Burke briskly washed his hands in the surf and knelt beside her. She leaned against him and wiped her mouth.
"I knew you wouldn't," he whispered into her ear. "I told you: I'm the beast, not you."
"I just—couldn't. He was smirking at me and he knew I couldn't and he just—I just—" She closed her eyes and heard the snap of Pete's neck breaking again. This time it didn't make her feel sick. This time it made her… not exactly happy. More like…
peaceful? "Oh, Burke. What if you hadn't come? What if I'd never met you?"
"But I did. And you did. And Maggie can rest. No more bad dreams."
"How did you know I—?"
He kissed her on the temple. "How could I not know my own mate?"
She clung to him, ignoring the surf wetting their legs, their knees. "Your mate? You still want to—?"
"Since you were in the hole and told me to go away. I couldn't leave you then. How could I leave you now? You're for me and I'm for you."
"Just like that?"
He shrugged.
"Just like that," she answered herself. The events of the past two days flashed across her mind: all he had done. For her. Had anyone ever… ? Who else could have done so much for her, but the man she was destined to be with?
"I'll outlive you," she said tearfully.
"On the upside, I can't knock you up."
"No kids," she said, cheering up.
He kissed her again. "No kids."
They rose as one and walked to the truck, not looking back when the surf covered Pete's body—both pieces—and took it away.
As predicted, nobody missed him, except the liquor rep, and she quickly found a new client.
No one in the bar who saw Burke and Serena ever forgot them, and no one in the bar ever saw them again. Drifters, in and out of P-town, one of several thousand tourists who came through Cape Cod each summer. Nothing special about them.
No, nothing at all.