Chapter 40 #2
As the light sweeps across the waves, a shadowy figure comes into view. It’s North, drenched and battered, clinging to a protruding rock with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around an unconscious Nash.
Oh my God.
Terror rushes through my veins, but I have to keep a sense of calm to do what I have to do now.
I don’t care if I die today.
But they won’t.
“Over there!” I shout, steering the boat toward them, the spotlight fixed on their position.
The waves are relentless, making the approach more than difficult.
Realizing I need to be on the deck to help, I let go of the wheel, and grunt when I grab the coiled rope from next to my feet.
It is heavy as fuck. The rope is already secured on a rod, so I only take a second to make sure the knot is tight before rushing out of the wheelhouse.
The rain instantly soaks me, and the waves make it a struggle to stay upright.
“Throw the rope!” Saylor yells.
With all my might, I hurl it in North and Nash’s direction.
Miraculously, it lands beside North, who reaches out to grab the end.
With a mighty effort, he loops it around Nash while still holding on to the rock somehow.
But as he secures it, a massive wave, bigger than any other I’ve seen, crashes over the rock and them.
My heart stops when they vanish beneath the water.
Time seems to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity until they resurface, North gasping for air. His grip on the rock is weakening, his strength obviously waning.
Come on, I need you to hold on.
“Pull, Sloan, fucking pull!” Saylor’s voice is frantic, echoing the panic I feel.
I start pulling with every ounce of strength I possess.
Planting my feet firmly against the railing, I use it as leverage.
The weight of Nash’s limp body, combined with the force of the waves, makes it an almost impossible task.
A violent wave pulls him under, and the tug on the rope burns my hands, but it only fuels my determination.
Inch by inch, I drag Nash closer to the boat, but I can’t hoist him out of the water and up to me.
“He’s too heavy,” I cry to Saylor, my arms shaking with the effort of just holding onto him.
“You can do it, Sloan, you can do anything. Save his life. You’re so freaking strong, Boo. Pull!”
With everything I’ve got, I pull, holding my breath, my muscles straining, but it works.
Slowly, way too slow, I pull Nash upward.
And with one final, Herculean effort, I grip his arms and hoist him onto the boat, his body limp and cold.
As fast as I can, I remove the rope from Nash and throw it back to North, who still clings to the rock.
Turning back to Nash, I push him on his back and fumble the hair out of his face to check on him, but he’s still unconscious.
I thought my fingers were cold, but their chill is nothing compared to Nash’s throat when I glide over it, feeling for his pulse.
I find it, but it’s faint.
Fuck.
I turn back and see North has already reached the boat, his arms shaking as he climbs the rope by himself before collapsing onto the deck next to Nash, his chest heaving.
“Not the time to take a break, bro,” Saylor tells North.
He’s right. The storm is still throwing the boat around.
We’re not out of danger yet.
“Come on, big guy,” I say to Nash as I slide my arms under him to pull him away from the edge.
North struggles to his feet and comes to help me. Together, we manage to drag Nash into the wheelhouse.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Sloan?” North growls, panting, as if he has only just realized I’m here. His voice is rough from the cold and exhaustion. “You could’ve died! We could still all die! You don’t have the experience for this!”
“You not believing in me being able to do shit has never stopped me before,” I retort, panting myself. But I fix my focus solely on Nash again.
He’s not breathing.
No, no, no.
I start CPR. Each compression feels like a battle, with my hands numb and almost blue from the cold. It’s hard to keep steady on my knees, the waves still pushing us around like we are on one of Lio’s toy boats.
I feel the weight of North’s gaze on me, his anger slowly giving way to concern. He moves closer, grabs the back of my neck, and slams a kiss to the top of my head, his lips cold against my wet hair. “Thank you.”
Without another word, he moves to the wheel, taking control of the boat.
Saylor’s voice breaks through my concentration. “Your lips are blue,” he cautions, concern evident in his voice. He glances at North. “His are too. Fuck, you need to get out of here fast, or you’ll all die of hypothermia.”
“North,” I gasp, my voice shaky like the rest of me.
“I know, Blue,” North replies, his voice hoarse. He reaches for the radio, his fingers trembling slightly.
He tries to radio the harbor, but there is no signal, only noise. North only gets through when he has navigated us closer to the shore.
“Harbor Control, this is North Jones. One of you guys out there to copy?” North’s voice is urgent but controlled. He’s still panting, and his teeth chatter, just like mine.
A crackle comes through the radio before a voice responds, “This is Harbor Control. We copy.”
“We’re on our way to harbor, have a man down, unconscious, and are in need of immediate medical assistance. Make sure you’re ready for us. We’re coming in hot, over and out.”