Chapter 34
“It’s getting worse, Cap.”
“I know,” I say grimly, watching another wave sweep across the hull. Locking my knees as we rock with the motion.
Wade checks his phone. “Still no service.”
“You won’t get any out this far.”
It was stupid to sail past the lighthouse.
Wade wanted to, and we were flying so fast that I didn’t think going out farther would add that much time.
Until the winds shifted, and the water got rough, and I recalled the many times Jerry King had boasted about how his father had this vessel custom built.
He’s meticulous about maintaining it, but not modernizing it.
Meaning there’s no digital navigation, let alone the smart sensors or infotainment system or security cameras that are practically standard these days.
Distractions, I thought privately in the past, but some of that tech would be helpful now.
What’s really not helpful? That I didn’t bother to do a full safety check before we left the harbor on what was meant to be a quick trip, and the VHF radio didn’t turn on when I ducked into the cabin to grab Wade and me life jackets.
I sure as fuck didn’t mention that to Wade, who was already looking pale as the boat continued to rock faster, and I didn’t take the time to troubleshoot, but the possibility there’s a bad connection or a dead battery is a heavy weight on the back of my mind.
Because the lack of tech also means that radio is our one means of calling for help.
If this storm picks up rather than settles and the sun fully sinks, we’ll be in serious shit.
“Shouldn’t we be heading closer toward the shore?” Wade calls.
I shake my head. “It’s safer out here. Room to maneuver or run off.”
Another wave hits, soaking Wade’s shorts. “Sounds fucking counterintuitive.”
“Well, one of us took sailing lessons, and it wasn’t you.”
“I didn’t foresee being stuck out in a damn hurricane and needing to know how to sail.”
“It’s not a hurricane.”
I glance at the darkening horizon. I saw rain was predicted tonight, which is why I scrapped the plan to take Wren to the beach later.
Wren.
I have plenty of regrets. But the one that is suffocating me now?
I never told her.
If this boat never makes it back to shore, Wren will never know I love her. I’ll never get to say the words to her.
I’ve never been especially careful with my life. Not careless, aside from that dark period right after Skylar was suddenly gone, but not careful either.
This wasn’t careless. It was supposed to be a short trip. I didn’t even mention it to Dusty because Jerry King offered to pay me five hundred dollars under the table for checking the steering, which I’m probably not supposed to accept as a marina employee.
The gray clouds overhead split open, dumping a deluge of water on me and on Wade and on the sea. Salty wind whips, and there’s too much slack in the sail. The wind is shifting direction again.
“Cap.” There’s true panic in Wade’s voice now.
He’s one of my oldest friends, and he takes almost nothing seriously. He took a job at the marina because Gus and I did, and we do most things together, not because he had much of an interest in anything nautical. If we don’t make it through this … it’ll be entirely my fault.
“You should head in the cabin,” I say. “Make sure everything’s secured.”
“There’s a radio in there, right? I should call for help?”
I blow out a breath. “It wasn’t working.”
“What? What do you mean, it’s not working?”
“I mean, I should have checked it before we left, but I didn’t, and I tried to turn it on when I grabbed the life jackets. Let me know if you get it working. Channel 16 is for emergencies.”
“So, this is an emergency now?”
Another huge wave hits. I need to heave to, or we’re going to capsize.
“What do you think?” I shout, shoving my hair back so I can try to see the helm clearly.
“I think I should have switched to caddying like Ricky did,” Wade calls. “No one ever dies golfing.”
“We’re not going to die,” I yell back before he disappears below deck, relieved he said it aloud so I had a chance to deny it. “Probably,” I add under my breath as I initiate a slow tack.
Once I’ve locked the tiller, I head into the cabin to check on Wade. He’s sitting on the bottom berth, tossing a deck of cards between his hands.
I glance at the radio. “No luck?”
“Nope.”
“It’s not getting any worse,” I say. “We just need to sit tight for a little bit.”
Wade nods, and I appreciate him at least acting like I know that for certain.
He holds up the deck. “Wanna play? I could use a distraction, and old man King doesn’t stock this ship with any liquid courage. I already checked.”
I exhale. “Yeah, sure.”
I could use a distraction too.