Chapter 31
31
ISABEL
T he explosion shattered the night.
The fire. The smoke. The screams.
I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I ran.
After what felt like an eternity, the SUV door finally slammed open. My feet hit the pavement hard, one ankle twisting, but I barely felt the pain. The world had narrowed to the flames licking hungrily at the sky, to the crackling splinters of wood collapsing into the ocean, to the place where Ryker and Will had been—where they had just been.
They were gone.
I shoved past one of Ryker’s men, barely hearing his shouted warning as I sprinted toward the wreckage of the pier. Folly Beach residents were already pouring into the streets, some clutching their phones, some frozen in place, their expressions twisted in horror.
Folly Beach Pier had stood for decades, stretching proudly into the Atlantic, a landmark as much a part of Charleston’s coastline as the marshes and barrier islands. It had weathered hurricanes, Nor’easters, and the relentless salt air that ate away at anything man-made. Generations of locals and tourists had walked its length, fingers laced together, pausing to watch the fishermen lean over the railings, hoping for a lucky catch.
How many marriage proposals had happened there, with the waves crashing below and the sky painted in sunset hues? How many whispered confessions, first kisses, and stolen moments had unfolded beneath the glow of the string lights lining its edges? How many families had stood at the very end, hands trembling as they let the ashes of their loved ones scatter into the endless blue?
And now, it was gone.
A piece of history, a part of the heart of Folly Beach, obliterated in an instant—nothing but flames and splintered wood sinking into the sea.
Sirens howled in the distance. Boats cut through the water, Dominion Hall’s men converging from every direction, shadows in the chaos.
The scene before me didn’t look real. It looked like something out of a big-budget action movie, the kind with CGI explosions and carefully orchestrated mayhem—except this wasn’t Hollywood. This was real. Too real.
The skeletal remains of the pier jutted from the water like broken ribs, charred wood still smoldering, sending thick plumes of black smoke curling into the night sky. The fire cast an eerie glow, reflecting off the waves, turning the ocean into a rolling expanse of molten gold and deep, endless shadow.
Chunks of the pier’s wooden planks bobbed in the water like lifeless bodies, pieces of railing twisting and sinking beneath the surface. Sparks crackled in the air, embers drifting lazily, carried by the wind, as if oblivious to the devastation below .
People stood frozen on the shoreline, their faces illuminated by the glow of the fire, their mouths open in shock. Some were filming, their phones raised with shaking hands, capturing the kind of destruction most people only saw in movies.
But I wasn’t watching through a screen.
I was living it.
I couldn’t breathe.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
“Ryker!” My voice was raw, torn from my throat as I hit the sand, my knees slamming into the damp earth.
I didn’t feel the pain. Not really. I knew I should have. My knees had hit the sand hard enough to bruise, but the shock of it barely registered. My palms stung where they had scraped against scattered debris, my breath was coming too fast, too shallow, but it was all distant, like it was happening to someone else.
I had read about this before—the way the body could shut down pain in moments of extreme distress, how adrenaline could hijack the nervous system, dull sensation, make everything feel surreal. A survival mechanism. A trick of the brain to keep you from breaking when you should.
But I had never experienced it.
Until now.
Now, I understood it in a way I wished I didn’t.
The numbness wasn’t mercy. It was a delay. The pain would come later, crashing over me like a tidal wave, dragging me under.
The scent of smoke and salt filled my lungs, acrid and burning. My hands clawed at the sand, at nothing. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see.
He was in there.
They both were .
My vision blurred, my pulse a frantic, erratic drum against my ribs. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t fucking happening . Ryker—unstoppable, unbreakable Ryker—couldn’t be gone. Will, my brother, the person I had loved since before I understood what love was, couldn’t be?—
A guttural, broken sob ripped from my throat.
I had lost them.
My chest caved in on itself, the weight of it suffocating, pressing down like an iron vice. My mind fought to grasp onto something, anything, but the only thing waiting for me was emptiness.
What was life supposed to look like without them?
Will—my brother, my protector, the last real link to my family. The man who had carried me through every loss, who had made the world feel safe even when it wasn’t. And Ryker—God, Ryker. The man who had consumed me, wrecked me, who had carved his name into my soul like it had always been meant to be there.
What did I have without them?
I tried to picture it. Tried to force my mind forward, past the pain, past the devastation, past this horrible day.
Would I be allowed at Ryker’s funeral?
I had no legal claim to him. No ring on my finger. No official title. Just a love that burned through me, a love that felt written in my bones. But that didn’t matter in the end, did it?
His brothers would stand in perfect formation, their faces unreadable, their hands clenched at their sides as the honor guard carried his casket. The sharp crack of the three-volley salute would echo through the air, precise and final. A bugle would cry out the notes of Taps , haunting in its simplicity, stretching over the gathered mourners like a whispered goodbye .
And then—someone would be given the folded flag.
Who would it be? Marcus, maybe. Or one of his other brothers, the ones who had fought beside him, bled beside him. The ones the military still recognized as his next of kin. Not me.
If we had been married, if we had made it that far, I would have been the one they handed it to. I would have stood there in black, my hands trembling, my heart shattered, as the weight of that flag pressed into my palms. The final symbol of his service, his sacrifice.
But we weren’t married.
We hadn’t made it that far.
And now, we never would.
I’d have to go back to my apartment, back to rooming with Pia, back to standing behind a desk at The Palmetto Rose like my world hadn’t just ended. Like I hadn’t already given myself over to a future that no longer existed.
I had been ready to be his wife.
Ready to carry his name, to build a life with him, to have his babies.
But now what?
The thought of going back, of pretending any part of me was the same, was unbearable.
I wasn’t the same.
And I never would be again.
A ragged sob tore from my throat, my body giving out as I completely collapsed into the damp sand. The earth was cold beneath me, rough and unyielding, but I barely felt it. My hands clawed at the ground, grasping at nothing, at everything, as the weight of grief swallowed me whole.
I wailed, a sound so raw, so broken, it barely felt human. It didn’t matter who heard. Didn’t matter that Ryker’s men were still around, that Folly Beach residents stood frozen in the distance, their faces pale with horror. Nothing mattered.
Because Ryker was gone.
Will was gone.
And I was still here.
Tears streamed down my face, hot and unrelenting, soaking into the sand beneath me. My body trembled with the force of my anguish, my ribs cracking under the pressure of a grief too big to contain.
So this was what it felt like.
This was why people who lost their great loves never recovered. This was why some of them didn’t want to live anymore.
Because what was the point?
How was I supposed to exist in a world without Ryker? Without Will?
The ocean called to me, its waves rolling in slow and steady, the tide reaching for me like an open hand. I understood now, in a way I never had before, how someone could walk into the water and never turn back. How they could let the sea cradle them, let the weight of it pull them under, let it fill their lungs until there was no more pain.
It would be so easy.
One step.
Then another.
Then nothing.
The idea slithered through my mind, deceptively soft, whispering promises of peace.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe this was what people meant when they said their life flashed before their eyes .
Because suddenly, I was eight years old again, sitting in the back seat of my dad’s old Chevy, my feet barely reaching the floor as Will sat beside me, grinning like he had a secret. Dad had taken us out for ice cream, even though we hadn’t finished dinner, his laughter rumbling through the truck like music as he reached over to ruffle Will’s hair, then mine.
"Sometimes, the rules don’t matter, kiddo," Dad had said, handing me a melting cone of vanilla with rainbow sprinkles. "Sometimes, you just gotta take the good when it comes."
The memory cracked open something inside me, something raw and bleeding, because I could still feel the stickiness of the ice cream on my fingers, could still hear Will complaining that mine had more sprinkles than his. I could still see Dad’s smile in the rearview mirror, warm and safe, his eyes crinkled at the edges.
But Dad was gone.
And now Will was, too.
And Ryker.
A sob tore from my throat, my body curling deeper into the sand as more memories came rushing in, relentless and cruel.
Will teaching me how to ride a bike in the school parking lot, his hands steady on the seat, his voice encouraging even when I fell.
Will sneaking me into a PG-13 movie when I was ten, bribing the cashier with an extra five bucks and a cocky grin.
Will hugging me so tight the day Dad died, whispering, I’ve got you, Izzy. It’s just us now. I’ve got you.
And then Ryker.
Ryker pressing his forehead to mine in the dark, whispering things he’d never say in the light .
Ryker holding me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Ryker telling me he’d burn the world for me.
God, was this it? Was I meant to die here, with them? Was this how my story ended?
Alone, broken, staring into the abyss of what could have been?
I wasn’t supposed to be alone.
I was supposed to have Will beside me, laughing at some stupid joke. I was supposed to have Ryker gripping my waist, dragging me against him like he couldn’t stand the space between us.
I was supposed to have a future.
A wedding.
A life.
Maybe even a baby with Ryker’s dark eyes and dangerous smirk.
But fate had ripped it all away.
And now, there was nothing.
Nothing but the howling wind, the scent of fire and salt, and the crushing weight of a world without them.
I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t walk away from this beach, from the flames, from the blackened ruin of the pier where the two people I loved most in the world had just been swallowed whole.
I had nothing left.
My body felt light, almost detached, like I was floating outside myself, watching as my feet carried me forward, toward the water. The waves licked at the shore, dark and endless, whispering in soft, soothing murmurs.
The ocean had always been there, waiting. It had always been patient, always stretching out its arms for the lost .
Maybe that was all I was now.
Lost.
A wretched sob tore from my throat, my feet sinking into the cold, wet sand as I took another step. And another.
A few more, and I would be in the water.
A few more, and the current would take me.
A few more, and I would be with them.
“Izzy!”
I barely heard the shout. It was distant, meaningless, like the voices of the Folly Beach residents calling out in horror, like the sirens still wailing through the night.
Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, yanking me back just as the first wave crashed against my ankles. I struggled, twisting, clawing, but the grip was unyielding, dragging me away from the water.
“No—no, let me go!” My voice was ragged, frantic, as I fought against the hands gripping my arms. “Let me go! ”
“Stop,” one of Ryker’s men ground out, his breath heavy in my ear. “You don’t want to do this.”
How did he know what I was doing? It didn’t matter, because I didn’t have the energy to fake being okay.
“Yes, I do!” I choked on a sob, my body trembling violently. “They’re gone! They’re gone! ”
Another set of hands joined the first, stronger this time, locking around my waist as I screamed, as I thrashed, as I tried with everything in me to break free.
“Izzy, stop!”
I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
Because if I stopped, then I had to face it.
If I stopped, I had to accept the truth.
That there was no Ryker .
No Will.
No us.
Only a cold, empty world without them.
And I didn’t want to live in that world.
“I’m done!” I shouted. “Done with this world. Just let me go with them. Please!”
Heaving sobs overtook me. I had lost ?—
The sound of an engine roared through the fog.
My head snapped up.
Through the smoke, through the thick haze rolling off the water, a boat surged toward the shore, slicing through the waves like a ghost appearing from the abyss. The sight of it knocked the breath from my lungs.
There were other boats out there—rescue vessels, Dominion Hall’s teams cutting through the waves, responding to the chaos. But this one— this one —was different.
It wasn’t moving like the others, weaving through the wreckage, searching, scanning. This boat had a purpose . A single, unrelenting destination. It was coming straight for shore, slicing through the water with the kind of singular focus that set my pulse hammering.
It wasn’t aimless. It wasn’t searching.
It was returning.
My breath caught, my chest tightening so fast it was painful.
Because there was only one reason a boat would be heading straight for land like that.
It was bringing someone back.
A body stood at the bow, gripping the railing. Tall, broad-shouldered, shirt torn, blood streaking his face?—
Will.
His voice cut through the chaos, raw and exasperated. “I told you not to come looking for me. ”
A choked gasp caught in my throat. I barely registered my own body moving. One second, I was being restrained, and the next, I had broken free and was scrambling toward the water, pushing through the surf as the boat ground into the shallows.
Will jumped down first, his boots sinking into the wet sand, his battered face twisting into something between relief and frustration as I slammed into him.
His arms locked around me, strong and unyielding, his breath ragged against my hair. I didn’t care that he smelled like smoke and seawater, didn’t care that my tears were wetting his ruined shirt. I only clung to him, my hands fisting the fabric at his back, my chest shaking with silent sobs.
“You asshole,” I choked out. “You absolute asshole.”
His chest rumbled with something like a broken laugh, but his grip on me only tightened. “Yeah,” he muttered, pressing a rough, unsteady kiss to my hair. “I know.”
I didn’t let go. Not yet.
Not until heavy footsteps crunched against the shore.
Not until I felt the shift in the air, the gravitational pull.
Ryker.
I turned just as he reached us, and then I was in his arms.
His body was solid, burning hot even through the dampness of his clothes. His chest rose and fell against mine, every breath deep, controlled, like he was still coming down from war. His fingers slid into my hair, tilting my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
The world burned around us, the sirens screamed, but all I could see was him.
Will lingered for only a moment before exhaling sharply and stepping away, running a hand through his damp hair. His gaze swept over the chaos, his expression hardening as he turned toward the men moving along the shoreline, already falling into conversation with one of Ryker’s brothers. He was focused on something else now—debriefing, securing the scene, making sense of what had just happened.
He didn’t see the way Ryker pulled me closer.
Didn’t notice the way my fingers curled into his soaked shirt, the way my breath caught as his thumb brushed against my cheekbone.
Didn’t see the way Ryker looked at me—like I was the only thing that mattered.
And for now, maybe that was for the best.
Ryker’s dark eyes roamed my face like he was searching for proof that I was real. That we were real.
I wasn’t the one who spoke first.
He was.
“I promised you.”
My chest caved.
A sob, a breath, a laugh—I didn’t know what sound escaped me, only that I couldn’t hold it in. I surged up, capturing his mouth in a desperate, searing kiss, pouring every ounce of relief, every shredded emotion into him.
His response was immediate.
Fierce. Overpowering.
He lifted me, my legs locking around his waist, his hands anchoring me against him, his grip bruising and possessive and perfect. He kissed me like he was still claiming me, like he hadn’t just survived a goddamn explosion, like he wasn’t even remotely concerned about the dozens of people watching us.
“I fucking love you,” I breathed against his lips, my fingers tangling in his hair, my body trembling against his. “I love you, Ryker Dane.”
His entire body tensed.
And then?—
“Say it again.”
I cupped his jaw, holding his gaze, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “I love you.”
Something inside him shattered.
His lips crashed against mine again, a growl vibrating in his chest, and when he finally pulled back, his hands gripped my face, his forehead pressing to mine.
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving you’re right,” he murmured.
The world could have ended right then, and I wouldn’t have cared.
He was alive.
They both were.
And no matter what came next, no matter what war was still brewing in the shadows?—
This moment belonged to us.