26. Dane Gallagher
Dane Gallagher
The dark beyond the curtains has that early-morning quality—not quite black, just edged in gray, like the sun’s close.
I’ve been awake a while, lying still with Charlotte against me.
I knew when I came in here last night I’d have to leave before anyone started moving through the halls. Now it’s time.
I shift slightly, and she stirs.
“Babe, I have to go.”
She makes a small sound, barely a word, her hand tightening in my shirt.
“Charlotte.”
“I know,” she whispers against my shoulder. “I just... I don't want you to.”
I tighten my arms around her.
“You know I'd stay if I could.”
She tilts her face up, eyes still heavy with sleep, hair loose around her shoulders. I lean down and kiss her. It’s meant to be quick.
It isn’t.
Her hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me there, and something in the kiss changes.
I let it. I always do.
When I pull back, she’s more awake. “Stay a little longer.”
The right answer would be no. “Okay, babe. A little longer.”
She pulls me back down to her. Her mouth finds mine again, her hand coming up to my jaw and holding me there. She kisses me like she’s trying to keep me from leaving.
If I’m honest, it works.
I move closer as she turns fully into me, erasing the last of the space between us. The kiss deepens naturally, settling into a familiar rhythm. Her breathing shifts, and my hand slides into her hair.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth, and it catches somewhere deep inside my chest.
I kiss her harder, and she meets me with the same intensity, her fingers tightening at the back of my neck.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing heavier.
The morning light doesn’t matter.
Where we are doesn’t matter.
What the world calls us doesn’t matter.
Charlotte pushes herself up and reaches between us, her fingers finding the waistband of my shorts. I lift my hips, and she works them down before I kick them the rest of the way off. A second later, she slips out of her own underwear just as easily, letting them fall somewhere beside the bed.
She swings a leg over and settles astride me. My hands find her thighs automatically as I look up at her.
She doesn’t reach for me. Instead, she stays exactly where she is, pressed against me, the warmth of her body making it impossible to think about anything else.
She shifts her hips once, slow and deliberate. The reaction escapes me before I can stop it.
She does it again, her eyes never leaving my face.
“Char—”
“Mmm.”
She does it again, knowing exactly what it does to me.
This is how she gets when she’s in the mood to torment me—drawing it out, wearing away my patience one careful second at a time.
Another slow roll of her hips pulls a breath from me.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
Not a hint of guilt.
Then she does it again.
I let her.
My hands stay where they are, holding her steady while she sets the pace, taking exactly what she wants. I’m not interested in stopping her. I’m too busy watching.
Another slow roll pulls a breath out of me. She eases back even further, taking her time now, her eyes fixed on my face as if she’s tracking every reaction.
Then her hand slips between us.
The change in her expression is immediate. Her lips part slightly. Her grip is slow, certain. One stroke from base to tip, and the sound that leaves me escapes before I can stop it. Her thumb brushes over the head, and the sensation hits all at once.
She shifts forward, lining us up, then pauses.
Keeps me there, right at the edge.
The heat of her just there, not moving.
She holds my gaze long enough that there’s no mistaking what she’s doing. Long enough that I feel every second of it.
Then she lowers herself down, taking her time. A low sound leaves her that she doesn’t try to hide, her head tipping back while her hands flatten against my chest.
I lift into her, holding the space between us.
The reaction is immediate. The sound that breaks from her is sharper this time, her hands tightening against my chest like she needs something to brace against.
“Oh—”
I do it again. Same controlled movement.
Her body answers before she can stop it—hips moving with mine, thighs tightening around me.
She shifts slightly, testing the angle, and I feel the exact moment she finds it. The change. The way her body reacts before she says a word.
Her hips begin to move, slow at first. I don’t guide her. I just hold her and let her take it wherever she wants. She finds the rhythm on her own.
She always does.
I feel it settle in—the steady pace, the change in her breathing.
I watch her. The way she moves over me. The way her head tips back. The way her hands stay braced against my chest.
A slow roll of her hips sends another crack through whatever part of me is still thinking clearly.
Then another.
She keeps it steady, like we have all the time in the world.
We don’t.
Doesn’t change anything.
She leans back, changing the angle, and her reaction is instant.
“Oh God.”
Her head dips forward, hair falling around her face, and her pace starts to build. Subtle at first, then more deliberate.
“Dane—”
The way she says my name tells me exactly how close she is.
I feel my own limit a second later.
“Charlotte.” My voice comes out rough. “We need to stop.”
“Mmm—”
She doesn’t.
“I’m serious, Char. Stop. I’m—”
“Just a little longer,” she whispers, still moving. “Please. Just—”
“Charlotte, I’m about to—”
“Please, Dane. I’m so close.”
I hold on longer than I should. Longer than I meant to.
Not quite ready to let it end.
Then I make the call.
My hands tighten on her hips as I flip us, pulling out as I turn her onto her back.
A soft, startled sound leaves her as she hits the mattress, but I’m already moving, already shifting down her body.
I press my mouth to her and drag my tongue through her center.
Her reaction is immediate—hips lifting, thighs tightening around me.
I do it again, slower this time.
“Mmm… mmm.”
Her fingers twist in my hair.
She’s close. Right there.
I focus, more precise now, finding the place that changes her breathing and pulls her tighter toward the edge. When I find it, I stay there. Two fingers slide into her, and she closes around them immediately.
I keep the rhythm steady. No variation. Nothing extra. Just what she needs.
“Oh—oh God—Dane—”
Her thighs tighten around me. My hand stays firm at her hip, holding her in place as it builds, her body drawing tighter, her sounds breaking apart as she gets closer.
I don’t let up.
My fingers keep the same steady rhythm, and I feel her tighten again, her hips lifting without control.
“I’m coming.”
Her legs pull in around me, her grip tightening in my hair, and I hold exactly where I am, letting it crest.
“Ah—ah—oh—”
She breaks with it, her whole body tightening before finally releasing, and I stay with her, easing her through it until the last of it fades and her grip loosens.
I move back up her body, my mouth brushing over her skin before settling beside her.
She’s breathing hard, staring at the ceiling.
“That was—” She stops, then turns her head toward me. Something shifts in her expression, more careful now. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I didn’t stop when you told me to.”
I know exactly what she means. I felt it too—how far we let it go, how long I stayed there when I should have pulled away.
But she’s already blaming herself. I’m not adding to that.
“No, it’s okay. I get it.” I pause. “We just can’t do that again, Charlotte.”
She goes still.
“We can’t risk a pregnancy. Not now. Not with everything else going on.” I let that sit for a second. “We’re not on the island anymore. We have options. There are ways to prevent it. But until we figure that out, we need to be careful.”
She exhales slowly. “I know. I’m sorry. I was so close and I just…” She shakes her head. “I should’ve stopped.”
“I’m not mad.” I make sure she hears it. “I want you to feel good. I love making you happy. We just have to be smarter about it.”
“You’re right.”
“We’ll figure out birth control together. Work out what makes the most sense for us.”
She nods, holding my gaze. “Together.”
The light behind the drapes is changing, the room gradually brightening.
“I have to go, babe. Staff will be up soon.”
Her hand finds mine on the sheet. “I know.”
I squeeze her fingers before sitting up and reaching for my shirt in the low light.
“We won’t be together today. I’m going to Mum’s to meet—” I pause, still not used to saying it. “Mum’s husband. And my sisters.”
The words still feel strange in my mouth.
“I don’t want to be apart,” she says.
“Charlotte—”
“I get it.” She lets out a breath. “I don’t like it. I don’t breathe right when we’re not together, but I understand.”
“Same for me.” I move closer. “Being away from you makes me…” I shake my head. “Anxious. That’s the closest word I’ve got.”
I take her hands and press a kiss against her knuckles.
“You’re my wife, Charlotte. I meant every word of my vows. I choose you. I’m not leaving you. Being here doesn’t change that.”
She nods.
“When it hits—when you start spiraling—I want you to remember that.”
“Okay.”
I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
Mum’s house is about thirty minutes from Grandad’s.
The drive is quiet, and I spend most of it thinking about Charlotte. About us. About how any of this is supposed to work now. How we take what we are and fit it into a world that has no place for it. How we make it work out here.
I don’t come up with any answers.
The car slows in the driveway, and the front door opens before we’ve fully stopped.
I expect Mum to come out alone, but her husband steps outside with her. He’s in his fifties. Maybe sixty. Solidly built. Two girls crowd around them, both trying to get past. One is being held back by Mum, the other by him.
As soon as I step out of the car, he starts down the steps. He stops a few feet in front of me and just looks.
Whatever is on his face is too much for a first meeting. Too much emotion, too quickly. Then he gets it back under control.
“Marcus Shepherd,” he says. His voice is tight, like he’s forcing it to stay steady. He holds out his hand.
I take it.
His grip is firm, and he hangs on a second longer than necessary. When he lets go, that same look is still there.
“I’m sorry. It’s just—” He shakes his head. “We thought you were dead for so many years. Seeing you standing here—” He exhales. “It’s a lot.”
“It’s fine.”
He studies me for another moment before stepping aside.
I file it away. The reaction. The intensity of it.
It fits.
And it doesn’t.
Then Mum reaches me, and my attention shifts to the girls behind her.
One looks about eleven or twelve and has Mum’s coloring. She’s watching me carefully, taking everything in. The other is younger, maybe nine or ten, and has already pushed her way to the front without a trace of hesitation.
“Dane,” Mum says, resting a hand on the older girl’s shoulder. “These are your sisters. Isla and Zara.”
“You’re famous,” Zara announces.
“Zara—” Mum starts.
“He is,” she says, like it should be obvious.
I look at Mum.
“The story after the rescue… it’s everywhere. Both of you are.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re all over social media,” Isla says.
“I remember it. Sort of. But it’s been a long time.”
“People post things,” Zara says. “Other people share them, and then more people share them.”
“It spreads,” Isla adds.
“Someone posted about us?”
“Lots of people,” Zara says. “Everyone’s sharing your story.”
She holds up her phone and starts scrolling.
It’s us—Charlotte and me in New Caledonia. On the dock. Outside the hotel. Being escorted to the car.
She swipes to another video. Different platform. Same footage.
“TikTok. Instagram. Facebook.” She wrinkles her nose. “Facebook’s mostly for old people.”
“Take it off,” I say.
Isla flinches.
“We can’t.”
“Take the video off.”
“We didn’t post it,” Zara says. “We don’t control it.”
I look at Mum.
“Dane.” Her voice softens. “I know this is a lot. But you and Charlotte survived fourteen years out there. People are drawn to that. They want to understand it.”
“They don’t know us.”
“No. But they feel like they—”
“They don’t.”
No one knows us.
I glance at the phone again, then look away.
The idea of that many people seeing her. Seeing us. Watching something that feels private like it belongs to them.
It doesn’t sit right.
“I don’t want that.”
“I know you don’t.” Mum doesn’t argue. “But you don’t really get a choice. That’s just how social media works now.”
Two days ago, I knew exactly where the edges of my world were.
Now I’m not sure there are any at all.
Zara is still holding the phone up.
“People are saying you’re a heartthrob,” she says, like it’s good news. “You could make a profile and earn money from all this.”
“Zara—” Marcus says.
It’s the first thing he’s said since introducing himself.
I look over and find him watching me.
The second our eyes meet, he looks away.
I notice that too.
It’s not the same look everyone else has been giving me. Not the look people give when someone comes back from the dead.
This is something else.
“All right,” Mum says, stepping in before I can think about it any longer. “That’s enough about social media.”
She turns toward the kitchen.
“I made breakfast. French toast. Your favorite.”
“That’s Dad’s favorite too,” Zara says.
I follow them inside and take a seat at the counter.
“On the bright side,” Mum says, her tone lighter now, “you have three sisters instead of one. And these two are very keen to get to know their big brother.”
Something about that catches for a second.
Three sisters instead of one.
I look at Isla, then Zara.
“I’d like that—getting to know you.”
Zara grins immediately, open and easy. Isla hangs back, studying me like she’s still trying to decide what to make of me.
My thoughts drift back to Charlotte. Where she is right now. What she’s doing. Whether she feels it too—that constant pull beneath everything whenever we’re apart.
I wish she were here, seeing this part of my life.
This is my family.
She’s my wife.
And I still have no idea how those two things are supposed to exist in the same room.