Chapter 31
Thirty One
Callan
The Mariner cut through open water, the marina disappearing into the distance behind us, and no one spoke for a long time; the only sound was the engine and the smack of waves against the hull.
I sat against the railing, watching Sloane. At first, she looked fine—quiet, still—but as the adrenaline seeped out of
Her hands trembled. She curled inward, slowly collapsing, staring down at the dark blood streaking her shirt and forearms, and her expression shifted from blank to horrified as the reality of it hit.
Her breathing went shallow and ragged as she scrubbed at her hands, rubbing them together hard, harder, like she could strip the skin clean if she kept going.
“Sloane,” I whispered.
Nothing. Her eyes stayed locked somewhere far away.
I stood, ignoring the sharp bolt of pain that radiated through my ankle, and looked toward the wheelhouse.
“Hey, Jeff.”
“Yeah?” he called back.
“Can we cut the engine for a bit?”
A pause. “Everything alright?”
I glanced back at Sloane, at the blood drying in her hair, her hands still working against each other.
“Yeah. I think we should give Sloane a bath.”
That reached her.
She looked up at me, confused. “A bath?”
I gave her a small, crooked smile.
“We’re going for a swim, love.”
Her eyebrows pulled together at the word. Love. Like she wasn’t sure she’d heard it right.
About a mile offshore, Jeff throttled down and killed the engine as the boat drifted on the slow rolling swell, rocking in the silence.
He stepped out of the wheelhouse and stretched his back.
“Honestly,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead, “we could all use one.”
Ethan looked down at his own shirt, streaked with grime and dark stains.
“Yeah. No argument here.”
I nodded. “Same.”
Without looking away from Sloane, I started unbuttoning my pants.
Her eyes widened. “Callan—”
I grinned. “Trust me.”
I hobbled to the edge and sat on the rail, swinging my legs over. The ocean stretched dark blue in every direction, the afternoon sun cutting white lines across the surface.
I pushed off the side, sliding into the water.
The cold hit, stole my breath, and shocked every nerve awake; along with it came relief. Saltwater rushed over my skin and pulled the blood and grime away, dissolving it into nothing.
I surfaced beside the hull, gasping, blinking water from my eyes.
A second later—
Splash.
Sloane surfaced nearby, her mouth open in a sharp gasp as the cold soaked through her clothes.
“Jesus!” she sputtered.
I chuckled. “Cold?”
“You think?”
But already the tension in her shoulders had loosened.
I swam slowly toward the stern ladder and rested my arm across the lowest rung. Up on the bow I could hear Jeff and Ethan hit the water too, their voices carrying across the surface—Ethan yelping at the temperature, Jeff telling him to stop being dramatic.
I gestured for Sloane to come closer; she swam over, hesitant, her strokes slow and tired.
When she reached the ladder, I moved in and guided her against it so she could hold the metal rungs.
The ocean rocked us in a steady, unhurried rhythm.
Her wet hair clung to her face. Blood diluted into faint pink ribbons in the water around us, swirling once before the current pulled them away.
I lifted my hands and slid them up her sides, steadying her against the boat.
“Hey,” I whispered.
She looked up at me, her eyes glassy, still carrying the ghost of that thing’s face inches from hers.
I brushed the hair off her cheek and pressed my lips to the side of her cheek, her temple, slowly, letting her relax, finally her mouth.
The kiss started soft, as if we were holding something back, as if too much pressure might shatter whatever thin wall kept us standing.
But her fingers curled into the front of my shirt and she pulled me closer, and the kiss deepened into something warmer.
When we broke apart, she stayed close, her breath uneven against my lips, and the tears came, silent at first. Her chin quivering, she buried her face against my shoulder, and the sobs broke free—raw, jagged sounds she’d been holding in.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her tight against me, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other locked across her back, my hand gripping the ladder. The water rocked us gently. I said nothing, simply held on.
Her fingers dug into my back as if I might slip away.
“I thought you were going to die,” she choked out, the words muffled against my shoulder.
My chest ached, a deep, physical ache that had nothing to do with the bruises.
“I know.”
“You jumped off a building, Callan.”
“Yeah. That part wasn’t ideal.”
She let out a small, broken laugh that collapsed into another sob halfway through.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she cried. “Watching people almost die. Watching you almost die.”
I pulled back to see her face. Her eyes were red. Her cheeks streaked with saltwater and tears.
“We’re still here,” I said.
“For now.”
I cupped her face in both hands, gentle, tilting her chin until her gaze met mine.
“Hey.”
She blinked.
“You did good today,” I whispered. “You saved my life back there.”
Her lips trembled. “Jeff did.”
“Jeff finished it, but you held that thing off, love. You kept it from taking my head off while I sat there cranking a goddamn pump handle.” I held her gaze. “That took guts, Sloane. Don’t sell yourself short.”
The ocean swayed and pushed us against the ladder. Her hands loosened their grip on my back, sliding forward to rest against my chest.
She leaned her forehead against my chest, and her breathing, ragged at first, became slower, steadier, and for a long, quiet moment we simply existed there.
Our shoulders felt the warmth of the sun, the water holding us up, the world not trying to kill us.
She whispered so softly I barely caught it over the sound of the waves.
“You called me love.”
I smiled slightly.
“Yeah.”
Her face lifted, and her eyes searched mine—vulnerable, a question in them she didn’t quite put into words.
“Why?”
My thumb traced across her cheekbone, wiping away the last streak of blood the ocean had missed.
“Because that’s what you are.”
* * *
Something shifted in the space between us then. She lifted her face and kissed me again, but this time it wasn’t careful.
It carried hunger and need that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with the simple, staggering fact that we’d both made it back to this moment alive.
Her mouth opened under mine, and I met her there, tasting salt and the faint metallic trace of what we’d survived. Her fingers slid up into my wet hair, tugging me closer, pulling as if she needed to eliminate every inch of space between us.
I pressed her back against the ladder rungs, one arm braced beside her head to keep us steady as the boat rocked; her body burned warm where it pressed against mine—alive, real.
I broke the kiss only long enough to murmur against her lips.
“You’re shaking.”
“So are you,” she whispered back.
I kissed the corner of her mouth.
My hands moved under the hem of her soaked shirt, sliding up the smooth skin of her sides.
She shivered, but not from the cold this time.
I peeled the wet fabric slowly upward, and she lifted her arms without hesitation, letting me pull it free.
I tossed it onto the deck above us, where it landed with a heavy slap.
The blood had dissolved, diluted to nothing by the saltwater.
It became hers now.
Us.
I traced the line of her shoulder with my lips, shifting lower, pressing slow kisses against the soft swell above her bra as the ocean lifted and lowered us together in its own unhurried rhythm.
She sighed, so quiet the waves almost swallowed it.
Her hands found the buttons of my shirt, fumbling them open with clumsy, eager fingers. When the fabric parted, she pressed both palms against my chest, right over my heart. Her fingers spread wide, as if she needed to touch as much of me as possible.
“You’re still here,” she breathed.
I covered her hands with mine.
“Still here, love.”
I kissed her again—deeper this time, slower, while my fingers traced along the edges of her bra, then eased beneath the cups, freeing her gently. Her nipples already tight in the cold water, pink and perfect, and the sharp little gasp she drew made my chest constrict.
I pulled her closer, skin to skin now, the warmth of her against me chasing away everything cold—the water, the fear, the memory of dead hands grabbing at her.
My mouth moved to her throat, finding the pulse that pounded just beneath the surface. She tilted her head back against the ladder, offering more. I took it—slow kisses down the column of her neck, across the ridge of her shoulder, then lower.
When my lips closed gently over one nipple, she arched against me, fingers digging hard into my shoulders.
“Callan…”
The way she said my name—half plea, half surrender—shattered something inside my chest that I’d been holding shut for longer than I wanted to admit.
I stayed there, tongue circling lazily, then drawing her in with soft, steady pressure until her hips rolled involuntarily against mine. The water turned every movement slow and liquid, almost dreamlike—the urgency blunted into something deeper, more deliberate.
I slid one hand down her waist, over the curve of her hip, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her pants.
She nodded against my temple. No hesitation.
“Yes.”
I worked them down as she helped me push the wet fabric past her hips, and it became immediately, absurdly difficult—soaked fabric clinging to skin, both of us kicking and twisting in the water, laughing breathlessly between kisses as they came free. I balled them up and threw them onto the deck.
Then the water held us bare beneath the surface, pressed together in the dark blue quiet of the open sea.
I lifted her slightly, guiding her legs around my waist. She locked her ankles behind me, her arms circling my neck.
The ladder at her back kept us anchored.
I held her there—one arm around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head—and the weight of her against me, the trust in it, undid me before we’d even started.
I eased the thin fabric of her panties aside.
“Look at me,” I whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open; those glassy, beautiful, exhausted eyes full of desire burned.
I reached between us, guiding myself to her slowly.
When I pressed inside, she inhaled sharply, then let it go in a long, trembling sigh I caught against my lips.
I stilled, allowing her to adjust. We both exist inside the moment—the connection, the impossible luck of still being alive enough to have this.
She rolled her hips.
A groan pulled from low in my throat, rough and involuntary.
“Easy, love,” I murmured.
She shook her head, small and stubborn, even now.
“Don’t be easy. Be here.”
So I moved.
Slow at first, long rolls that matched the rhythm of the swell beneath us, the ocean setting a pace that neither of us fought.
Each thrust drew a soft sound from her throat—private, meant only for the space between us.
Her fingers traced down my back, her nails pressing faintly enough to remind me she needed me closer.
I kissed her through it, open-mouthed, fervent kisses, swallowing every gasp she gave me and giving her mine. The water lapped gently around us, cool against heated skin.
I slid one hand between our bodies, fingers finding the sensitive place where we joined, and circled gently, steadily. Her head dropped back against the ladder rung, lips parting.
“Callan—oh God—”
I kissed the line of her throat where I could feel her pulse.
“I’ve got you.”
Her thighs tightened around me. Her breath came in short, desperate bursts, each one higher than the last. I kept the rhythm steady with my hand, my hips, giving her something constant to hold on to while everything else came apart.
When she came, it arrived quietly—a sharp, broken inhale. Her whole body locking around mine, every muscle drawn tight, trembling as it moved through her in waves. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, just breath, just my name shaped without words.
I held her through every second, kissing her nose, her cheek, the corner of her eye where tears had started again.
When the trembling eased, I moved again—slower now, more deliberate, each stroke deep and grinding, chasing my edge while drawing out the last of hers. She cupped my face in both hands, her thumbs brushed my cheekbones, her eyes held mine, steady and present and so full it hurt to look away.
“Come with me,” she whispered.
“I’m right here.”
A few more strokes—deep, unhurried, the ocean rocking us together—and the tension broke.
I buried my face against her neck as it hit, a low groan torn from somewhere in my chest I didn’t know existed. She held me through it just as tightly as I’d held her, her arms locked around my shoulders, her lips pressed against my ear, breathing with me.
We stayed locked together for a long time afterward, hearts beating against each other. The ocean kept its rhythm beneath us—gentle now, almost protective, like it understood what had just happened.
She lifted her head, her eyes had cleared. The haunted, glassy look from the dock—gone, replaced by a softer, more vulnerable look, something I wanted to keep looking at forever.
“Thank you,” she murmured against my mouth.
“For what?”
“For this, for still being here.” A pause. “For calling me love.”
I smiled, brushing damp strands of hair from her face.
It sat in my chest—the bigger one, the real one—pressing against my heart like it wanted out.
I’d known it for a while, maybe longer than I’d admitted to myself.
Before the marina, before any of this. Back when the world still made sense and Sadie still occupied some of the space where Sloane now lived, I think some part of me already understood that what I wanted with Sloane ran deeper than what I’d been holding onto with someone else.
I wasn’t ready to say it yet.
But I kissed her once more—soft, sure, unhurried—and let it live in that instead.
She rested her head against my shoulder, and we floated there.
Up on the bow, Jeff and Ethan still splashed around, their laughter carrying across the water. Whether they’d given us privacy on purpose or simply chosen not to look, I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
The boat drifted on the current.
The sun sank lower, painting the water in long streaks of copper and gold.
And for a few minutes, the world let us be.