Prologue
Caroline
If this island was an organ, it would be my heart. Isolated, lost, and misunderstood. Oh, and broken into jagged, sharp pieces. How could I forget that? Shell Island. I know exactly where I’m at. The airplane went down about seven minutes after I took off. I didn’t know the storm wascoming in or I probably wouldn’t have gone up. I love the horizon before a big, nasty storm, but try to avoid putting myself into one. The thunderheads look as if they’re leaking love letters from heaven. The colors in the clouds are this magic mix of reality and the supernatural. It soothes me to go for a quick flight before a storm, but that was not my intention today. Today, I needed the mental clarity being in the air provides more than I have ever needed it before. Maybe that’s why my plane is destroyed, mangled in shiny bent pieces in the distance. I didn’t pay enough attention to my gauges—the warning signs.
The crash landing was bumpy and I should be grateful the island was in my landing field or else I’d be sinking, and halfway to the ocean floor right now. A fate I’m not sure wouldn’t be preferable at the moment. My arm is broken, and if I was a betting woman, I’d say I have a cracked rib or two. The seatbelt harness did its job a little too well. The rain started—a thick, soaking pound about the same time I crawled out of the cockpit and made it a safe distance away from the smoking, metal heap. The plane slid in hard after the stray bolt of lightning struck. The falling wobble was terrifying, taking all my strength to control it through the rough, wet sand. They talk about crash landings during flight lessons, but it doesn’t prepare you for it happening in real life. I might still be breathing, but if I survive this, the whole thing shaved years off my life in anxiety alone.
Worse still, I didn’t tell anyone I was going up. It’s the number one rule. The only rule my daddy gave me with regards to the airport and the planes. I’m rain soaked with tears streaming down my face and completely alone. I sent out a mayday on the way down, but the electronics may have burnt out with the lightning strike so I don't know if it went through. It’s a small plane without the fancy bells and whistles of the other planes we have. Some may say I was asking for trouble.
Maybe I was.
Maybe I knew this was some big, ironic conclusion to the relationship I knew was going to cause me pain and heartbreak. I suck in a sharp breath and wince when my ribcage expands. The smoke stream seeping from the plane grows as each second passes and I’m confident it will go up in flames. Not that I’d have the tools to fix it if it wasn’t going to explode, nor the ability to get the thing back in the air without a runway. I’m stranded. Heartbreak keeps me company. Deep, perforating, soul searing heartbreak. I was careless, reckless in falling for a man obsessed with perfection. No one can live up to those standards. The betrayal I feel for my own decision is the second-string gut punch. Why did I let him in?
Standing, I swallow a sob and use my good arm to support the other, like a sling.My bag. I had my bag.Logic slips in for a brief moment and I remember I threw it into the cockpit when I rushed the hangar.
The cell phone is in it. For once, I have the stupid electronic device with me. The service might be spotty, but I know the phone works. In high school, we would pile into boats and come out to Shell Island to drink and party. Well, they would party, I was mostly the designated boat driver and people watcher. It was about a thirty-minute boat ride from Crick’s Beach docks. Phones worked out here then, and service must have improved since high school.
Moving as quickly as I can, I hobble toward my airplane. The steaming and hissing grows louder with each step. Tripping on a piece of metal that used to be a beautiful wing, I pull myself up with my good arm. The bad arm stings with pain without support and a pathetic whimper escapes my lips.
The purse is wedged on the passenger seat side, next to the door. The straps are barely visible from this angle, but it’s enough to let me know it’s still intact. I make the decision to dive in quickly despite the sear of mangled bones, and make a grab for the handle. A few tugs prove it’s stuck, which makes perfect sense, because why wouldn’t it be? I bet the phone is crushed to bits. “Try Caroline,” I whisper to myself. “You can do this. I can do this. I have to do this.”
A sharp noise draws my attention away from my purse to the dark orange flame rising from the corner of my aircraft. Swallowing hard, I understand what’s happening. My fight or flight response kicks in, my heart racing along in a disconnected way. One hard wiggle and tug, and my bag is free. I check the radio system one last time and confirm it is down, then turn from the airplane and run toward a grove of trees in the distance. Hoping they will provide shelter from the rain, I dump the contents of my purse on the sand. I see the familiar glow of the cell. I snatch it up with shaking fingers, open the first message on my list and tap out,Shell Island. I send it, and then try calling the airport, but it rings and rings. There’s no White Knight coming after me. Those only exist in fairytales told to pacify children. The realities of life are far crueler, and littered with lies and unintended consequences.
I’ve always followed the rules—a good southern girl, a friend, a daughter. A person worthy of respect. This is what happens when good girls don’t follow rules. I can’t cover my eyes, count to ten, and take this back.
My whole body is shaking. I look at the rest of my belongings in the bag. An apple. A crumpled note that says,you are perfect, my wallet, and a bottle of water. I’m thinking, bitterly I might add, about the irony of this combination of things while lying down in the sand, adrenaline coursing through my veins numbing the pain I should be feeling.
Another sharp pop sounds from the plane behind me. I stand quickly and my head thwacks a low hanging branch. I see stars. More pain. Blackness goes in and out of focus.
Then I see flames, not just a thin rising, but a harried wildfire of destruction.
The explosion ricochets and I see nothing.
Because this is the hard truth about love.
It always goes up in flames.
Chapter One
Caroline
I found him there. In the space between who I was and who I wanted to be. In the place I’ve always been, the same small town I grew up in, surrounded by the people who love and loathe me in equal measure. He was sitting in a corner booth quietly, alone. His face a mask of contemplation. His body was more massive than anything I’ve ever seen in my lifetime, probably more chiseled than anything I will ever see in human form again. I’ve seen his kind lately, though. They opened a base on the water. It’s secretive, small, and wrapped with barbed fencing so high it seems to touch the sky. I know they’re here to protect our nation, but I can’t help but be bitter at the intrusion. They remind me of everything that’s been stolen.
The terror attacks that spanned the entire world rocked America right down to the core. Years later, we’re still recovering, still rebuilding. We are still hunting the terrorists responsible for stealing hundreds of thousands of lives, and trying to keep it from happening again. Our world changed that fateful day in a forever kind of way. While my small town, Bronze Bay, wasn’t affected directly, the next town over had an entire shopping mall that burned to the ground. Two suicide bombers made sure there was nothing left but ashes. The Homecoming Queen from our rival high school was doing charity work there that day. Every single person in our country was affected in some way or another.
Martial Law lasted for what seemed like forever and the grocery store shelves were barren for months. It’s lucky we’re in a small town on the water with farmland surrounding us. We fished a lot, and I ate more seafood in that time period than I’ll ever admit to. My mama’s old diner closed for several months and the small airport my daddy owns and runs temporarily became a museum. A place for him to tinker with engines and work on small projects to keep his hands busy.
While it’s hard not to stare at this large, out of towner, I intentionally look away. I do my best to avoid anything I’m not familiar with.
Shirley nudges me. “Do you see that cool drink of water?” she asks, leaning over to whisper in my ear. A pointless act, since every customer sitting at the bar top can hear her. They turn their gazes toward us, then away, knowing smirks on their faces.
Slicing a generous piece of apple pie, I keep my face neutral. “I saw him,” I whisper, letting a fork clank against the hot plate. “He’s been in twice this week.”
Anytime an unfamiliar person enters our town for longer than a stop through, people notice. Anytime a man with the physical presence, and looks of a Hollywood action movie star shows up, people, especially my friend Shirley, are frothing at the mouth to know more. A man like the one in the corner booth is little more than fresh meat. One of these women will stake their claim soon enough, and it won’t be me. Men like that don’t notice women like me. A hint of embarrassment washes over me as I internally admit I’ve noticed him at all. When he’s come in, he’s never sat at one of my tables.
Shirley clicks her tongue. “He’s in my section. I’m going to go give that man what he wants.” She grabs a tray off the beat-up Formica counter, tucks a strand of bleached blonde hair behind her ear, and sets forth on her mission. I laugh to myself and pass the ketchup bottle to Bob, a regular, seated in front of me.
He winks at me, overhearing Shirley’s departure. “You don’t need no fake hair and brazen walk, Caroline. You’ve got it all in spades over all of ‘em.”
