Epilogue - Full Circle
TARA
It’s just before sunrise on Lake Harriet, and I’m alone on the dock, wearing nothing but Hunter’s jacket and my own goosebumps.
The jacket is too big—sleeves swallowing my hands, collar scented with the ghost of his aftershave.
The zipper’s stuck halfway, so the wind slides right in, lapping at my thighs, and I shiver, not from cold but from the way the world feels, fragile and brand new.
The dock boards are slick with dew, stinging my bare feet, and out over the water the mist clings to the surface like a translucent white ghost. It’s the kind of morning that makes you believe in resets.
Behind me, the cabin is dark, windows glowing with the earliest echo of sunrise.
The place used to be rickety and a bit rundown—it was comfortable, but the floors were always a little crooked, the windows creaked, and there was plumbing that screamed like a banshee.
Now, thanks to Hunter’s over-the-top remodel, it’s all radiant heat, soft throw blankets, and those fancy open shelves lined with espresso mugs instead of fish hooks.
The porch is deep and wide, perfect for sleeping off a hangover or watching a storm come in, and the new glass sliders open onto the dock, where I’m standing now, toes numb and heart full.
A year ago, I was nowhere. Less than nowhere.
I remember waking up in a daze with no name, and stumbling around the city streets until Hunter found me.
Then he brought me to Sanctum for a virgin auction, and it was amazing.
I shiver remembering my experience. I loved being in the spotlight being hungrily devoured by billionaires, but now, I’m with one billionaire only: Hunter McCarren.
I breathe in, and the cold punches my lungs.
There’s a sharpness to the air that belongs to Minnesota in spring—a promise that winter isn’t really done with you, not ever.
The lake is still iced over in places, glassy plates floating over open water.
I walk to the edge of the dock, let the boards creak and flex under me, and look down at my own reflection: pale skin, wild hair, and big blue eyes which are both innocent and knowing at once.
It’s the image of a beautiful woman who is loved.
I remember jumping in. I remember the way the water felt a year ago, the shock of it, the way it slammed the breath out of me and then filled my head with memories, all at once, like flipping through the world’s most vivid photo album.
I remember the panic, the dark, the feeling of being pulled up from underneath by strong hands and then dragged onto the splintered dock, coughing and shivering and sobbing like a wet dog.
I remember Hunter’s voice, low and hoarse: “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”
He’s inside now, probably making coffee, but I can feel him watching me from the window. He doesn’t hover—not anymore—but he keeps his distance the way a wolf circles a campfire: always just outside the light, always waiting for the chance to save me.
I press my hand to the hollow of my throat, feeling the thump of my heart, and let the memories roll through me.
The crash. The auction. The loss and confusion, and learning how to live with myself.
The way Hunter held me in his arms the night I remembered my name, rocking me until my shaking stopped.
Also, the loving. The endless understanding from my handsome savior which resulted in a passionate, romantic relationship.
I didn’t think our parents would take it well, but in the end, it’s been okay.
The sliding door hisses open behind me, and Hunter steps out.
He’s barefoot, in gym shorts and a threadbare sweatshirt, hair sticking up in every direction.
He looks gorgeous, even in disarray, that bronzed chest thick, and his package evident even through the loose shorts. Some things never change.
He doesn’t say anything right away, just walks the length of the dock and stops beside me, his heat radiating through the cold.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice still thick from bed.
I shake my head. “Didn’t want to.”
He looks out at the water, hands in his pockets. “You gonna do it?”
I smile, eyes sparkling. “Would you stop me?”
He shrugs. “Probably not. But I’d jump in after you.”
We stand like that, the two of us, looking out at the ice and the fog and the tiny ripples where the wind bites the water. I can feel him wanting to reach for me, but he waits, lets me have the first move.
“Do you remember this day last year?” I ask.
His eyes flick to me, and there’s something dark and soft in them. “Every second.”
I lean into his side, letting his arm slide around me, and press my cheek to his shoulder. “I died, a little,” I say. “And then I got to start over.”
He squeezes me, and I can feel his heartbeat through the jacket.
“You didn’t die,” he says. “You just changed, a little. You became the new Tara, with a side of Daisy.”
I close my eyes and breathe him in—coffee, soap, the salt of a virile man. “You’re such a sap.”
He laughs, and the sound is a low rumble as he pulls me close to that big form.
We stay like that, wrapped in each other, while the sun cracks the sky and the lake turns from silver to blue. There’s a peace to it, a steadiness I never thought I’d find. After a while, I pull away and stretch, feeling the blood rush to my limbs.
“Did you ever think we’d make it this far?” I ask, picking at a loose thread on the jacket.
He thinks about it, then nods. “Yeah. I did. Maybe not here, or like this, but…” He gestures at the lake, the house, the world. “I always knew you’d land on your feet, baby.”
I snort. “I think I’m still falling.”
He grins, that wolfish flash of teeth that gets me every time. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to get boring.”
We walk back to the porch, hand in hand. Inside, the house is warm and full of light, and on the kitchen counter there are two mugs of coffee and a stack of college textbooks. I see my name in sharpie on a notebook, underlined twice: TARA MONROE.
He pours me a cup and slides it across. I wrap my hands around it, soaking in the heat.
“So,” he says, leaning on the counter, “first year down. Any regrets?”
I shake my head. “None that I can’t live with.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You mean the time you got banned from the psych building for pulling a fire alarm?”
I laugh. “That was science. I was gathering data.”
He rolls his eyes but smiles, and I can tell he’s proud. He’s always been proud, even when I was a mess. Maybe especially then.
“Next year’s going to be even better,” I say, and I mean it.
He nods, pouring himself another cup. “You’re gonna own that place.”
We sit at the table, sunlight pouring in, and he tells me about his new venture—a recovery program for trauma survivors in the Twin Cities area, which will include immersion treatment, sensory retraining, and even equine-assisted therapy.
He says he did it because of me, and it makes me so happy.
Hunter wants to help others like me, and I’m grateful to him for his commitment.
The phone buzzes, and it’s my dad, already texting about this weekend’s plans.
Our parents are coming out for a barbecue, and Catherine wants to know what dessert she can contribute.
I laugh, thinking about how far we’ve come from awkward confessions at a restaurant.
Now we’re just another happy couple with a lot of history, but not one iota of shame.
I lean back, stretching my legs under the table, and let the moment settle. There’s a peace in it, a wholeness I never knew I wanted.
Hunter watches me, blue eyes soft and fierce at once.
“You’re thinking something,” he says.
I smile sweetly. “I’m thinking I want you.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He never does. In a second, I’m in his arms, jacket slipping off my shoulders, his mouth on my neck, hands tracing every inch of skin like he’s memorizing it for later.
We don’t make it to the bedroom. We don’t even make it to the sofa. The morning sun lights us up right there on the kitchen floor, and I revel in it.
Because this is what a year of survival looks like: a thousand small victories, a thousand bigger defeats, and a love that burns through all of it.
When the passion is over, we lie tangled together, breathless and spent, and I realize I don’t miss Daisy, not really. She’s still with me, in the hunger and the laughter and the refusal to quit. But I don’t need her to take over anymore.
I’m me.
And I’m home.
The lake outside is bright with sunlight, the dock already drying, the world awake and alive. I watch the wind scatter the mist, and I think: I could do another year of this. I could do a whole lifetime.
Hunter kisses my shoulder, soft and slow.
“Happy anniversary, baby,” he whispers.
I smile, eyes closed.
“Yeah,” I say. “It really is.”
Sunset stains the sky with oranges and violets as I walk the length of the dock, a bottle of wine in my hand and my heart making a mess of my ribs.
Hunter’s message said nothing except “come down at seven,” and the way he grinned as he pressed the note into my palm told me I’d regret it if I didn’t.
I’m in the blue dress he got me for my birthday last fall—the one that wraps my body like a second skin, the hem fluttering around my thighs with every nervous step.
I haven’t worn it since that day, but it fits better now, my body fuller, stronger, more mine.
He said the color matched my eyes, and I wanted to roll my own eyes at him, but I liked it more than I wanted to admit.
When I reach the end of the dock, I stop dead.