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I shake my head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t even supposed to be there that day. But something told me to get my board and go, so I did. And then, when I was in the ocean, I heard my name . . .” The same sense of urgency that chased me then claws at me now.

“You heard your name?” Ava asks me when I go silent.

I meet her eyes. Run a hand through my hair. Consider the insanity of what I’m about to reveal, but if anyone can understand this, it’s her.

“I heard my name being called from the water. Not around me. From under the water. I know it’s impossible. But I did.”

“I never called for help.”

“No, it was not a call for help. It was my name. Jake. Clear and urgent. The ocean called to me with a feminine voice.”

Her lips move, but no words are said. Her eyes mist, and she blinks.

“I dove. I dove into the ocean and found you, floating, eyes open and unseeing, your hair flowing around your face. I grabbed your arm, pulled you onto my board, and paddled to the shore as fast as I could. I never understood what happened. Then, over the years, I shoved it away, chalked it up to my imagination.”

Tears run freely down her face now. “You brought me back. You saved me. And I never even said thank you.”

I wipe a tear with my thumb. “No thanks are necessary. I was glad to be in the right place at the right time. And then, once you were breathing again, the lifeguard showed up and took over, so I stepped away. You didn’t have a chance to say anything.”

Ava rummages through her bag, finds a packet of tissues, and uses them. Her face is dry now, but her lashes are still wet, and her eyes are brighter.

I search her face for clues but find nothing. “What does all of this mean?”

She drags a deep breath. “My grandma would say that it was meant to happen. All of it. My drowning, you saving me, and me being on vacation here and finding that necklace that somehow brought us together.”

No. I back away from her. My jaw goes tight, my stomach twists into knots. Everything in me rejects this idea. That means those women went missing and possibly died for us to meet again. It also means Emily had to die for me to be here right now. I never would have chosen to do what I do if not for my sister's disappearance.

Ava takes a step forward and reaches to me, her soft palm on my face. “I know. It’s hard for me to believe, too. I hate the circumstances that brought us together, but I can’t regret being here with you.”

This is too much. I step out of her reach again, and Ava’s hand drops away from me. A flash of hurt crosses her face and fades away as Ava smooths her features.

She hugs herself. “Everything is connected. Whether we believe it or not. Whether we like it or not, we can’t escape it. Cause and effect are the building blocks of the universe.”

I just nod, unsure of what I can say. Fuck the universe and its building blocks. What the hell trade is this? The life of my sister and others for the chance of meeting a woman I could love but not have? She’ll be gone soon enough, and I’ll still be here. Alone.

Chapter26

Avalon

Something just changed.Jake reverted to his closed-off self. That invisible wall is back. I’m not sure which part of what I said made this happen.

Unease unfurls inside me. “What is it?”

He frowns, presses his lips together, and looks at me. “I don’t know if I can reconcile the idea that all that happened to be with you now.”

“What do you mean?” Unease spreads its wings like a bird sunning itself.

“Saving your life fifteen years ago and then meeting you again by chance. I can deal with that.” He rubs at his chest as if trying to dislodge an uncomfortable weight. “I cannot reason or justify the idea that so many people had to go missing or die for this to happen.”

I want to reach out to him but hold back—dig my fingers into my arms as I embrace myself. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that. I think my drowning, the missing women, and us meeting again is just a small part of a much bigger picture. A picture we have no way or means or the ability to see.”

His face darkens, and the corner of his mouth curls into a sneer. “So what? We’re all just puppets, our strings being pulled this way and that by some kind of God?”

I take a step closer but refrain from touching him. I don’t think my touch would be welcome. “No, not puppets. Puzzle pieces. I think, we”—I wave my hand around, at the people walking, and in their cars, and at the trees—“and everything around us, we are all puzzle pieces in a much bigger picture. We are puzzles within puzzles, pictures within pictures, and not one person can see the entire image. We can only see a few pieces of the puzzle at a time, and if we’re lucky and our eyes are open wide enough, we get to see a few pictures, too.”

He drags both hands up his face and into his hair and then drops them. His hands go to his pockets, a motion now familiar to me, a sign of his discomfort.

“I have to think about this, Ava. I have to figure out a way to be okay with all of this and what it means for us.” He waves his hand between the two of us. And then puts it back in his jeans pocket. “And I have to figure out a way to be okay with everything else that’s happened.”