All the Ways You Save Me

Prologue

Madeline

A wave rolls in, battering my legs and threatening my balance.

I wobble on bare feet and drop the hem of my dress into the white-capped froth.

The gauzy fabric clings to my thighs after the water recedes.

Despite the warmth from the sun, I shiver.

I forgot how numbing the Atlantic Ocean is in June.

I forgot how much I dread that icy bite against my skin.

I was like a fish growing up on the Jersey Shore, eagerly diving into the swells long after the summer temperatures dipped into fall.

But ever since Adam’s car plunged into the icy river, and I futilely jumped in after it, I’ve been cautious around large bodies of water.

As the memories of that night close around me—the sting of icy rain pellets on my face, the frigid water seeping into my clothes—I suddenly remember why I’ve stuck to the safety of my apartment complex pool.

Heart pounding, I gasp for a breath that will sustain me long enough to turn for the shore, but I can’t seem to pull enough air into my lungs.

I press a hand to my chest. Is this what a panic attack feels like?

If I can just get back to my chair in the sand, I’ll be fine.

But the next wave rolls in, carrying me back to that winter day, to that half-solid river where I’m clambering over the rocks toward the slowly sinking taillights, chanting Adam’s name like a prayer.

I turn my face toward the sun in the hopes of dragging myself to the present. It’s not a bitter February day, and I’m not seventeen years old. The horror of Adam’s death is behind me. I spent my childhood in this water; nothing is threatening me now except my memories.

Another wave slams into me. I pitch sideways, and the cold steals what’s left of the air from my lungs. I’ve completely given up on my dress, and the fabric swirls around me. I fight my way free, but the current grabs hold and yanks me under.

Move. Get on your feet. But I can’t. I used to be a strong swimmer, but that was a lifetime ago. I’m frozen in this water like I was frozen the night Adam died. I close my eyes and see the flashing lights, hear the high-pitched sirens wailing.

Just as the next billowing wave crests over me, two strong hands wrap around my upper arms, pulling me to my feet.

My eyes fly open. Whoever my rescuer is, he’s towering over me.

Broad shoulders block the sun as my eyes focus on the open V of a half-zipped black wetsuit, revealing saltwater droplets rolling down golden skin.

Another ocean swell shoves me in the midsection, but my rescuer spins me around, putting his body between me and the relentless surge, securing me against him.

His deep, gentle voice tells me to breathe.

The next thing I know, he’s lifting me off my feet. Heat radiates from the hard planes of his chest, and I lean in for warmth as he carries me effortlessly to shore.

When he’s standing solidly in the sand, he slowly lowers me to the ground, keeping one strong arm wrapped around my back. I know I should step away, but I’m still shaking, and my sopping dress is tangled around my legs.

“I’ve got you,” he assures me. Something about his voice has my thoughts drifting back to my teenage years again, but not in a traumatic way this time. The low timbre soothes and comforts me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, finally lifting my gaze to his.

His blue eyes connect with mine, and my chest seizes.

They’re the color of aquamarine and the sky and robin’s eggs, but that’s not why they’re familiar.

I’ve seen those eyes in my dreams about a million times over the past ten years.

My breath catches as I take in the rest of the man’s features.

His wavy mahogany hair, the straight bridge of his nose, that strong jaw with just a hint of stubble.

The rescue workers told us Adam died in the frozen river, and his body was swept away by the current. But if that’s true, who is this man holding on to me with a face that is the mirror image of the love of my life?

I reach out a shaking hand. “Adam? Is it you?”