Chapter 11
Blaze sputtered, suspended in the murky water. The life vest kept her head above the surface, but panic seeped into her lungs.
The current nudged her toward the branches of one of the dead trees. She kicked, desperate to go the other way. Didn’t work. Her foot struck something hard. Then pain stabbed her other knee. Underwater branches?
A soft object slid against her thigh, and she screamed. Jerking away, she jabbed the sole of her foot into something pointy.
This was a nightmare come true. She had to get out. Now. Panting, she flailed her arms, but there was nothing to grab onto. God, please.
She kicked again and hit something solid but not painful. The object pressed against her back. Something had wrapped around her. She swatted to push it off.
“Easy. You’re okay.” Anson’s breath warmed her wet ear.
He was holding her. Solid, calm, and ready to make good on his vow.
Her lungs sucked in their first full breath since she’d hit the water. “Thank God.”
His free arm stirred a wave. He kicked—somehow without hitting her—and his body tipped back, bringing her along. Two powerful strokes later, her feet cleared the branches. He shifted, facing her backward as the current bumped their upside-down canoe against the fallen tree.
If not for Anson, she’d be stuck there too, probably trying to figure out how to climb to shore without impaling herself on the tree.
She wrapped her hands around his arm. Between her fingers, hair bleached blond by the sun glimmered.
His wet skin covered firm muscles. How difficult was it to haul another person through the water?
His body shifted again, and her leg dragged against the bottom. Before she got her bearings, he propped her into a seated position on the sand, water lapping around her arms.
Anson kept a hand on her shoulder as he crouched in front of her, panting. Rivulets ran from his hair down his cheeks. His shirt was plastered to a masculine chest that did indeed look like it belonged to someone who could drag a drowning person from a river. “Can you stand up?”
An involuntary shiver coursed through her. The wasp stings that had caused her to jump throbbed, as did the bottom of her foot. Nothing hurt so badly as to prevent her from rising. She just … needed a minute.
Vegetation crowded the bank, and brown water stirred around her legs. What had brushed past her before Anson caught up? Seaweed? A catfish? Despite the unknown, she knew one fact with certainty: She’d felt completely safe in Anson’s arms.
Cheering registered—the kids, at the edge of the sandy beach. Everyone had seen her tip the canoe. Humiliation heated her cheeks like a sunburn.
“Everyone okay?” Nolan splashed toward them, Mercy close behind.
“Yeah.” Blaze rubbed the tender sole of her foot.
The skin didn’t feel broken. Fading adrenaline left her feeling weak, but she was okay.
Physically. Her emotions might as well be white-water rafting.
As if simultaneous relief and embarrassment weren’t disorienting enough, something more than gratitude toward Anson swirled in her core.
As Nolan and Mercy neared, Anson stood and extended his hand toward her without making eye contact.
She accepted the offer, but he still didn’t look at her. As soon as she balanced on her shaky legs, he stepped away and wiped his hand on his dripping shorts. As if Blaze were dirtier than the grit in the water.
He had a right to be annoyed.
“You did warn me about gymnastics in the canoe.” She smiled apologetically, but he didn’t look.
“You missed your calling.” Nolan clapped Anson’s shoulder.
Mercy threw an arm around Blaze’s waist and rested her head against the life jacket in a side hug. “I was so scared.”
Finally, Anson glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “What happened?”
“A wasp. I think it got me more than once.” She tipped her leg. Like something out of a sci-fi movie, the blood vessels in a four-inch circle had reddened on her thigh. The area itched and stung.
“Are you allergic?” Anson checked over his shoulder, toward the overturned canoe. The first aid kit had been inside. Was anything in it still useable?
“I’ve never had an allergic reaction to a sting, so I think I’m okay there.”
Mercy burrowed closer. “I thought you were going to die.”
Blaze squeezed her. “The life jacket did its job, and I was with a good swimmer.” She risked meeting Anson’s blue eyes—a sincere expression of gratitude required it. “Thank you.”
He exhaled visibly. Under the clinging shirt, that didn’t take much.
When a subject interested her, Blaze became obsessive. She’d spent hours reading up on ADHD, for example. Now, she felt the force of that attention tipping toward Anson.
She could not allow him to become her next obsession.
He motioned them toward the beach. Arm still around Mercy, Blaze obeyed. Judging by the splashing behind her, the men followed.
“Since you’re soaked anyway, want to swim out and get the canoe?” Nolan asked. “Between the two of us, we could handle it.”
“I’d rather use the kayaks.”
“If only they were here.”
Blaze scanned the little beach. A couple of students tossed a football in waist-deep water. Others milled around the beached canoes and the picnic tables. Not one kayak in sight.
“Where are they?” Frustration deepened Anson’s voice.
“Dunno. It seems they didn’t stop.”
“Have you tried their cell phones?” Anson asked.
“Not yet.”
“Could you? Mine’s in my backpack.”
“Which is where?” Nolan drew the question out.
Blaze held her breath. She’d feel terrible if Anson lost or wrecked his phone because of her.
“Clipped to the back handle of the canoe. It’s in a sealed plastic bag.”
Nolan sucked in a breath. “We ought to get that sooner than later.”
“If Carter isn’t here in ten minutes, we’ll swim. We’ll have to watch the branches, though. One of them got me pretty good.”
Blaze glanced back to say she’d hit one too.
The words drowned in her mouth when she spotted a trickle of blood running from the side of Anson’s knee and disappearing into the stream.
She hadn’t hit anything that hard, but she hadn’t been kicking hard enough to move two bodies either. “I’m really sorry.”
Anson shook his head. “Forget it.”
Could she? He was upset with her. Or perhaps he was just in pain.
Sydney met her at the edge of the beach with an open towel. The kindness jabbed her harder than the underwater tree had. Not only had she dumped someone else’s boyfriend in the river, she had the nerve to feel attracted to him.
Unacceptable. She would not crush on someone else’s boyfriend.
Anson reread Carter’s text. Relax. We didn’t stop at the picnic spot. See you at the end.
Well, the group was at the end, and Carter wasn’t. Neither were any of his friends. As the first set of students, leaders, and their canoes loaded up for the outfitter’s lodge, Anson texted again. Where are you?
Right behind you.
Behind? He took the path from the lot to the creek. Tall grass encroached on the walkway and dragged against his gouged knee. A low bridge spanned the water to his right. To his left, the stream glistened around a bend.
A hand smoothed across his back, and Sydney stopped beside him. “What did he say?”
“They got behind us somewhere.” Anson clenched his jaw. “The only way I can imagine that is if they went on shore, kayaks and all, somewhere other than the picnic spot.”
“You’ll get to the bottom of it.” Sydney rubbed his back, and guilt filled him. He never should’ve gotten in a canoe with Blaze. As she’d gained her bearings on shore, the trust in her eyes sent satisfaction swinging through him like a wrecking ball headed for his relationship with Sydney.
He refused to be controlled by emotions, no matter how powerful. Sydney deserved better from him, and she’d get it. His interactions with Blaze would be strictly business. If she needed individual help, he’d delegate. Attending her shows once a week wouldn’t do either.
“There.” Sydney pointed. The nose of a kayak came around the bend.
Carter grinned. “Hello!”
His friends, as they came into view, shifted in their kayaks and avoided eye contact. Sydney squeezed Anson’s arm then headed back to the group, giving him space to deal with the students.
Carter ran his kayak into the ground at Anson’s feet. The boy stepped into the stream and wobbled.
Anson grabbed the kayak handle and pulled the boat onto the dirt trail. “How did you get behind us?”
Carter leaned on his paddle as he straightened his T-shirt.
“Isn’t exploring the point of trips like these?
” He found his footing and collected his backpack from the kayak.
It clanked as he slung it over his shoulder.
He stepped around the kayak and into the tall grass, using the paddle like a walking stick as he started for the van.
When he passed Anson, the smell of sweat and alcohol wafted off him.
Carter’s stumble and the noise in the backpack assumed new meaning.
Anson’s grip on the kayak tightened into a fist. “What’s in your bag, Carter?”
“Nothing.” He hiked it higher on his shoulder.
Anson abandoned the kayak and followed Carter to the parking lot. “I can smell it on your breath. Show me what’s in the bag.”
Dylan ran across the lot toward them. Anson raised a hand to stop him, but the boy ignored the signal.
“You can’t make me,” Carter said.
“The truth is, I don’t—”
Dylan yanked the bag off his brother’s shoulder.
Carter yelled, and Dylan darted off.
“—have to.” Anson muttered the last two words. Smelling alcohol on a student’s breath was enough proof to require Anson to take action.
Dylan swerved around Sydney before ducking behind the van. Carter bowled into her. The pair tumbled to the ground. Carter climbed to his feet as Sydney checked her hands.
Anson jogged over to help her up. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She frowned at Carter.
An object arced over the van and landed with a clank. A second UFO flew after it. Silver and the size of hockey pucks—crushed aluminum cans.
“That’s enough, Dylan,” Anson said.
One last projectile tumbled to the ground and skidded to a stop between Anson and Carter.
Anson didn’t need to straighten the can to recognize the beer logo.
Carter shifted unsteadily. His friends came up the path, carrying the kayaks.
A guide met them and grabbed Carter’s kayak. They followed him to the trailer.
Dylan trotted back, holding the backpack like the spoils of war. “They were drinking! I knew something was up!”
Anson motioned to the vehicle. “Wait in the van, Dylan.”
Sydney touched Anson’s arm in a silent show of support, then accompanied Dylan into the van. Once the doors were shut, Anson walked several yards away. Carter followed without prompting.
His friends tried to get in the van, but Sydney met them at the door and sent them back.
They plodded over and stopped behind Carter.
Anson recognized one of the boys from basketball tryouts.
The girl had attended Branching Out with Carter last Sunday.
Anson hadn’t met the last two boys—identical twins—until they showed up with permission slips.
“Who wants to tell me what happened?” Anson asked.
Carter kicked the dirt.
Twin One smirked. “If I tell you, will you put in a good word for me with Blaze?”
Dumbfounded, Anson grunted.
The kid pressed a palm to his chest. “I’m eighteen.”
The girl smacked him. “He’s not going to set you up with his girlfriend.”
“Blaze is not my girlfriend.”
“Really? Well, you’re super cute together.” She lifted her phone. “My friend posted a video of your amazing rescue.”
There was a video? Worry wound through his chest, but no video could’ve captured the rush he’d gotten from helping Blaze. He shouldn’t be letting the kids sidetrack him. “If you don’t want to take this opportunity to tell your side of the story, that’s fine. I’ll—”
“At least we were going to recycle and not litter.” Twin Two grinned.
“Is this a game to you?” That was a reaction, not a measured response.
“What are you going to do?” Carter lifted his chin. “Tell us we can’t come back? Without us, you’ll never hit your goal.”
Anger hardened in Anson’s throat. He thought Carter respected him more than that. Maybe it was the alcohol talking. Maybe desperation. Maybe both.
“I’m calling all of your parents.”
Carter stepped closer, shoulders back and arms tense. “My dad will never believe you.”
“He won’t have much of a choice. And you know what else this means, right?”
“You’re going to lose your job?”
Anson’s frustration mounted. “I am going to talk to your parents”—he scanned the group so they’d know no one was getting off the hook—“and report this to the administration.”
Carter’s eyebrows drew together. “What administration?”
“The school’s. I’m not just your youth pastor. I’m also your basketball coach. The penalty for drinking is a six-week suspension from practice and games.”
One of the twins stepped back, mouth gaping and eyes wide. He must be an athlete too.
Carter sputtered. “It’s not even basketball season.”
“Doesn’t have to be. If you’re not participating in any extracurriculars now, the suspension kicks in the next time you go out for one.”
“But I’m your best player. I’m a senior. I’m up for scholarships!”
“Then don’t rack up any other alcohol violations. Scholarship committees don’t tend to favor them.”
“My dad isn’t going to let you do this.” Carter’s voice cracked.
“It’s not up to him. The administration will hold a hearing where you can explain yourself before they decide the outcome.” What happened on the church level was another question. The board, including Eric Newsome, would want a say. “Get in the van.”
He waited until the students had complied, then he collected the cans from the ground and returned them to the backpack. This wasn’t the Carter he’d built a relationship with all these years. This was someone else entirely. Someone far too similar to Anson’s brother.