Chapter 46

The water was so cold it felt like being stabbed with a thousand knives, and I couldn't remember which direction was up.

My lungs screamed. The zip-tie cut into my wrists as I thrashed, trying to find the surface, trying to find Daniel. The current pulled at my jacket, my shoes, dragging me sideways and down. I kicked hard, once, twice, and my head broke through into air that burned going in.

"Daniel!" The word came out as a gasp.

A hand grabbed my collar. Pulled me around. Daniel's face was white in the darkness, his lips already turning blue, but his eyes were focused on mine with an intensity that cut through the panic.

"Stop fighting the current," he said. His voice was steady. Calm. Like we were discussing the weather and not drowning in the East River at night. "Let it take us downstream. Save your energy."

"Your hands—"

"I got them free. Hold still."

He pulled me against his chest, one arm wrapped around my ribs, and I felt him working at the zip-tie on my wrists with his other hand. The plastic bit deeper before it suddenly gave way. My hands came free and I grabbed onto his jacket, my fingers numb and clumsy.

"Good," he said. "Now kick. Just enough to keep your head up."

We drifted with the current. The bridge receded behind us, its lights reflecting off the black water. I couldn't see Marcus. Couldn't see Morrison or the other agents. Just Daniel's face inches from mine and the endless dark water all around us.

"How long—" My teeth were chattering so hard I could barely get the words out. "How long can we—"

"Morrison called the Coast Guard before we went up there." Daniel's arm tightened around me. "They're coming. We just have to stay afloat until they get here."

"How do you know he called them?"

"Because he's good at his job." Daniel's eyes never left mine. "And because he knew I was going to do something stupid."

A wave slapped my face and I choked on river water that tasted like oil and rot. Daniel shifted his grip, keeping my head above the surface, and I realized he was doing all the work of keeping us both afloat. My legs felt like lead. My jacket was waterlogged and heavy.

"Talk to me," Daniel said.

"About what?"

"Anything. Your blog. Your recipes. Just keep talking."

"I can't—" Another wave. More water in my mouth. "I'm so cold."

"I know. But you need to stay conscious, okay so—" He stopped. Shook his head. "Okay so you need to tell me about that recipe you were working on. The one with the gochugaru."

He was using my speech pattern. My anxious verbal tic. Trying to keep me grounded by giving me something familiar to hold onto.

"Gochujang brownies," I said. The words came out slurred. "Wanted to balance the heat with dark chocolate. Maybe some ginger."

"Did you test it?"

"Three times. Too much gochujang the first batch. Tasted like spicy mud."

"What did you change?"

"Cut it by half. Added more butter to smooth out the texture." My lips were numb. I couldn't feel my feet anymore. "Daniel, I don't think I can—"

"Yes, you can. Tell me what else you're going to make. For the blog."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because you're going to make all of it." His voice was fierce. "You're going to write about it and take photos and build something that's entirely yours. You're going to have the life you want."

Not we. Not our life. Just mine.

"What about you?" I asked.

"I can handle it."

There it was. His deflection. His refusal to let anyone help him carry anything.

"That's not an answer," I said.

"It's the only one I have right now."

A searchlight swept across the water. Then another. I heard the rumble of an engine, getting closer.

"There," Daniel said. "See? I told you they were coming."

The Coast Guard boat cut through the waves toward us, its lights blinding. Someone was shouting instructions I couldn't quite hear over the ringing in my ears. Daniel's arm loosened around me and I grabbed at his jacket, suddenly terrified he was going to let go.

"I've got you," he said. "I'm not letting go."

But his voice sounded wrong. Strained. Like he was in pain.

The boat pulled alongside us. Hands reached down, grabbing my arms, hauling me up and out of the water. I landed on the deck in a heap, my legs refusing to hold me. Someone wrapped a thermal blanket around my shoulders.

"Get him," I said. My tongue felt thick. "Get Daniel."

Two crew members were already pulling him from the water. He came up over the railing and collapsed onto the deck beside me, and that's when I saw it.

Blood. So much blood, spreading across his shirt, mixing with the river water.

"Daniel—"

"I'm fine." He tried to sit up and his face went gray. "Just a scratch."

"That's not a scratch." I crawled toward him, my hands shaking. "What happened? When did you—"

"When I hit the water." His words were coming slower now. "There was something. Rebar, I think. Sticking up from the old pier."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you needed to focus on staying alive." His eyes were starting to lose focus. "Not on me."

"You idiot." My voice broke. "You complete idiot."

A crew member pushed me aside, pressing gauze against Daniel's side. The white fabric turned red almost immediately.

"We need to get him to the hospital," the crew member said into his radio. "Penetrating trauma to the right flank. Significant blood loss."

Daniel's hand found mine. His fingers were ice cold.

"Nora," he said.

"Don't." I squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt. "Don't you dare say goodbye."

"Not goodbye." His eyes closed. "Just—thank you. For jumping."

"Daniel. Daniel, stay awake."

But his hand went slack in mine, and the crew member was pushing me back again, shouting for the medic, and all I could do was watch as they worked on him while the boat raced toward shore.

---

The hospital waiting room smelled like disinfectant and bad coffee. I sat in a plastic chair with the thermal blanket still wrapped around my shoulders, wearing scrubs a nurse had given me after they'd taken my wet clothes. My hair was starting to dry in stiff, river-water clumps. The jade bracelet on my left wrist was the only thing that felt real.

Morrison sat across from me, his suit jacket draped over the chair beside him. He'd been on his phone for the past twenty minutes, his voice low and clipped as he talked to people I couldn't see.

"Yes," he said. "I understand. I'll handle it."

He ended the call and looked at me.

"Daniel's in surgery," I said before he could speak. "They said it would be at least two hours. Maybe more if there's internal damage."

"I know."

"Do you also know that he almost died because he didn't tell me he was hurt?"

"That sounds like him."

I pulled the blanket tighter. "What happens now?"

Morrison leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Marcus's recording changes everything."

"How?"

"It proves Daniel didn't kill Sarah. The audio is clear—Marcus describes exactly how he killed her, how he made it look like Daniel did it, how he used Richard's instructions to set up the scene." Morrison's voice was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing evidence in a case that didn't involve people I knew. "We've already arrested Richard. He's being charged with conspiracy to commit murder, obstruction of justice, and about fifteen other counts."

"But Daniel confessed," I said. "On that recording. He said he killed her."

"Under duress. With a gun pointed at him. After Marcus had already explained what really happened." Morrison shook his head. "No prosecutor is going to touch that confession. It's inadmissible."

"So he's free?"

"Not exactly." Morrison's expression didn't change. "He still covered up a murder. He still helped dispose of evidence. He still lied to federal investigators for two years. That's obstruction. That's conspiracy after the fact. He's looking at two to five years, depending on how cooperative he is and whether the judge believes he was acting under Richard's coercion."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Five years."

"Could be less. Could be more. Depends on a lot of factors."

"What factors?"

"Whether he testifies against Richard. Whether he provides information about Richard's other business dealings. Whether—" Morrison stopped. "Whether he has a reason to fight for a lighter sentence."

I looked at him. "What does that mean?"

"It means the Daniel Park I've been investigating for two years would take the maximum sentence without blinking. He'd see it as penance. As what he deserves." Morrison's voice was careful. "But maybe the Daniel Park who jumped into the East River to save you is different."

"He didn't jump to save me. I jumped to save him."

"And he spent the next fifteen minutes keeping you alive instead of worrying about his own injury." Morrison stood up. "That's not the same man who helped cover up a murder because his uncle told him to."

"People don't change that fast."

"No," Morrison said. "They don't. Which means he was always capable of it. He just needed a reason."

He walked away before I could respond, leaving me alone with the fluorescent lights and the smell of disinfectant and the terrible knowledge that Daniel might survive surgery only to spend the next five years in prison.

The door opened. I looked up, expecting a doctor, but it was Priya.

She crossed the waiting room in four strides and pulled me into a hug that smelled like her jasmine perfume and the cigarette she'd probably smoked in the parking lot. I held onto her and tried not to cry.

"I'm okay," I said into her shoulder.

"You jumped off a bridge into the East River in November."

"I'm still okay."

"Nora." She pulled back, her hands on my shoulders. "You are many things right now, but okay is not one of them."

"Daniel's in surgery. They don't know if—" My voice cracked. "There was so much blood, Priya. He was holding me up in the water and he was bleeding the whole time and he didn't tell me."

"Of course he didn't." Priya sat down beside me, keeping one hand on my arm. "Because he's an idiot who thinks he has to save everyone by himself."

"That's my thing."

"Yeah, well, apparently you two have that in common." She squeezed my arm. "Morrison called me. Told me what happened on the bridge. What Daniel confessed to."

"He didn't kill her," I said. "Marcus did. The recording proves it."

"I know. But he still covered it up."

"Because Richard made him."

"Did he?" Priya's voice was gentle. "Or did Daniel choose to protect Richard because that's what he's always done?"

I didn't have an answer for that.

"Morrison says he's looking at two to five years," I said instead.

"Morrison also says Daniel could fight for less. If he wanted to."

"Why wouldn't he want to?"

Priya looked at me for a long moment. "Nora. Do you love him?"

The question hung in the air between us. I thought about Daniel's hand in mine in the water. His voice telling me to talk about my recipes, my blog, my future. Not our future. Just mine.

"I don't know," I said.

"Yes, you do."

"I don't. I can't—" I pulled the blanket tighter. "Everything has been so insane. The marriage, the investigation, Richard, Marcus. How am I supposed to know what I actually feel versus what I feel because of all the chaos?"

"You jumped off a bridge for him."

"I would have jumped off a bridge for anyone."

"Bullshit." Priya's voice was sharp. "You jumped because you couldn't stand the thought of watching him die. You jumped because in that moment, the idea of a world without Daniel Park in it was worse than the idea of dying yourself."

My nails dug crescents into my palms. "That doesn't mean I love him."

"Then what does it mean?"

"It means I care about him. It means I don't want him to die. It means—" I stopped. Started again. "It means I'm terrified that if I admit I love him, I'll lose myself the way I lost myself trying to save my parents' restaurant. The way I lost myself trying to fix things that weren't mine to fix."

"Is that what you think love is?" Priya asked. "Losing yourself?"

"Isn't it?"

"No." She turned to face me fully. "Love is choosing someone while still choosing yourself. It's building something together without erasing who you are separately. It's—" She paused. "It's letting someone keep you afloat in freezing water while you tell them about gochujang brownies."

"Morrison told you that part?"

"He told me all of it." Priya's expression softened. "Nora. You've spent the last five years trying to save everyone except yourself. Your parents. Your restaurant. Your immigration status. And now Daniel. But at some point, you have to decide what you actually want. Not what you think you should want. Not what will fix someone else's problem. What you want."

"I want him to be okay," I said.

"That's not what I asked."

The door to the surgical wing opened. A nurse in blue scrubs stepped into the waiting room, her eyes scanning the space until they landed on me.

"Mrs. Park?"

I stood up. The thermal blanket fell from my shoulders.

"Is he—"

"Your husband is out of surgery. He's stable." The nurse's expression was professionally neutral. "He's asking for you. He says he needs to tell you something before—" She stopped, glancing past me to where Morrison had reappeared in the doorway. "Before he talks to his lawyer."