Chapter 11
Colton
It’s been three days, seven hours and twenty minutes since Savannah fixed the Sea Spirit , and I haven’t seen her since. Not that I’m counting the minutes!
She hasn’t been out of my damn mind.
It’s like a splinter buried beneath my skin. No matter how small, it’s impossible to ignore.
It’ll work itself out and will fade with time, but whenever I catch Todd watching me with that knowing look, I know he’s waiting for me to admit I’m just as caught up in her as he is.
He’s been trying to talk to me about ménage relationships. I can see the appeal. Hell, I can even imagine it working between us. After all, we’ve always shared everything. It’s never been a problem between us. But this ? Her ?
Savannah?
No, I don’t see how that could work.
She’s a city girl through and through. She’s also fiercely independent and prickly as hell. I must admit, I kinda like her ‘porcupine mode.’
The problem isn’t us. It’s her. There’s no way in hell she’d stick around for one rough-around-the-edges fisherman, let alone two.
Todd drums his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes on the road as we head back from town. We don’t speak, and I’m fine with that. We don’t need to fill the silence with useless chatter.
When his phone rings, it’s unnaturally loud.
He glances at the screen before answering. “Diana.” Todd’s voice is easy. He likes Diana.
A pause. Then his posture stiffens. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. Can you…” He shoots me a glance I can’t interpret. “Diana!” Todd snaps. Listens.
I shift in my seat and watch him.
His jaw tightens. “Wait—Colton’s with me. Let me put you on speaker.”
A click. Then Diana’s voice fills the van, edged with concern.
“Savannah’s been gone for hours.”
I straighten.
Todd frowns. “How long are we talking?”
“She left after lunch. It’s nearly dark, and she’s not answering her phone. It goes straight to voicemail.”
A glance at the clock confirms it. The sun’s already dipping, the sky bleeding into deep grays and blues. The temperature is dropping, too.
“She takes short hikes,” Diana continues. “She’s still adjusting to the cold. This isn’t like her.”
“She’s on foot?” Todd blows out a breath on a whoosh. “Her car’s still not fixed?”
“No. The parts haven’t arrived yet.”
“So, she’s walking, right?”
“Yes.” Diana’s voice is so small, I hardly can hear her.
Silence hangs for a beat. I don’t like it.
“Any idea where she went?” Todd asks.
“No.”
The single word is clipped and louder than before. Diana isn’t one to overreact, but her panic and worry are clear.
“All right,” Todd says. “One of us will start from the dock in case she came that way. The other will head to the B she isn’t here.
I stand at the edge, scanning the shoreline, my gut tightening. The wind picks up and ruffles my hair and jacket. The water laps against the pilings. Normally, the sound is grounding. Right now, it’s nothing but noise.
Savannah’s tough—hell, she’s handled herself pretty damn well since she arrived—but she’s not from around here. She doesn’t know the land like we do. And she sure as hell isn’t used to hiking in Maine’s unpredictable terrain.
I check my phone. Nothing.
Damn it.
I’m about to start my walk back to town, when I jump up to the Sea Spirit and get the first aid kit from the cabin.
I pull my gloves back on and release a sigh. There’s no point in hanging around. The best chance I have of finding her is if I start moving.
The problem is, I don’t know where the hell she went.
The path forks in three different directions from here—one leads into the woods toward Blueberry Ridge Trail, another curves along the shoreline, and the last heads back toward town. She would stand out against the sea, if she was taking the shore route. When she’s heading into town, Todd will find her.
Besides, if she wanted a longer walk, she would’ve taken the ridge trail.
That’s where I go.
The first hundred yards are easy, the path well-worn and mostly clear. But as I push deeper into the woods, the ground turns uneven, scattered with roots and patches of frozen earth. The last of the daylight fades, and it’s almost dark between the trees.
I keep walking.
The cold air bites at my skin, but I ignore it. I’m used to it.
As I trudge forward, my focus narrows. My boots crunch over fallen leaves or a twig snaps beneath my feet. I call out her name over and over, and the sound echoes against trees.
Then I see her.
My steps quicken.
Savannah is hunched against the base of a tree, her body curled in on itself as she clutches her head like she’s trying to block something. Her chest rises and falls too fast, her breath coming in short, gasping bursts.
It looks like a panic attack.
Shit.
I crouch in front of her. I don’t know if she’ll recognize me in this state. I keep my movements careful. “Savannah?”
She doesn’t react.
Her eyes are open, but she’s not here.
She’s somewhere else, lost in whatever memory has her trapped.
I don’t touch her. Not yet.
“Savannah.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “You’re safe.”
Her breath hitches. Her fingers dig into her scalp.
I inch closer, lowering my voice. “You’re not alone anymore. You’re here. With me.”
Still no response.
I could call Todd, but I don’t.
I don’t know why.
Maybe it’s because I don’t want her to feel like she’s suddenly surrounded, like she’s a problem we need to fix.
Or maybe because I want to be the one to pull her out of this.
“Breathe with me.” I match my words to my own slow inhalation. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”
For a second, I think she doesn’t hear me.
Then—her chest rises. Not steady. Not controlled. But she’s trying.
Good.
“Again,” I murmur. “Just like that.”
Her eyes shift, just slightly, like she’s struggling to return to the present.
I lift my hands, palms up. “Can I touch you?”
She blinks, the first real movement I’ve seen from her.
Then, almost imperceptibly, she nods.
Moving slowly, I place my hands over hers and ease her fingers away from her scalp. Her skin is cold. Too cold.
“Breathe,” I say. “You’re here. You’re safe.”
Her next breath is steadier.
The one after that, even more so.
I don’t move away. I don’t let go.
And I don’t miss the way her fingers tighten around mine, holding on like I’m her anchor and a haven, as if she’ll drift off into a vast ocean of fear and nothingness without me.