Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
Lincoln
M y boat was docked at the Hampton Bays Marina, just a couple of miles from my parents' house. I had bought the forty-seven-foot Sun Ray a few years ago, but it had been sitting in dry dock until now—almost a year since Michael's return. With Erika's agreement to come to the house with me, I’d recently had the boat inspected and made ready for a full season on the water. By the time we arrived at the marina, the boat was all gassed up and primed for departure.
“Oh, that’s your boat?” Erika asked, her eyes widening as she took in the sleek vessel.
“I don’t use it much, but now that I have the chance, I figured I might as well,” I said, my tone light. “I’ll give you a tour once we’re settled.”
The marina staff had done an excellent job. The boat’s interior was immaculate, gleaming in the sunlight that filtered through the tinted sunroof above us. When I started the engines, they purred to life, a reassuring hum that promised smooth sailing.
“This is some place,” Erika remarked, her voice tinged with genuine admiration as she looked up at the sleek lines of the boat.
I settled into the butter-soft brown captain’s chair and checked the instruments. The dashboard was a futuristic array of digital displays glowing with soft blue light. The marina hands were expertly unmooring us, and after a quick verification that we were clear, I gently eased the throttle forward, guiding us out of the bustling marina. Erika took a seat in a matching chair beside me, kicking off her black crystal-encrusted flip-flops and propping her feet on the dash.
“Comfortable?” I asked, glancing over.
She quickly pulled her feet down. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“I like the polish,” I said, trying to keep my gaze on the water. “It matches the boat.”
Erika smiled, seemingly pleased. “I thought black would complement my flip-flops.”
It took all my restraint not to watch her as she looked out at the water. I had to stay focused; the weekend boating traffic was heavy, with several boats and yachts all navigating out at the same time.
“What’s below deck?” Erika asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Two cabins,” I replied. “Perfect for a nap if you get tired.”
“Perfect for a nap,” she echoed. “But not right now. The water makes me sleepy, though.”
“We’ll be out in open water soon,” I said, gesturing to the white canvas bag I’d brought. “You can take a nap on the deck if you want. I packed plenty of sunscreen.”
“Later,” she said, a hint of something playful in her tone.
My pulse quickened at the suggestion. The gentle sway of the boat, coupled with the calm day and the slight breeze forecasted for the day, set the perfect scene. The idea of her relaxing on the deck while the ocean rocked us gently was enticing.
As the boat glided smoothly toward open water, the sun began to warm us, and I couldn't help but imagine how the day might unfold. The forecast was clear, promising good conditions throughout the day.
I navigated the boat away from the crowded marina, my hands steady on the wheel as we moved toward open water. The hum of the engines filled the space between us until I cut them, dropping anchor once we were far enough from the shore. The calm lapped at the sides of the boat, and the sun gleamed off the water as Erika, already in her bikini, slathered herself with sunscreen on the deck.
“This is nice, Elliott. I’m really glad you brought me,” she said, her voice a contented purr as she stretched out on the deck. The white bikini barely concealed her, and her sunlit skin shimmered with oil.
I glanced over, unable to look away. “You’re getting a nice tan.”
Erika glanced back at me, her eyes twinkling behind her sunglasses. “I think I’d like to go swimming.”
“You would?” I raised an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden enthusiasm.
With a playful grin, she sat up and removed her sunglasses. “You think I’m afraid?”
“I didn’t say that. I just figured you were more of a pool person,” I said, trying to mask my concern.
“I’m not a girl; I’m a woman,” she said, her smirk widening as she stood up and moved to the railing.
My stomach knotted. Memories of Michael’s story about going overboard flashed through my mind. I hesitated, wanting to say something to stop her, but I knew she’d dismiss it as needless worry. Before I could act, Erika had already climbed over the railing and leaped into the water.
“ERIKA!” I shouted, panic rising in my chest.
She didn’t respond. My heart pounded as I stripped off my t-shirt and plunged into the dark blue sea. The boat felt enormous as I swam around it, my breaths coming in heavy gasps. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being lost.
“ERIKA!” I called out again, my voice desperate and strained.
The water seemed to swallow her, and just as my hope began to wane, something coiled around my neck. I whirled around to find Erika’s laughing face inches from mine. She had been toying with me, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
“You bitch,” I growled.
All at once she was gone and I wheeled around to see her swimming away.
“ERIKA, COME BACK!” I yelled, frustration and relief mingling in my voice as she swam around the back of the boat.
She didn’t pause, instead swimming away. My only hope was the ladder at the boat’s stern. I swam to it, pulled myself up, and found her on the small landing, wringing out her wet hair. She refused to meet my gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my breath ragged. “I didn’t mean to overreact.”
“That was totally unnecessary,” Erika snapped, her voice sharp. “You called me a bitch.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling the weight of my words. “But when I couldn’t find you, I thought something might’ve happened. Was it really funny to disappear like that?”
“I swam under the boat,” she said defensively. “I didn’t even hear you.”
“It’s dangerous, Erika,” I insisted, trying to calm the rush of emotion. “You could’ve been hurt. I’d have had no idea where you were.”
“Well, I’m fine. I think this day is over,” she said curtly, turning her back and heading up the stairs to the main deck.
I stood there, drenched and frustrated, feeling a gnawing sense of helplessness. The sun still shone brightly, but our day had taken a sour turn. I knew I needed to bridge the gap between us before the day ended in deeper discord.
For a week, I was trapped in a relentless purgatory, unable to escape the mess I had created. The day of our boating trip played on repeat in my mind, especially the way Erika refused to even look at me after we got back to the deck. Our day was ruined, and she demanded I take her back to dry land. I tried to reason with her, holding off as long as I could until I saw the tears welling up in her eyes. At that point, I couldn’t say no.
The moment we docked, she disembarked before I could even secure the boat. By the time I reached the parking lot, she was gone. No sign of her, just an empty space where I hoped to see her waiting. I assumed she took an Uber or a cab back to my place, but when I got home, Erika wasn’t there, nor was her suitcase. Panic set in. I spent days texting and calling her, each attempt met with silence.
Now, a week later, I was barely hanging on. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t think—my life was a haze of missed opportunities and unspoken apologies. Even work, something I’d always been able to rely on, felt distant and unimportant.
“What’s your problem?” Michael asked, snapping me out of my daze. We were having lunch at Leaves in Greenwich Village, a quaint eatery that Michael loved. It was sweltering outside, but he insisted on sitting in the patio’s greenery, soaking up the sun. I wiped my face with a napkin, the sweat mixing with the sting of my hangover, and sipped at my seltzer and lime.
“Nothing, everything,” I muttered, feeling the weight of the past week press down on me.
“You haven’t mentioned Erika. Are you two having problems?” Michael asked, his tone laced with concern.
“I’m an ass,” I admitted, signaling the waiter for something stronger. For days, I’d been drowning my sorrows in whiskey, the burn of the alcohol offering a temporary escape. This morning’s hangover had been brutal—I’d downed three aspirin with my coffee just to get through showing a multimillion-dollar loft to one of Mrs. Ducane’s obnoxiously wealthy friends. Normally, the prospect of a fat commission would’ve excited me, but today, I could barely muster the energy to care.
“What exactly did you do?” Michael pressed, his eyes narrowing.
I explained what happened on the boat, reliving each moment with a fresh wave of regret.
He hummed, leaning back in his chair. “You are an ass. You called her a bitch?”
“I did,” I confessed, scanning the restaurant for the waiter. Relief washed over me when I saw him approaching with the whiskey on the rocks I’d ordered. I shucked off my gray suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt as the drink was placed in front of me.
“You can’t fault her for anything,” Michael commented, his voice measured. “She didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“All I could think about was you,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “I thought I lost her.”
“You didn’t, and you should’ve explained that to her. But I can’t condone you calling her names,” Michael said, his tone firm.
“I sent her flowers, called her more times than I can count. I even went by her place, but the concierge threatened to throw me out. I sat outside her building until the doorman told me to leave,” I said, frustration lacing my voice.
Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I could ask Morgan to talk to her.”
I scowled, taking a slug of my drink. “Really? She’s getting married. Why would she have anything to do with you?”
“Because she still loves me,” Michael said with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“If she did, she’d put a stop to the wedding. I have no idea why I fell for Erika. I was perfectly happy with one-night stands—no fucking entanglements, and my life was great,” I said, the bitterness in my voice undeniable.
“Was it, dear brother? You fell for Erika because it was time,” Michael said, his tone softer now.
“I fell for her because I couldn’t stop myself. Now my life is shit,” I admitted, the weight of the past week pressing down on me like a lead blanket.
“You look tired,” Michael observed, his eyes narrowing as he studied my face.
I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked like hell. The dark circles under my eyes were evidence enough of the sleepless nights I’d spent alone, the empty bed a constant reminder of the only woman I’d ever loved, and the fact that she now hated me.
“I haven’t been sleeping. Alcohol helps,” I muttered, the ice clinking in my glass as I swirled it around.
“But it’s not a solution,” Michael replied, his voice carrying a note of concern.
“How do you do it?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, feeling the heat of the sun pressing down on me.
We fell silent as the waiter approached with our meals. I opted for a simple Cobb salad, but even that looked unappetizing. Michael, ever the health-conscious one, ordered poached salmon with asparagus. The contrast in our plates mirrored the difference in our states of mind.
“Do what?” Michael asked after the waiter left, spearing a piece of salmon with his fork.
“Deal with the loss,” I said, my voice low.
“I have no choice. Morgan made her decision,” he replied, his tone flat.
“Will you ever start dating again?” I asked, more curious than I cared to admit.
“Maybe, but not now. I have hope.”
“Hope for what?” I scoffed, unable to hide my skepticism. “She’s getting married.”
“It won’t last, or she’ll come to her senses,” Michael insisted, his expression stubborn.
“You might be alone for a long time if that’s what you’re waiting for. Erika told me Morgan is excited to marry,” I said, trying to inject some reality into his fantasy.
“She might be excited, but it will wear off once she realizes I’m the right man for her,” Michael said, his certainty unshakable.
I groaned, rubbing my temple. “Can we get back to my problem?”
“From what you told me, you displayed signs of becoming Erika’s father. You overreacted,” Michael said, his voice matter-of-fact.
“With good reason,” I grumbled, pushing my salad around the plate, barely interested in eating.
“You can worry, but you said something you shouldn’t have. She’s hurt and probably worried you’ll turn into her father. You said she was gun-shy about marriage and relationships. You just confirmed her fears,” Michael pointed out, his gaze steady.
I sighed, the weight of his words sinking in. “She won’t let me make it right. I want to make it right. I’m miserable without her. Maybe we don’t belong together. We both have strong personalities.”
“Relationships are a compromise,” Michael said, leaning forward. “You’ve never had one before, and this is a learning experience.”
“But Erika won’t give me a chance,” I reiterated, feeling the frustration building up again.
“She gave you a chance, and you fucked it up,” Michael said bluntly.
“I need as many as it takes to make it right. Everything else is secondary. I didn’t even care about the showing I had this morning,” I admitted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.
Michael raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “You didn’t care about potential money? Now I’m surprised.”
“Don’t be. Erika is all I care about. I have to attend an open house tomorrow, and I’m not in any mood to spend my Saturday morning touring an apartment,” I said, finishing off my drink in one long swallow.
“Get in the mood,” Michael said firmly. “You might have no other choice but to move on from her.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, raising my glass above my head to signal the waiter for another drink. The alcohol was the only thing keeping me together, even if it was fraying my edges.
“You should take it easy,” Michael suggested, his tone softening.
“I should, but I can’t,” I replied, the exhaustion clear in my voice. “Not when she’s all I can think about.”