Chapter 55
FIFTY-FIVE
TRISTAN
The cold water is a living thing, wrapping around my body like hundreds of hands trying to drag me into the void.
I don't care.
I've survived worse. And nothing—not the cold, not the dark, not the fire building in my lungs—is going to stop me from finding them.
I swim down, my hands sweeping through freezing black water. Reaching. Searching. Every second stretching as Hale's face flashes through my mind.
I will tear this river apart molecule by molecule before I let it take him from me.
My fingers close on fabric.
Keira's right there, not flailing or drowning but holding strong.
She's fighting.
Through the murk, I catch the glint of metal in her hand. A blade, sawing through the rope binding Hale's ankle.
She came prepared.
That's my fucking girl.
I don't waste time on relief. I grab the rope with both hands and pull in the opposite direction, creating tension for her blade. The fibers are thick, but between her edge and my strength, they begin to fray.
Hale floats limp between us.
Don't you dare.
The rope finally snaps, and the concrete block plummets into the abyss below.
I hook one arm around my son's small body, the other around Keira's waist. My lungs are burning, vision starting to narrow, but I kick toward the surface with everything I have left. Every muscle. Every ounce of strength. Every promise I've ever made to the woman beside me and the boy in my arms.
Not like this.
Not when we're this fucking close.
We break through.
Air tears into my frozen lungs. My body fights for oxygen while I struggle to keep us afloat. Keira is choking up water beside me, gasping, but she's breathing. She's alive.
Hale is still, lips blue, his body hanging limp in my grip.
His chest doesn't rise.
"Hale." I shake him gently. Then harder. "Hale, come on—"
Nothing.
An engine sounds, then sweeping lights are on us.
"I'VE GOT THEM!" Zoe's voice. Has to be.
A speedboat appears out of nowhere. Hands reach down, hauling us over the side. I don't let go of Hale. The moment my knees hit the deck, I lay him flat, tilting his head back, pinching his nose.
I seal my mouth over his and breathe. Once. Twice. Watch his small chest rise and fall with borrowed air.
Then I start compressions.
The heel of my hand finds the center of his sternum. I press down, counting thirty controlled, steady compressions.
One. Two. Three.
My son is not going to die on this boat.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
Keira moves beside me, cradling his face in her trembling hands.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
"Come on, buddy. Stay with me."
Twenty-three. Twenty-four.
Please.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
Keira tilts his head back and breathes for him. One. Two.
I watch his chest rise with air he didn't take on his own.
Then I start another round.
She's on her knees beside us, shaking so hard her teeth are chattering. Water streams from her hair, her ruined gown, mixing with blood seeping from somewhere I can't see.
"He's going to be okay," I tell her without breaking rhythm. "Look at me, Keira. He's going to be okay."
Five. Six. Seven.
I don't know if I'm lying.
Twelve. Thirteen.
I can't think about that.
Nineteen. Twenty.
Just keep counting. Keep pushing. Keep his blood moving until his heart remembers how.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
Keira breathes for him again.
I start another round of compressions, and somewhere around the fifth one, Hale's body jerks.
Then he coughs.
A sputtering, choking, glorious sound that rips through me.
Water pours from his mouth in a rush. He's gasping, crying, his small body convulsing as his lungs remember their purpose.
"That's it." I turn him onto his side, rubbing his back as more water comes up. "That's it, buddy. Get it all out. You're okay."
I pull him against my chest.
"Daddy's got you."
The word falls out before I can stop it.
Shit.
I've never thought of myself like that. Never dared to, even in my own head. But watching his eyes flutter open—confused and terrified but alive—I can't explain the feeling.
Keira makes a sound that's half sob, half laugh, and then she's gathering him from my arms, rocking him while tears stream down her face.
"You're okay, baby. You're okay. Mommy's here. Mommy's got you."
I sit back on my heels and let myself feel it.
Relief finally crashes through me like an absolute wave. My hands are shaking now, adrenaline fading, every injury I ignored screaming for attention. The cut on my ribs sizzles like a brand. My lungs ache. My muscles have turned to lead.
But my son is alive.
Keira is alive.
We made it.
I let myself soak it in for exactly three seconds.
Then I look up.
The yacht towers over us, a floating monument to everything I'm about to destroy. The service platform is visible from here.
And there, crawling toward the door like the cockroach he is, leaving a smear of blood across the white decking, is Calder.
Still alive.
Not for long.
I push to my feet, ignoring every alarm blaring inside me.
"Tristan." Keira's voice is barely a whisper. She's still clutching Hale to her chest. "Wait. You're hurt."
"Stay with him." I crouch beside them, running my hand through Hale's wet hair, pressing my forehead to Keira's for one stolen moment. "I need you both safe while I finish this."
"Let someone else—"
"No chance in hell."
She stares at me.
"Remember that promise I made you? In the maintenance room, in the garage, in the garden." I hold her gaze. "Every time I wrote myself into your skin. Long before I even touched you, I promised I would make him pay for everything he took."
Her eyes fill with fresh tears.
"Every bruise." I brush my thumb down her chin. "Every night you spent afraid in your own bed. Every time he made you feel worthless. Every time he locked you in a room and made you beg."
Her hand catches mine before I can pull away. "Come back to me."
"Always."
I press my lips to her forehead. Then Hale's.
Zoe has maneuvered the boat close to the service ladder, the engine idling, ready to move at a moment's notice. She doesn't say anything as I grab the rungs. I thank her and she nods, knowing what's about to happen.
Water streams from my clothes with every step, mixing with the blood still seeping from my side. The pain is distant now, shoved into a corner of my mind where it can't reach me.
Nothing could distract me from this.
I pull myself onto the platform and straighten to my full height.
Calder's made it maybe ten feet from where I shot him. Slumped against the door, tugging weakly at the handle with his good arm.
Locked out.
He couldn't even escape in the time it took me to save my family.
Pathetic.
His guards are scattered across the deck—some dead, some dying. The rest are nowhere to be found.
Unfortunate for him.
He hears me coming and stops struggling, turning his head.
And the look of crystalized terror in his eyes is something I wish I could frame.
"You know," I say conversationally, stepping over a body that's still twitching, "I've spent six months imagining this moment. What I would say to you. What I would do."
I crack my neck. Roll my shoulders. Take my sweet time.
"I had speeches prepared. Beautiful ones. Monologues about justice and vengeance and poetic irony." I crouch, resting my elbows on my knees. "I was going to make you understand, Ewan. Really grasp the full scope of why you were dying. Give you that moment of clarity before the end."
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Nothing comes out.
"That's new." I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. "I have to say, I prefer you like this. All those months of listening to you talk—wife this, boy that, I own everything—and now you have nothing to add? Kind of peaceful."
He tries to drag himself backward but doesn't get far.
"But here's the thing." I lean closer, dropping my voice like I'm sharing a secret. "Now that we're actually here? I don't want to give you clarity. I don't want you to understand."
"I have money," he rasps, scrambling for leverage that doesn't exist. "Guards inside. They'll kill you before you can—"
"Will they?" I glance at the door he couldn't open. The bodies scattered across the deck. The notable absence of anyone rushing to save him. "Seems like your guards are having a rough night."
I smile, and he flinches.
"Here's what's going to happen, Ewan." I grab the collar of his ruined jacket and haul him up until we're eye to eye. Close enough to see every broken capillary. Every bead of sweat. Every fraction of the fear I've been dreaming about for months.
"You're going to tell me it hurts. You're going to beg me to stop. And I'm going to keep going anyway. Because you had years with her. And I've only got tonight with you."
His eyes go wide.
"So I'm going to make every second count."
I drag him away from the door, toward the darker end of the platform.
"Don't worry," I add, almost cheerfully. "I'll take my time. You taught me the value of patience, after all."