Page 95 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

The headlights glare in my eyes, too bright, too close. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, the cold, slick leather biting into my palms. The rain falls harder, blurring the windshield, the road ahead dissolving into streaks of light and darkness. My chest is tight, my breathing shallow. The anger burns hotter than the fear.

I see Ryan’s truck looming ahead, its taillights cutting through the storm, which I know even in my dream makes no sense at all. It was Ryan’s truck I’d been driving on that fateful night, and I’d never had the opportunity to chase him down. One minute he’d been in Pelican Point and then in the flash of an eye, he’d been gone..

He can’t leave me like this.

The road curves sharply, and the tires scream against the wet pavement. The world tilts. Metal crunches, glass shatters, and pain slices through me like a knife.

And then—nothing.

But this time, it changes.

I blink, and the rain fades. The roar of the crash is replaced by the low murmur of voices, the warmth of a fire crackling nearby. I’m standing in front of the Murphy house, the storm a distant hum, as though I’m watching it all through a veil.

Ryan is there.

His father stands in the doorway, his face twisted with rage, the cruel sneer I remember so vividly etched across his features. But Ryan is between us, his broad frame a shield.

“You’re not doing this, Dad,” Ryan says, his voice sharp and steady.

“You think you can tell me...” his father starts, but Ryan cuts him off.

“I said no.” Ryan’s tone leaves no room for argument. His father stumbles back, sputtering, and Ryan turns to me.

His eyes meet mine, and the anger melts away, replaced by something warmer, softer. He reaches for me, his hand strong and steady as it clasps mine.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice low, a promise woven into the words.

I don’t hesitate.

The scene shifts again, and we’re in a small house, warm and bright, the walls lined with bookshelves and the scent of fresh flowers filling the air. Ryan is holding a baby—our baby—a tiny girl with soft, golden curls. She giggles as he lifts her high, her laughter filling the room.

“You did this,” he says, looking at me with awe.

“We did this,” I whisper, my heart swelling with a joy so pure it feels like it might burst.

The years pass in a blur of happiness—birthdays, quiet nights by the fire, long walks through the vineyard as the sun sets. The pain, the anger, the loss—they’re all gone, replaced by a life I never dared to dream was possible.

The sharp trill of my phone jolts me awake. My heart is racing, my chest heaving as I blink into the dim light of the living room. The storm outside has calmed; the rain is now a soft patter against the windows.

The dream lingers, vivid and bittersweet. My fingers twitch, reaching for something—someone—that isn’t there.

Ryan.

I shake my head, my breath hitching as I sit up. The dream was a lie, a cruel trick of my subconscious. Ryan wasn’t there that night, and he certainly didn’t save me. I saved myself.

But for a moment, it had felt so real.

And for the first time in years, I let myself wonder—what if?

Chapter 8

Ryan

Istand just outside the window of the Airbnb, the rain-soaked earth beneath my boots making it easier to stay rooted to the spot. In the near distance, I hear the crashing of the waves. This is what I miss in Texas. My breath fogs the glass as I lean in slightly, the scene inside pulling at me with a force I can’t explain.

Candace sits on the couch, a half-empty bottle of wine on the table and a glass clutched in her hand. She’s staring at something in her lap, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

At first, I can’t tell what’s so important—what’s holding her attention with such raw intensity—but then I see it. Something that looks suspiciously like a hospital bracelet, its plastic band gleaming faintly under the dim light, and some kind of paperwork, yellowed at the edges as if it had been handled many times over the years. She runs her fingers over the bracelet, her movements slow, deliberate, almost reverent.

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