PART 2 #2
“And get that constipated look off your face,” Alex says.
Banks heads over to the bed, dressed in some workout clothes, same as me, but her hair is down. “Brat,” she spits out.
Laying at my side, she joins me in giving Alex a scalp massage, except Banks’ massage looks more like how you rub a dog’s head, curling her fingers and lightly scratching.
“Stop that,” Alex barks at her. “I hate you.”
Banks and I both start to laugh. She has like fifty-eight dogs—okay, not that many, but a lot—so petting probably comes naturally to her.
I glance at Banks. “Mads okay?”
“Yup,” she says. “At your mom’s with the nannies, and hopefully Ivarsen by now, too.”
Awesome. My mom is in baby heaven lately. Kai’s mom, Vittoria, and her happily walking the streets of Thunder Bay and buying all the things for their grandsons. I’m surprised Ivarsen doesn’t have a car already. You know, just for when he’s ready.
“Where’s Winter?” I ask her.
“Probably getting Damon-ed in the back seat of a car. She’ll be here.”
I snort. I think Winter lets him do anything he wants as much as he wants during this time, because she can’t get pregnant if she’s already pregnant.
“And Michael?” Alex chimes in.
“On his way,” I reply.
Alex lifts up her head, and I stop rubbing her. “So…” She looks at Banks. “You and Kai.” And then to me. “You and Michael. And Damon and Winter, and…”
“Misha and Ryen,” I offer. They’ll be here, because Misha is Will’s cousin, so we have business he wants to be involved in.
“Misha and Ryen,” she repeats absently. “And what am I supposed to do while everyone else takes ‘breaks’ tonight?”
She put “breaks” in air quotes as if she won’t get any hot, little downtime, too.
Oh, who will she find to play with?
“There’s a full crew,” I assure her.
Her eyes go wide.
“And David and Lev will be boarding with Damon,” Banks adds.
She gasps and then her face scrunches up into a delighted squeal. “It’s like Christmas and my birthday together.”
I ruffle her hair and roll her over, giving her quick pecks on the nose and cheek. “We got you. Don’t worry.”
She laughs, and Banks and I hop off the bed, heading for the door.
“Eight o’clock,” I tell Alex, grabbing my AirPods and phone off the dresser.
She still lays in bed but gives me a thumbs up as she pulls her phone off the charger. I hesitate a moment, watching her and realizing that no matter how many people are in her life, there’s something about her that always seems alone.
Banks and I leave, closing the door and walking down the corridor. She stops at her and Kai’s cabin. “Eight o’clock,” she says and pushes open her door.
I unlock my phone, already speed-dialing. “See you soon.”
And I hold the phone to my ear, taking the stairs up to bridge deck.
The line rings twice before I hear Mr. Lyle’s voice. “Ms. Fane,” he says.
“Hi,” I tell him. “Take this info, please.”
There’s silence, and then I hear him again. “Okay, ready.”
“Alexandra Zoe Palmer, apartment 1608 at Delcour. Find her freshman year college roommate,” I instruct. “And the woman’s boyfriend that year, as well. Possibly a student at Yale at the time. I want the works by tomorrow.”
“Got it.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up and step onto the bridge. I probably shouldn’t pry in Alex’s life, but I haven’t decided if I’m going to yet. At least if I do, I’ll be ready.
George Barris stands at the helm, going through his checklist and his first mate Samara Chen works at her station. I see faxes spitting out of the machine and I tear them off, reading them.
Pithom has a satellite weather system, but the captain likes to double up on precaution. Which is good.
I look over the weather reports and nod, satisfied. “You can take us out of the harbor,” I tell him, starting to leave again. “Drop anchor about a mile out, and we’ll wait for Mr. Crist.”
“Yes, Ms. Fane.”
I leave the papers for them and start to exit the bridge, but I stop, staring out the port-side window and seeing the stewards carrying a couple of suitcases on board.
Someone else has arrived. A light layer of sweat cools my back and my stomach knots, but I know it’s not Michael.
He won’t be in from Seattle for a couple hours.
Heading out, I descend the stairs to the owner’s deck again, and make my way through the sitting area. I stop and pick a few pieces of prosciutto and cheese off the platter and stuff a slice of meat into my mouth.
I walk out to the sun deck, the dying light behind us, and see Damon standing at the edge of the boat looking down at the darkening water.
His eyebrows are pinched, and I cup my food in my hand, leaning against a column and watch him as I chew. The last time I stood where he stands, Will was in the water with a cinderblock tied to his ankle and Trevor was trying to kill me. Will and I were almost lost that night.
“Sometimes,” Damon says, breaking the silence. “I let my mind wander enough, and it always comes back here.”
He breathes hard, staring at the water as I stick a cube of cheese in my mouth.
“Except Michael doesn’t catch him, and you never come up.”
He turns and sits on the ledge, sliding his hands into his pockets and our eyes meet.
I see our mother in him now. A lot.
I didn’t before. The way his eyes go big and round, and it takes a moment to be sure whether or not they’re happily surprised or pissed off. The way he says what he wants and doesn’t like to lie. The way they both hate being alone.
What an amazing thing time is. Three years ago, I thought I was going to die on this boat, him the last person I saw or talked to. I’d never been more scared.
Now, there’s hardly a day that goes by where I don’t speak to him or need him.
“You know…” I approach him.
He lifts his head, listening.
But I don’t continue. I take a breath, let out a sigh, and…shoot out, shoving him hard in the chest.
His eyes go big, he flails, and the next thing I know, he’s lost his footing and tips over the side of the yacht.
“Shit! Fuck!” rings out as he plummets.
His body hits the water ten feet down, a big splash as he disappears under the surface.
I stare down and pop another cold cut into my mouth, chewing. Did he land on his shoulder? How do you land on your frickin’ shoulder?
He pops up through the surface, splashing and sputtering as he pushes his hair back over his head and glares up at me. I fight not to smile.
Water hangs on his eyelashes and lips, and I’ve never seen two more pissed-off eyebrows. “You little shit!” he bellows.
“Okay, yes, that was harsh. I admit it,” I tell him, teasing. “But it was only fair. I almost died that night, Damon.”
“Get your ass in here, and I’ll show you what death looks like!”
“Are you crazy?” I pick up another piece of cheese. “That water’s really cold.”
He growls and swims for the back of the boat, and I finally let myself laugh as I grab a towel for him. He looks so vulnerable.
Walking down the stairs, I watch as he hops up onto the back of the yacht and stands up, his white dress shirt and black pants sticking to his body.
But his hair looks good.
I bite back my smile and hold out the towel.
“Piss off.”
But he snatches it from my hand anyway.
What a baby. I guess some people can only dish it out.
“You know that guilt I was feeling a minute ago?” he blurts out. “It’s all gone now.”
“Good.” I nod once. “We have bigger things to deal with tonight anyway.”
He seethes, drying off his hair and face and kicking off his shoes.
“Everyone in?” I hear someone call. “We’re ready to shove off.”
I look up at the captain, standing up on the bridge deck.
I give him a wave. “We’re ready.”
Damon and I climb the stairs again and walk across the sun deck as the engines start purring a little louder.
“Is Michael here?” he asks.
“He’s coming.” I dump out the rest of my uneaten food and grab a bottle of water. “I wish everyone would stop asking me that.”
I move around the bar, ready to head to my cabin to shower, but Damon grabs my arm.
I stop, meeting his dark eyes.
“Everything on the table tonight,” he commands. “Everything.”
My heart skips a beat, and my muscles, relaxed a moment ago, start to tighten and strain again.
But I nod in agreement. “I know.”
As the yacht moves out into the darkening Atlantic and the stars light the night sky, nothing but Damon’s words play in my mind over the next two hours.
Everything on the table. I shower, I dress, and I barely have the stomach to think about anything else, other than what’s going to happen in the next hour. Or the next four hours.
Or tomorrow.
Everything hinges on tonight.
I put on my lipstick, and the faint sound of propellers echo in the distance as dread sits on my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I look up at my ceiling, turning my eyes toward the sound of the helicopter above descending onto the yacht.
Michael is here.
? ? ?
The bells chime eight, all the clocks in the cabins singing the hour, as well as a faint dong of the tower clock in the wine room carrying through the corridors of the yacht.
Michael didn’t come to find me when he arrived.
I leave my room, taking my phone, silent of any texts or calls I thought he’d send when I wasn’t in our cabin.
It’s for the best, though. It’s why I decided to get ready in another part of the boat, other than the place we share.
I don’t want to see him until I go in there. I’ll lose my nerve.
Ryen, Misha’s girlfriend, steps through their door, followed closely by him, and she looks over at me coming her way.
I smile, unable to stop my eyes from trailing down her body.
She wears a tight black dress, falling about mid-thigh, with black heels that make me feel a little short.
Misha turns to me, wearing a tailored black suit, minus the tie, and no matter what Damon says about his tattoos, they really do go with everything.
We’re all in black, and I almost laugh. I’m glad it’s understood that tonight is for a power color.
He holds out his hand, waving me by. “Lead the way,” he says.