Chapter 56
Chapter Fifty-Six
TALLY
Then it all floods back. The fall. The ravine.
My leg snapping like a twig. Screaming until my throat was raw, but nobody came.
No water. Just that pathetic excuse for a blanket while the wind cut through me at thirty degrees.
I remember thinking: this is it. This is how I die.
Even heard search helicopters at one point, their spotlights sweeping the darkness, voices booming over loudspeakers asking hikers to keep an eye out for me.
They were looking in all the wrong places.
So who the hell found me?
Then Cameron walks in and my pulse stutters to a halt.
My eyes dart straight to his left hand—bare.
No ring. Shit. That doesn't necessarily mean anything though.
Could be at the jeweler's getting sized.
Maybe the platinum gave him a rash. Whatever.
I'm not about to assume he ditched Willow at the altar.
But wait...I rub my temple, trying to sort through the fog.
During that nightmare in the ravine, didn't he call out asking for my location?
And didn't I mumble something about mile four?
Christ, I was so out of it. I also thought I saw my toddler scrambling down that same rocky slope—which is obviously batshit impossible.
So yeah, probably just another fever dream from my screwed-up brain.
"Cam," I say, my voice catching in my throat.
"What' s going on?" Dammit, it's been, what, six months since I've seen him?
Six months since I've seen those ocean-blue eyes, that perfect jawline with just enough stubble to make my fingertips tingle.
My heart hammers against my ribs like it' s trying to escape.
I don't want this reaction. I don't want to feel like I'm seventeen again, breathless and stupid.
I have to remember, he's a married man. Presumably anyway.
I mean, of course he is. That entire wedding was locked and loaded, and from what Celeste told me, it was going to drain a small fortune.
Grass-fed Wagyu beef with caramelized edges, wild-caught Alaskan salmon drizzled with some fancy French sauce I can't pronounce, all prepared by some hotshot five-star Michelin chef with a name like a sneeze.
Celeste bombarded me with pictures of the cakes—her bridal cake towering six tiers high, pristine white frosting with delicate swirls the color of a Hawaiian sunset, and sugar pearls that glistened like morning dew draped all around each layer.
His groom's cake was this clever little masterpiece with a baby blue fondant base topped with the sculpted torso of a doctor, complete with a real stethoscope wrapped around it and tiny edible surgical instruments scattered across the top.
They had that sprawling Victorian mansion with the manicured gardens and amazing courtyard all booked, with guests flying in from as far as Sydney and London.
And her dress—God, her dress was hand-stitched by that famous designer, Claire Pettibone, whose gowns have graced everyone from Silicon Valley royalty to Hollywood A-listers, all those intricate lace patterns and beadwork that probably cost more than my Jeep.
So yeah, there wasn't a penny pinched for this whole extravaganza, which means the chances he actually left her at the altar are about as likely as me winning the lottery while being struck by lightning.
He slides onto the bed beside me, taking my left hand in his.
I can't help but stare at his fingers, searching for that telltale indentation—the ghost of a wedding band hastily removed before walking through my door.
Maybe that's it. Maybe he's just trying to spare the almost-roadkill girl any additional trauma.
But something in those eyes of his tells a different story.
When he brushes my hair back from my face, his gaze lingering on mine, my chest tightens.
Fuck. That's the same look he used to give me.
If he's somebody's husband now but still looking at me like that?
Hard pass. I've got enough shit to process—like how I nearly became a skid mark on the highway of life, how I almost left Brinley without a mother.
Out there in that ravine, I'd made my peace with Cameron and Willow raising her.
Christ, they might've erased me completely from her life.
Mom wouldn't stand for that—her precious grandbaby and all—but still.
So, here we are, the two of us laying in this hospital bed together, my body curled against his like a question mark.
His fingers trace slow circles through my hair, each movement sending tiny electric currents down my spine.
That cologne of his—Dior’s Sauvage Elixir—wraps around us like a velvet shadow.
It's all dark notes of truffle and night-blooming flowers, so at odds with the sunshine of his personality, like he's carrying midnight with him in broad daylight.
His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek in a rhythm steady as a metronome, and the thump-thump of his heart pulses against my ear.
I just want to freeze this moment, pretend he’s not married, that the antiseptic hospital smell isn't reminding me this isn't real.
I nestle deeper into the hollow of his shoulder, and the sigh that escapes him ripples through us both.
“So,” I finally say. “How was the wedding?”
He lets out a soft laugh. "The wedding never happened. A certain someone decided to play hide and seek in the forest, and I had to join the search party."
Me. He means me. Wait—what? I remember the helicopter blades chopping through air above me, remember being half-delirious when they finally found me. But did he seriously put his wedding on hold to come looking for me?
"You canceled your wedding day because I got lost? God, I'm sorry. That mountain lion came out of nowhere and I just... fell. Kept falling until I couldn't hear anyone from the trail anymore. Not my finest moment."
"It's poetic, in a way," he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. "First time we met, it was because a deer sent your Jeep rolling. Now a mountain lion sends you tumbling down a mountainside and back to me. The universe has a strange sense of humor."
His words bounce around my skull like a pinball.
Me tumbling down a mountainside and back to him.
Back. To. Him. Nope. Not getting my hopes up.
Not happening. But damn if it doesn't sound like he might've called off his wedding for me.
For real. If that's true, I've gotta come clean about everything.
When I was out there thinking I was toast, I had this moment of clarity—I'm a complete moron.
Staring death in the face makes you realize how much it'll suck to die without ever really living.
That's what hit me. I was about to check out without ever telling Cameron how I felt.
I made this bargain with the universe: get me out alive, and I'll stop half-assing life.
I'll ditch all the commitment-phobic garbage that's been keeping me from Cameron.
I'll just be with him. All in. Wife, whatever. If I could just get one more shot.
I squint up at him. "Cam, what exactly did you mean about the mountain lion bringing me back to you? Aren't you still marrying Willow?"
"No." His fingers continue their gentle path through my hair as he exhales deeply.
"I couldn't go through with it. Not when it's you I'm in love with.
It's always been you, Tally." His voice drops lower.
"Maybe you don't want to hear this. Maybe I'm scaring you right now, but I stopped caring about that.
" He pauses, shaking his head. "That came out wrong.
Your feelings matter more than anything.
What I mean is—I'll take whatever part of your life you're willing to share.
Because I finally understand something." His eyes lock with mine.
"You own my heart completely, and I refuse to settle for anyone else. Not anymore."
I blink hard, wondering if I'm still lying in that ravine, my mind spinning fever dreams. Is this real? Cameron's words echo in my ears—he wants me, baggage and all. No ultimatums. No pressure. He'll take whatever scraps of myself I'm willing to share.
My chest tightens. It's like some twisted version of that old Christmas story—he's offering patience when I'm finally ready to leap.
I look at him—really look at him. Those steady hands that have never struck out in anger. Those eyes that have never gone cold with disappointment. He's nothing like the parade of losers my mom dragged home, nothing like the ghosts I've been running from.
That social worker was right. I've spent my whole life believing I broke my mother, carrying that weight.
But with Cameron? For the first time, I'm not afraid of what I might destroy.
I'm only afraid of what I'll miss if I don't say yes to everything—the ring, the vows, the whole damn fairy tale.
Because I love him. God help me, I love him completely.
I grip the edge of the hospital bed. "Cam, if you're serious about not marrying Willow, if I'm really—" My voice catches. "If this mess of a woman is truly enough for you, there's something you need to know."
His fingers find mine. "Nothing you say will change where I stand. I belong with you, Tally. That's non-negotiable."
I squeeze his hand, feeling the calluses from years of medical work.
"Cameron Kensington," I whisper, my throat tight.
"When I was stuck in that ravine for those few days, when I thought it was all over—" I swallow hard.
"I realized I'd been half-dead anyway. Walking around breathing but never actually living.
Never saying the one thing that mattered. "
His blue eyes lock onto mine, pupils dilating. I feel his pulse jump beneath my fingertips.
"Cameron fucking Kensington," I say again, savoring each syllable like the whiskey on my tongue.
"I love you. God help me, I've loved you since you stitched me up that first night when I rolled my Jeep all those months ago.
I've just been too chickenshit to admit it.
But nearly dying out in the wilderness, alone, has a way of cutting through the bullshit.
I love you. I want you. I'll marry you tomorrow if you'll have me. "
His eyes go soft. "Tally," he whispers, like my name is something fragile. "I've been waiting to hear that since the moment I saw you."
His lips find mine, and suddenly words don't matter anymore.