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But as I reach the water and peer out at the dark, angry sea, I catch sight of the boat in the beam of the lighthouse beacon. About three miles from shore, the small fishing vessel with my love on board is being tossed about on the violent waves.
I freeze as fear overwhelms me. My feet sink into the rocks beneath me and my voice is stolen on the wind as I cry out to him. I watch as the boat bobs up and down, crashing over each wave, fighting against the tide, trying to make it to shore, but getting dragged farther out to sea on the current.
I wave my arms, but he can’t see me and the actions are futile. I can’t help him from here.
I remove my heavy, thick clothing and tremble as the cold wind and rain bite into my skin. I tear off the boots and, taking a deep breath of courage, I run into the water and dive, the cold piercing me as I resurface, with only one thought echoing in my mind:
I have to save him.
Carly sat back from the laptop and new tears burned in her eyes as she stared at the cliff-hanger where she’d left her characters to simmer. So much uncertainty hung in the balance of how she would finish that scene. So much emotion whirling within Sealena as she took that plunge, not sure of the outcome.
Could this vulnerable version of Sealena save the fisherman? Would her love be enough? Could she have the happily-ever-after she deserved? If she did save him, how did they move forward with Sealena’s own time ticking away...?
Authors often spoke of writing themselves into a corner and Carly certainly had with this book in the series. Impossible love. How did she make this work? How had she ever intended to make this work?
Her own conflicted heart pounded hard in the depths of her chest. Things had once again shifted between her and Oliver, with this new uncertainty creating unspoken drama between them. The issue of the lighthouse seemed small in comparison to this new development in the disappearance of Alison and Catherine. All discussions about anything else had been put on hold. They’d once again been tossed into the deep end of tumultuous waves that toyed with their emotions.
Carly wanted Callan to find answers, to give them all the clarity they’d been searching for—longing for—but then, what did that mean for her and Oliver? For all of them?
Would they be able to move forward with more confidence once the mystery of that day was solved or would the reopening of past wounds force Oliver to close himself off again?
And was she strong enough to continue fighting for a man haunted by his past?
TIMEHADHELPEDto erase the memory of what it had felt like as they’d waited on news about Alison and Catherine. He vaguely remembered the quiet stillness as he and Tess had sat together, simultaneously hopeful and hopeless, as the search and investigation had played on. But now, these last three days, all of those emotions had come rushing back.
But this time it was almost worse because he couldn’t tell Tess and he was trying to act as normal as possible around his daughter, while keeping this new knowledge to himself. He understood Callan’s warning, but it was tough not to share this new hope with his daughter. Only the uncertainty and not wanting to disappoint her again with whatever the outcome was kept him silent.
And this time, there was Carly too.
She’d lost her best friend and the disappearance had been almost as difficult on her as it had been on him and Tess. She’d suffered as well, so he knew she was also holding her breath that Callan would solve this mystery for them. But there had also been conflict and questions in her eyes when he’d gone to see her three days ago. Questions he hadn’t known the answers to.
Until things were settled, he had no idea what to do or what to say...
Things were back in limbo between them and he hated that he couldn’t find the right words to reassure her of...anything.
He spent more time puttering around the shed those last few days, keeping his hands, if not his thoughts, preoccupied, avoiding the tourist groups and, most of all, Tess. If she sensed anything was up, she didn’t mention it, and she was busy litter training Caramel (the kitten’s latest name they were testing out), so at least he didn’t have to feel too guilty for pulling away from her slightly in his sense of turmoil.
A knock sounded on the door to the shed just as Oliver finished spraying the last coat of teal-green paint on the stand-up paddleboard. If nothing else, he’d finished Tess’s birthday gift in record time. He lifted the face shield of his mask as he turned toward the open door.
Callan entered and walked toward him. “Hey, man...it’s looking good,” he said casually, but Oliver could tell he was stalling. There was an air of heaviness about him, his usual confident ease burdened with bad news.
A tragedy made it impossible not to have a sense about these things. Oliver could sniff impending dread or doom a mile away. He removed the visor and set the spray can down with a shaky hand as he prepared for whatever news Callan was there to deliver. “What did you find out?” There was no way he could entertain small talk when, for the last three days, he’d been desperate for an update.
Callan ran a hand through his dark hair and stared at the shed floor. “There’s no easy way to say this, man...”
Oliver’s gut tightened. For years, he’d longed for any closure he could get, but he now realized, even without hearing it, that he still wasn’t completely ready to know for sure that his wife and older daughter weren’t coming home. He swallowed hard as bile rose in the back of his throat and he reached behind him to find stability in the work counter. “Just tell me, please.”
Callan took a step toward him and said, “I went through the files of the illegal smuggling operations we busted that year, sorted through the room where contraband is stored...and found this.” He extended his hand and Oliver saw the matching wedding band with the familiar family crest. Alison’s ring. Oliver stared at his wife’s wedding band, the one that matched the one he’d recently started wearing on a chain around his neck, and emotions threatened to strangle him. With a shaky hand, he took it from Callan and nodded, unable to vocalize a response as he clutched the ring in a tight fist.
“I convinced the department that it should be returned to you.”
He appreciated that. This ring had been in his family for generations. He’d always thought one day Catherine or Tess might wear it... It had been on Alison’s hand the day she disappeared and it was the only thing he had left of her.
He expected to feel closer to her, just holding the ring, but the cold truth was that the metal was just that—a reminder of what he’d lost that provided none of the comfort he sought. He didn’t need to ask if they were still alive. He knew Callan had brought him all that was left. They were really gone.
“Do you want to know what happened?” Callan asked gently after a long silence.
Did he? Knowing that his wife and daughter hadn’t survived that boating trip, that they were no longer out there somewhere, was hard enough to wrap his mind around, even though in his heart he’d known the truth all these years. Would knowing the details make things easier or worse? Would it be the closure he sought or just more pain?
