged—until I said, softly, “There’s one more thing I want to do.”
He searched my face. “What is it?”
“I want to go back to the Ravenel Bridge,” I said.
He stilled, instantly alert. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it scared me,” I said. “And because I don’t want to start my life here avoiding something that matters.”
His expression shifted—concern, respect, something fierce and protective all braided together.
“I don’t want to do it alone,” I added. “Will you come with me?”
He didn’t even pause.
“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”
I smiled, heart full, body still humming.
“Okay,” I said. “Then let’s go.”
I slipped off the sofa reluctantly, every inch of my body protesting the loss of contact. Wyatt’s hand caught my wrist before I could get far, tugging me back just enough to steal another kiss—slow, lingering, all promise.
“You sure you want to leave this room?” he murmured against my mouth.
I smiled, brushing my nose against his. “Very sure.”
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“It’s convincing,” I said, even as my fingers traced the line of his jaw like I might need to memorize it before we stepped back into the world. “If I don’t do this now, I’ll keep finding reasons not to.”
His thumb brushed my lower lip, gaze softening. “Then we’ll do it now.”
We dressed without fully detangling—his shirt ending up on me for a moment, my dress half-zipped while he pressed another kiss to my shoulder, my collarbone, the corner of my mouth. It felt impossible to stop touching, like our bodies had decided proximity was nonnegotiable.
At the door, I hesitated, glancing back at the suite.
It already felt like something more than a hotel room. A placeholder for a life forming in real time.
Wyatt noticed. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just … realizing Beth and Natasha are probably wondering about me.”
He smiled. “You want to warn them we’re not dead?”
“They can wait,” I said lightly. “They’ll get the full debrief later.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t think I’m ready to explain myself to an audience yet.”
I smiled, then paused. “Actually—wait here for one second.”
He looked amused but nodded, leaning back against the doorframe as I slipped back into the suite.
I crossed the room and opened my bag, my fingers brushing the edge of the frame before I even saw it.
The photo. Me in the middle, Wyatt on one side, Jonesy on the other—sunburned and grinning, arms slung around each other like nothing bad had ever happened, like the world had been safe then.
I set it on the console by the window, angled so it caught the light, so it would be the first thing you saw when you walked in.
When I came back to him, he was watching me carefully.
“I just wanted to put that somewhere we could see it,” I said softly. “Make this feel a little more like home.”
Something shifted in his expression—quiet, deep, unmistakable—as he reached for me, his hand settling at my lower back like it belonged there.
I smiled as he opened the door for me, guiding me out into the hallway, his touch steady and warm. The hotel felt different now—quieter, softer—as evening settled in and the lights dimmed, like the world was giving us space to begin.
In the elevator, he stood close enough that our arms brushed with every tiny shift. I could feel his attention on me.
“You sure you can do this?” he asked quietly as the numbers descended.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “With you.”
The doors opened, and the lobby greeted us with its hushed elegance. Sasha glanced up from the desk, her eyes flicking between us, then softening with something like approval.
“Heading out?” she asked.
“For a bit,” I said.
She nodded once, like she understood more than I’d told her. “I’ll be here.”
Outside, the air had cooled just enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. Wyatt noticed immediately, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over my shoulders before I could protest.
“I’m fine,” I said, though I leaned into the warmth, anyway.
“I know,” he said. “Still.”
We didn’t talk much as we walked. Not because there was nothing to say—but because the silence felt companionable instead of heavy.
Charleston at dusk had a way of easing itself into your senses.
Streetlights flickering on. The low murmur of voices drifting from open patios.
The faint scent of salt and something fried and delicious from somewhere nearby.
As we waited for a ride, my phone buzzed in my hand.
Beth: Alive? Kidnapped? Blink twice if you need rescue.
I smiled and typed back quickly.
I’m good. Will explain later. Promise.
Natasha’s message came in seconds later.
Natasha: We’re not worried. Just curious. Take your time.
Of course, she wasn’t worried.
When the car arrived, Wyatt opened the door for me, hand steady at my elbow as I climbed in. The city slid past the windows again, familiar now.
The bridge appeared in the distance sooner than I expected.
Even lit up, even beautiful, it made my chest tighten a little.
Wyatt felt it immediately. His hand found mine, fingers lacing together with quiet certainty. “I’ve got you,” he said.
I squeezed his hand back. “I know.”
The car pulled over near the pedestrian access, the bridge arching overhead like something both elegant and imposing. Traffic hummed steadily, a constant reminder of movement, momentum, life continuing.
We stood for a moment after stepping out, neither of us rushing forward.
“I don’t need to go all the way across,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“We’ll go as far as you want,” he replied. “And if you want to turn back, we turn back. No questions.”
I nodded, grounding myself in the feel of his presence, the weight of his jacket around my shoulders, the fact that I wasn’t alone.
I took one step forward.
Then another.
The bridge loomed, but it didn’t feel quite as monstrous as it had before.
We walked slowly, the city stretching out behind us, the harbor dark and wide beneath the lights. I focused on the rhythm of our steps, the way his thumb brushed over my knuckles, the steady sound of his breathing beside me.
Whatever waited on the other side—of the bridge, of this night, of this new life—I was here for it.