In the middle of the ocean, beneath the shimmering blue surface, Micah was trapped in a strand of kelp.
Micah's breaths came quicker, ragged. No. He couldn't die. He didn't want to die. His movements grew frantic, stripped of all calm and reason. Yet the kelp only tangled tighter around him.
Was it his fate to die either way?
If it wasn't the stem cell complications waiting in his blood, if it wasn't an embolism, then it was this? If he had stayed clear of transplant, would the story itself still have punished him for daring to meddle, for stepping outside its lines?
Because he tried to separate Darcy from those four scumbags? Because he had tried to rewrite Darcy's fate?
He thought of the four original male leads who would hover at the edges of Darcy's life, the ones he had tried so hard to push away. What if they came after him now?
