17. Indy
SEVENTEEN
INDY
It’s approaching dawn. The sky is still dark but no longer black.
A faint strip of blue gathers along the horizon over the water.
Most of the stars have already disappeared, with just a few brighter ones remaining.
The ocean is a broad, quiet expanse, the surface barely visible except for the slow movement of darker lines where the waves roll in.
The air is cool and tinged with salt. There’s a kind of suspended quiet like the world’s waiting for the first edge of light to break to wake up.
I’m itching to get out there.
Once I start to walk toward the boat shed, my shoulders relax, and I can breathe easily again for the first time in forever.
I don’t even feel tired, just excited. Mom’s been extra cautious ever since the tornado.
Every time I mention rowing she starts scrolling through the weather app and pointing out totally normal things like clouds and the UV index, so I snuck out before anybody was up.
What Mom doesn’t know can’t hurt her. I’m being a thoughtful son.
I don’t want her to worry unnecessarily, after all.
I’m blissfully alone for the first time in a while, seeing that ever since we got back home, I’ve been surrounded by people at all times. Or at least it feels like that.
I breathe in deeply and my whole body relaxes.
Until I hear footsteps behind me. I jerk to a stop and screw my eyes shut for a moment before I turn around. I sigh and watch Nick catch up to me.
“Are you following me?” I ask.
He sends me an unimpressed look. “Relax. If I were a stalker, I’d put in more effort than this. I’d also pick somebody less boring to follow.”
I throw my arms up. “Then why are you here?”
I sound straight-up frustrated. Rowing is my thing. Does he have to come and mess this up for me too? I come out here to escape his looming presence in the rest of my life.
“I’m cashing in my favor,” he says.
I’m not following. “What favor?”
“The one you owe me from when I played cab driver for you that one time.”
It feels like the night we went to pick up Dia and Bridge happened to someone else in a different life.
“And?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Teach me to row.”
My mouth drops open. After a bit, I narrow my eyes while I try to figure out what his deal is. What is he trying to accomplish? I don’t get it. He’s been avoiding me like he’s afraid I might be carrying the plague.
“So?” he says impatiently.
“Why?” I’m still flabbergasted, still in detective mode and doing a bad job at it.
“Believe it or not, your hobbies don’t automatically become off limits to the rest of humanity.”
I cross my own arms over my chest in reply and glare back.
“I wasn’t implying that.” We stare at each other for a moment before I deliberately force my shoulders to relax.
“I’d be happy to teach you,” I say. A tad stiffly, but that can’t be helped.
I’m doing my best. “In fact, I’d love to teach you.
” I did promise, I guess. Might as well get it over with.
I didn’t put my shirt on in my room and instead threw it over my shoulder, and his eyes move up and down my naked torso before they settle on my face again. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
I roll my eyes and tug the shirt off my shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry. My bad. I didn’t realize there was a dress code for this. I’ve gotta be honest, a tux felt a bit excessive, but next time.” I cross my fingers pointedly.
He exhales through his nose. His gaze flicks to my chest before he aims his eyes toward the water. “At least you remembered the shorts.”
He sounds annoyed.
Good.
“I’d love to teach you,” I grit through my teeth. “Really, really love to.”
He motions for me to go ahead and trails me to the boat shed, and I’m once again overly aware of him right behind me.
We make it to the boat shed, and I pull the shirt and paddling jacket over my head. I nod toward Nick’s sweatshirt. “Is that thing waterproof, by any chance?”
He looks down at it. “Sure. One of the many miracles of, you know, cotton.”
Oh, look. An escape hatch. Don’t mind if I do.
I purse my lips. “Ooooh, yeah. Not ideal. Not ideal at all. See, cotton will get wet, and then you’ll be at risk of hypothermia. We can probably find another time to do this, though, right? We’ll check our calendars and find a date.”
He throws me a look. “Seriously?”
I sigh, tug the paddling jacket off over my head and hold it out to him. He eyes it like I’m trying to hand him a dead dog.
I blow out an impatient breath. “It’s a thermal shirt.
” I wave my other hand up and down my chest. “Merino wool. Not cotton. I’ll be fine with just this.
” I shake the jacket pointedly. It takes him forever and a day, but eventually he takes it and pulls it over his head.
He’s a bit wider than I am, so the jacket is tighter, and no, I’m not paying any attention to the way it molds to his chest.
I unlock the shed and slide the door open. Nick follows me wordlessly and helps me get the kayak off the rack. We carry it outside and push it into water.
“Ready?” I ask.
Nick stares at the kayak before he glances at me. “That’s it?” he asks. “That’s the whole boat?”
“It’s a kayak. What were you expecting, a yacht?”
He crouches on the edge of the dock and nudges the side with the tips of his fingers. The hull rocks gently.
He looks up. “This thing looks unstable as shit.”
“It’s not,” I say. “It just feels like it when you do stupid shit.”
He straightens slowly. “That’s reassuring.”
I put my hands on my hips. Count to ten. “Two people in a kayak means teamwork,” I say pointedly.
Nick looks skeptical as hell when his eyes move up and down me, and I can’t blame him, really.
“You’re in the back.” I point at the seat.
The suspicion in his gaze intensifies immediately.
“Why?”
“Because the one in the back steers,” I say.
His brows hike higher for a moment before he narrows his eyes. “Isn’t that the job of the person who actually knows what they’re doing?”
“Yes.” I send him a smug smile. “But somebody also has to compensate for whatever fuckuppery you’ll come up with.”
He snorts under his breath, and it’s strangely lighthearted and endearing.
I tap the front seat with the tip of the paddle. “I set the pace, you match my strokes. When I paddle on the left, you paddle on the left. When I paddle on the right, you paddle on the right.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we spin in circles, and I will tell you in detail just how much you suck. I’ve already practiced in my head, so it’ll be glorious.”
“What an inspiring teacher you would make.”
I crouch and hold the kayak against the dock.
“Get in.”
He doesn’t.
I look up, still holding the kayak in place. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
“I’m not.”
“Great. Then get in.”
He sends me another one of those unimpressed look and climbs in. The kayak wobbles, and Nick tenses.
“Relax or you’ll make it worse,” I say.
“I’m sitting as still as humanly possible.”
“You’re tense,” I say.
“You’re tense,” he grits out.
I step into the kayak and plant my butt in the seat. The kayak rocks for a bit before it settles.
“Okay.” I dip the paddle into the water. “You want to keep your strokes long, even, and smooth. Like this.”
I pull the paddle through the water, and with the next stroke, Nick copies the motion. The kayak lurches sideways while he tries to get the hang of it.
“Whoa.”
“What was it you said?” Nick asks dryly. “Something about how you’d compensate?”
“Match my strokes,” I say. Again.
“I am matching your strokes.”
“Not really.”
“I am!”
I pull the paddle through the water again. Behind me there’s a splash that’s about half a second late, and the kayak jerks.
“Nicholas,” I say.
“What?”
The kayak jerks again. I whip my head around to glare at him. “You’re leaning.”
“I’m not.”
He leans as he says it.
The kayak tilts precariously.
“Dude,” I say with exasperation, and then I add a stern “Stop.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Not you. The kayak.”
He lets out a snort. I put the paddle back in the water.
“Don’t lean,” I warn him.
He sighs. “I didn’t lean.”
“You leaned.”
“Maybe it’s not me. Maybe you don’t know how to steer.”
“You’re the one steering,” I say.
Shockingly, he doesn’t have anything to say to that.
“Just count me down or something,” Nick says. “Don’t assume I can read your mind and guess when you start paddling.”
Okay. So, yeah. That… that one is on me. I give a verbal warning before I stroke this time.
It actually works. The kayak glides over the surface smoothly. It goes well for a few strokes before his paddle clips the side of mine, and he tries to overcorrect immediately.
“Don’t lean,” I say again.
“I’m not leaning. I’m trying not to sink,” he snaps.
“We’re not going to sink. It’s fucking difficult to flip a kayak, and the water’s not that deep anyway.”
“When has that ever stopped people from drowning? You can drown in a puddle.”
That makes me glance over my shoulder. “Wait… You do know how to swim, right?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
I throw up my hands. “It’s not something I should have to guess. It’s either a yes or a no.”
He rolls his eyes. “Calm your tits. Yes, I know how to swim.”
I let my head fall back. “You’re such a dick,” I mutter.
We start to paddle again and almost settle into a rhythm. As reluctant as I might be to give him any credit, Nick catches on quickly, and he also shuts up, so after a while I relax into the rhythm of the kayak.
The bay is quiet this early. No boats, no engine noise, no other people. Just the soft dip of the paddles and the slap of water against the hull.
The sky has gone from deep blue to pale.
On the horizon, a faint strip of light has appeared where the sea meets the sky.
Neither of us says anything, but by some silent agreement, we both stop moving.
The kayak rocks gently. We both settle our paddles across our laps.
The water moves beneath the kayak in slow, rhythmic swells.
Somewhere in the distance, a gull cries out.
The sun finally breaks over the horizon.