Chapter Fourteen
My pulse riots and teeth chatter. It’s too small. Too tight. Too suffocating.
I glance at the narrower alcove in front of me.
Are you sure you want to do this? This cave already prickles my claustrophobia. But it’s manageable.
The one ahead, though—that’s the real test.
A few minutes ago, when we floated out there, I closed my eyes and tried focusing on the meditative music. But instead of relaxation, Mia crept in. Then my parents. Then my loneliness. If I died right now, the world would lose an obedient daughter, a dutiful doctor, a decent friend.
But who the hell was Olivia Lin? Who would miss her?
The discontent and resentment I bottled up erupted inside me.
Why did I always have to be perfect?
Why couldn’t I go where the wind blew me?
Why was I still stuck in the wreckage of the past, playing what I recognized was a role to make everyone around me feel better?
Why was I still afraid? Of small spaces. Of heights. Of failure.
I’m an adult. These fears shouldn’t own me.
So I veered from the tour group and paddled to the cave farthest away from the others. No witnesses. No judgment. Just me tackling my fears.
I can do this. Do it for yourself.
Maybe I can come out of these caves rejuvenated, as the guide mentioned.
Emboldened, I take a deep breath.
Then dive.
I swim toward the soft glow ahead. Considering the underwater lights illuminating the tiny alcove clearly put there by the government, I know it’s safe to enter.
My strokes are quick as I cut through the underwater entrance, the vibrant sea life—small silver fish, multicolored starfish and sea urchins dotting the rocks—keeping me company. I break the surface and rake in an inhale.
A sliver of sunlight cuts through a crevice in the cave’s ceiling, illuminating the water.
Drawing attention to how dark and small this alcove is.
This space is much tighter than the previous one I was in.
Exposure therapy, Olivia. I run through the protocols in my mind. You’re safe. You’re a skilled swimmer. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
Ground yourself. Name five things you see, smell, and hear. Starfish—pink. Sound of water lapping against the walls. Salt and—
My lungs seize and my stomach turns. I close my eyes and focus on breathing. Salty water and—
I’m safe. Pretend Mia were here. She’d laugh at me. She’d remind me not to let one elevator mishap in tenth grade freak me out for the rest of my life. After all, the technicians rescued me, didn’t they?
They sure did.
Ten hours after I embarrassingly peed my pants.
It’s all your fault, Mia. Putting these ideas in my head—Las Fallas, regrets, turning thirty. You should be here with me.
I tread water, my mind spinning, my heavy breathing bellowing against the jagged walls.
Too small. Too tight. Too suffocating.
I can’t breathe.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” The world swirls, cold sweat breaking over my face.
I need to keep my wits about me and get out.
I need to escape.
Panic will kill me, not the waters or the cave.
Arms thrashing, I grapple at the rocks, desperate to find purchase and hang on until the terror subsides.
Suddenly, the gentle waves morph into violent crashes, further aggravating the storm thundering inside my ears. Dots blind my vision and I flail, desperate to escape.
Out of nowhere, two thick tendrils wrap around my waist, followed by a strong column of scorching heat plastered on my back.
Monster. I can’t escape.
My screams echo in the chamber, deafening my ears as I fight off the intruder—Poseidon, Calliope, her evil sisters, my past—whoever’s strangling me and pulling me down into the dark depths.
“Shit! Stop struggling!” Large hands grip my wrists before pinning them behind my back. Those tendrils, which I now realize are muscular arms, cinch me tightly against the massive body behind me.
“Let go of me!” I thrash harder, kicking my feet, throwing my head back against my would-be killer.
“Stop it, Olivia. Stop it! You’re safe. It’s me. You’re safe.”
My body stills, clearly recognizing the rumbly voice before my mind catches up.
Rex. The devil himself. What the hell?
“What the fuck are you doing out here, Olivia?” he rasps against my ear between rough, panting breaths.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Still petrified, I grip his arms, needing to hold on to something solid.
“Shhh, I got you. I got you.”
Closing my eyes, I focus on his warmth. Deep breaths in, longer exhales out. These are strategies I give to patients suffering from anxiety and panic disorders.
Heck, I gave the same advice to Maxwell a few years ago when he was having a full-blown breakdown in my office.
Rex doesn’t speak. He only holds me against him, murmuring shhh in my ears like he’s soothing a spooked child.
“Focus on me. Look at the beauty around you. You don’t get this in New York.”
My mind spinning, I do as I’m told, cataloging the smoky rasp of his voice, the way he enunciates his words like a nighttime deejay would on the radio.
His caresses turn gentle and between his voice and his touch, something strange happens.
I’m able to breathe. I’m still afraid, my heart still threatening to stop at any moment, but I feel…safe.
It’s disconcerting, like I’ve been pulled back from free falling into the abyss and am now hovering at the edge of panic. It’s a monumental improvement.
Because he makes me feel safe.
I focus on the dim light glinting off the windswept walls carved by erosion. How the rocks glow golden under the singular sunbeam, but cool to a grayish-blue in the shadows, moss clinging to the honeycomb surfaces.
It’s breathtaking.
Eventually, the rest of my senses flicker alive, and I notice what I missed before.
The hint of sandalwood drifting to my nose.
The broad, sculpted muscles plastered against my back.
His light breaths ghosting the sensitive spot under my ear.
I freeze, my nerves flickering on one by one, a backup generator kicking on after a blackout.
My body heats, and I notice the now.
In particular, the moment he realizes the intimate position we’re in—our bodies meshed together, limbs intertwined, in a space no bigger than a coat closet.
My pulse riots again, this time not from fear, but from something twisted and heady.
I try spinning away, but he clamps me tighter against him.
Forbidden. Danger. Stay away.
Rex clearly senses my incoming panic, and he wordlessly takes my hand and motions toward the exit. He swims out to the larger cave, and I follow suit.
As soon as I break the surface of the water, my heart rate slows because I’m in a bigger space.
Rex pulls me flush against his body.
He presses his soft lips to my ear, the gentle graze sending sparks down my neck, straight to my breasts straining against my swimsuit, which does nothing to hide my hard nipples begging for his attention.
“What are you doing here, little Olive?” His words press into my skin. “Do you know how worried everyone was when they saw your float empty?”
No one came to find me, though. Only he did.
His fingers relax around my waist, but he doesn’t let go.
Instead, he slides them down to the sensitive gap where my thigh meets my suit before tracing the thin material inches away from my pussy.
I’m thrown back to what he said that day on the sun deck—all the dirty, degrading words describing what he’d do to me if I let him.
And I want to let him do it all. Kiss me. Fuck me. Unravel me at the seams.
Bad decisions, Olivia.
And I want to make them.
I bite back a moan and claw at the rational side of my mind. Body chemistry, arousal, biological reactions of a man and a woman in a small, enclosed space.
Liar. Have you ever felt this way about another man before?
I refuse to answer. This can’t be anything more.
He’s my patient, even if we haven’t had a successful therapy session yet. And emotions cloud the mind, making it impossible to be logical.
I need to be logical to catch the signs, to fix him.
And shit. He just found me during a panic attack. What a great doctor you are. Embarrassment heats my skin.
Using the remnants of my willpower, I tear myself away from him and plaster my back against the wall.
“Was everyone worried or were you worried, Mr. Anderson?”
A lonely sunbeam catches his eyes, rendering them prismatic. He swallows.
“The guide mentioned we could swim, or were you not paying attention? Why are you so worried about me not being in my float?”
Nostrils flaring, Rex stares mutely at me. His troubled gaze tells me stories his voice refuses to. As the seconds pass, a thought tickles my mind.
Goosebumps bead on my neck. Yes. This has to be it.
“Did you lose someone? Someone you could’ve saved?”
He draws a sharp inhale. His throat ripples. He looks away. Bingo.
I’m hit with an urge to comfort him, to place my hand on his chest and tell him I’m here and I understand.
Instead, I curl my fingers inward, my nails digging into my palms, and wait for him to respond.
“Who hasn’t lost someone?” Deflection again. “All of us have—Mom, Grandma, the damn Anderson curse, which I’m sure Maxwell told you about.”
Maxwell did. When he sought therapy a few years ago, he thought the curse plaguing the Anderson family since the mid-eighteen hundreds was real.
As the eldest son, which this curse supposedly fell on, he couldn’t fall in love with his wife, or she’d die an untimely death.
Everyone in the family believed it. After all, the other Anderson wives to the eldest sons before him—his mom, grandma, grand aunt—all died young and in mysterious ways.
That fear, along with his anxiety, drove him away from Belle, but thankfully, the truth came to light later, and they uncovered a non-supernatural reason for all those deaths.
But losing a parent at a young age, no matter the reason, is a horrible trauma no kid should go through.
Is that really why Rex is spiraling…thirty years after his mom died?
It makes no sense. There has to be more to it.
“You know their deaths have nothing to do with you. The culprit was caught. The curse was dispelled.”
Rex’s nostrils flare and his lips twist in self-derision. “You know nothing, the truth of what happened. None of you do.” His gaze finally meets mine, and he flinches at what he apparently sees on my face. “Don’t you dare pity me.”
He swims toward the exit, pausing before the threshold.
His voice is empty, completely devoid of the earlier warmth. “This is my cruise and I’m the only Anderson on board right now. It’s my responsibility to make sure everyone is safe. Don’t endanger yourself again, Olivia, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
Without waiting for my response, he swims out of the cave.
My mind reels from his cryptic riddles, the half-sensible nonanswers.
What on earth is he talking about?