Page 24

TWENTY-FOUR

EMILY

Houghton, Michigan

Two days later

I will never, for the rest of my life, take a hot shower for granted. Nor will I forget to count my blessings every time I eat a warm meal or curl up to sleep in an actual bed. Don’t get me wrong, eating chicken soup in a hospital cot while nurses assessed me for signs of severe head injury wouldn’t ordinarily be my idea of a good time, but it was leagues better than what Ryder and I endured on Isle Royale. Luckily, I was discharged after a few hours with instructions not to operate heavy machinery anytime soon—an easy recommendation to follow, considering I never plan on driving a speedboat again.

Ryder, who was listed in stable condition after a minor surgery on his ankle, is due to be discharged any time now, a thought that fills me with joy and relief. In fact, I think the only person who’ll be happier than me to see Ryder leave the hospital is our heroic helper, Biff, who had the good luck of being rescued from the ranger station by emergency personnel—and, in his view, the grave misfortune of being Ryder’s in-hospital roomie. Ryder and I cried with relief when we got to the hospital and realized that both Biff and Ranger Rick had survived, and perhaps the only thing that pissed Biff off more than Malcolm shooting him was Ryder enveloping him in a bear hug.

I’ve only left Ryder and Biff for brief periods to grab food and shower at the nearby hotel, and now, as I stand in the steamy shower and relish the sensation of being warm and clean, I’m already itching to get back to the hospital. Switching off the water, I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, cherishing the fact that I don’t smell like dirt or dead fish. As I wipe the foggy mirror and scrunch water out of my hair, trying to decide what to grab Ryder and Biff for dinner, I hear a knock at the door.

Startled, I quickly slip on a robe and glance around the hotel room, searching for a weapon just in case. I settle on the complimentary iron, holding it with two hands like a baseball bat as I tiptoe toward the door and glance warily through the peephole. I’m not sure who I’m afraid it could be—Killian’s long gone, and law enforcement rounded up the henchmen after our evacuation—but from here on out, I’m ready for anything.

My fear vanishes, however, when I see that the person standing outside my door is none other than my handsome ambassador of adventure.

“Ryder!” I cry, flinging the door open and wrapping my arms around him. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles, tracing a line down my cheek with the back of his hand.

“I got discharged early,” he says. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be walking?” I ask, glancing toward his ankle. “No, there’s no way you should be walking. You just had surgery —”

“Always playing it safe, Edwards,” he says, shaking his head. “ Don’t jump onto a moving ferry. Don’t camp in a wolves’ den. Don’t walk around on your bad ankle .” He grins. “When are you finally gonna accept that I live on the edge?”

“Probably around the time you start living to shop at HomeGoods. But I have to say, this is an incredible surprise.”

I can’t help but marvel at the sight of him in the real world, standing at my threshold like we’re normal people who didn’t just survive an insane journey through the wilderness.

Ryder laughs. “Oh, my presence is not the surprise.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What is it, then? Did you make me a fingerpaint version of a Foxamura painting?”

He rolls his eyes. “No. The surprise is that I’m going to recite a poem for you.”

“Really?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe. “A poem by who?”

“By me.”

I do a double take. “You wrote me a poem?”

Ryder shakes his head. “No. I wrote you ten poems. This was just the least terrible of the bunch, and that’s saying something.” He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. “Are you ready?”

Ready for the man in front of me, who I now know is beautiful not only on the outside but on the inside, too? Hell yes.

“More than ready,” I tell him.

“Okay.” He clears his throat. “I should warn you before I start: it’s short and very pathetic.”

“Ah, yes,” I say, crossing my arms. “Just what every girl dreams of hearing when a man comes to her hotel room.”

His cheeks flush, but he presses on. “Here we go. Don’t laugh.”

I smile. “I make no promises.”

“Emily,” he says, the humor in his tone replaced by bashful earnestness, “roses are red, violets are blue, I want to get dinner, and I want it with you.”

I wait for him to continue, but he exhales as if he just delivered a lengthy monologue.

“That’s it. That’s the poem.”

“Oh!” I say brightly, knowing he could stand at my door and recite the periodic table for all I care. All that matters is that we’re here, together, safe and sound and with the rest of our lives to look forward to. “Wow. Thank you.”

“I know, I know, I’m no Captain Evermore, but I’ll keep working on it.” Smiling, Ryder takes my hand in his. “What I’m trying to say is, I meant everything I said on Isle Royale. I want a future with you. I want to learn your favorite ice-cream flavor, and your favorite day of the week, and everything that makes you tick.”

“Strawberry,” I tell him. “Friday, obviously. Weekly planners and venti caramel lattes.”

He laughs and strokes his thumb over my palm. “In the words of the one and only Shel Silverstein, I don’t want our sidewalk to end.”

I can’t help but smile. “I don’t think Shel Silverstein said that, exactly.”

“A minor detail,” Ryder says, lowering his lips to mine, and then all thoughts fade away, and there’s only him and me and the fact that we’re together, with all the time in the world to explore each other.

“So what do you say?” he asks when he comes up for air. “Can I take you to dinner?”

“No,” I say, leaning into his chest. “But you can definitely take me to breakfast.”

—

Ryder and I might not agree on everything—we still have very different views on documentaries, for example—but we can both agree on this: my robe is a perfect outfit for this long-awaited moment.

As soon as I utter the word breakfast , he steps into my room, one arm scooping me up like it’s nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist as he presses his free hand to the back of my head, guiding my mouth toward his. His lips are somehow softer than I remember, his touch hungrier, and suddenly I’m grateful for every wrong turn we took on the island, for every foolish mistake and misread map that brought us to this moment.

We reach the bed in only a few strides, and I wait for him to drop me onto it and tear my robe off like there’s no tomorrow, but he doesn’t. Instead, Ryder sets me down just before the foot of the bed, his eyes blazing as he tears his mouth away from mine. He takes one of my robe ties in each of his hands and pauses, studying me like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.

“Emily,” he says, his tone reverent. He says my name like it’s a wish, a promise, and I wrap my hands around his.

“Ryder.” It’s a promise, too, an answer to a question he didn’t need to ask aloud. It’s an invitation , and I pull his hands back so that they untie the robe, leaving me exposed. Open.

He steps toward me, his kiss deep and wanting as he slides the robe off. It lands at my feet, and even though I should probably feel at least a little bit nervous as Ryder gazes at my face, my breasts, my bare skin, I don’t. I feel wanted, truly and desperately, and I want, too.

“Fuck,” he whispers, taking in every inch of me, and it’s the shortest, most erotic poem I’ve ever heard.

I tilt my head up to kiss him, my hands reaching for his T-shirt, and he removes it swiftly, leaving his torso so beautifully bare that I can hardly believe he’s real. But of course he is, because these are the arms that carried me to safety, and the chest I curled into when we rolled down the hill, and these are the hands that reached out to catch me when I jumped blindly from the radio tower. I run a hand from his shoulder to his hip, feeling every muscle tighten beneath my touch, and Ryder sucks in a breath as I press my mouth to every bruise I see, every visceral reminder of what we endured and how we took care of each other. How he took care of me.

I kiss him from his chin to his navel, and my hand wanders lower, cupping the place where I want to touch him the most. I unbutton his pants, our mouths meeting again, and he moans as I grip him through the fabric, wishing for it to disappear. He takes over for me, removing his jeans and boxers as smoothly as he can without breaking our kiss, and when I finally pull away so I can look at him, at all of him, I’m hit with a wave of unrelenting, uncompromising need.

Ryder must be, too, because he picks me up again, his hands kneading my bare ass, and sets me on the edge of the bed, nudging my legs open with his knee. I run a hand through his hair as he leaves a trail of kisses from my mouth to my thigh, pausing at my breasts to run his tongue over my nipple. I can’t help but let out a soft whimper as he presses his mouth to my inner thigh, working his way toward my most wanting, aching part. I gasp when he slides this thumb down my clit, his touch responsive to my every moan, and his name leaves my lips again when he lowers his mouth between my legs, his tongue licking and coaxing and savoring with an intensity that leaves me perfectly and utterly wrecked.

“Come here,” I say before my ability to speak escapes me. “Come be with me.”

He licks me again, slowly, lavishly, and then he climbs onto the bed and positions himself above me. I reach for him, stroking him as his mouth finds mine, and the uncontrolled moan he makes when I grip his shaft is delicious in its coarseness.

“Emily,” he says, his hand cupping my face, “I’ve wanted you so badly. I want you so badly.”

His eyes search mine, and I revel in the way he looks at me, like I’m more precious than any diamond that ever existed. And I want him, too, today and forever, in whatever adventures await.

“I’m yours,” I tell him, wrapping a leg around his waist, and he kisses me deeply as he enters me, letting out an unbridled grunt of pleasure that will leave me wet and wanting every time I think of it.

He murmurs my name into my skin, whispering his love for me, and I whisper it back as everything fades away except for Ryder on top of me, inside me, riding me until every nerve and cell and muscle in my body coils, tight, tight, tight, and then peaks and releases, rocking me with an orgasm so intense I press my teeth to his broad shoulder. Spurred on by my pleasure, he thrusts faster, deeper, all his reservation and self-restraint cast aside. And when he comes, moaning as he presses his mouth to mine like he’ll die if he doesn’t, I hear his rapture as a vow, a pledge, a culmination of everything we promised each other on the island.

A recognition that we might not have found everything we initially set out looking for, but we found something better. Something bigger. We found love.

—

Afterward, I sprawl out in the bed, enjoying the blissful combination of soft, clean sheets and Ryder’s warm body next to mine.

Suddenly ravenous, I reach for my phone to scroll through the hotel’s room service options, and Ryder grabs Sharp’s notebook from the bedside table and flips it open.

“Maybe we can find another steamy Evermore letter,” he says, grinning at me. “To get you in the mood for round three.”

I swat him. “You don’t need to read me a poem to get me ready for round three.”

“Well, then,” he says, kissing the top of my head, “round four, maybe.”

I’m trying to decide between pasta or a cheeseburger, and I elect to get both when Ryder lets out a gasp so loud and sudden that I drop the menu.

“Jesus, how steamy of a letter did you find?” I ask, clutching my chest.

“I didn’t find a letter,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I think I found something else.”

He holds up Sharp’s notebook and takes my fingers to run them over the back cover, where I feel a small lump hidden under the leather.

“If that’s a giant Isle Royale bug,” I say, “I’m gonna need a whole lot of therapy.”

“I don’t think it’s a bug,” Ryder says, fishing something out of a hole in the leather.

“Ohmiiiiigod,” I say when he pulls out a shimmering gemstone so shiny it makes me blink. “Is that what I think it is?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Ryder says, and I follow him as he runs to the bathroom to fill the sink with water and plug the drain. Then we clutch hands, our hearts pounding, as he tosses the rock in.

“Holy shit, it sinks!” he says, laughing in disbelief.

“The Evermore diamond is real,” I whisper, staring at the gem. “The Evermore diamond is real!”

“Forget room service,” Ryder says, taking me into his arms. “We gotta call the Smithsonian.”