Deep Waters

1. Chapter 1 – Rae

S imon's text simply read, I'm out.

For the first time in ten years, I was free. Was that how Simon felt too? Free of obligation. Finally, finally able to do what I wanted. Date who I wanted. Breathe.Playing the perfect long-distance girlfriend wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But the worst was still to come.

My radio crackled, drawing me from checking my sails and rig. Sailor Swift was both my home and my escape.

I clambered down into my cabin, pulling on my search and rescue shirt, cargo pants, and boots. I hit the dock at a fast clip. Living aboard Sailor Swift meant I was close enough to Dock B to respond.

Elena Garcia, our fire chief, had already set up near the San Juan fire boat.

“Chief,” I said. “Where do you want me? ”

“Rae,” Elena’s gently weathered face wrinkled in a smile, “glad you could make it. I could use another spotter. Dispatch says I have two more volunteers on the way, then we’ll head out.”

“Hey, Chief,” Zach Fenwick called, skidding to a stop to hop onboard. “How can I help?”

“I need another spotter. You take starboard; I’ll have Rae at port.”

“Got it,” he said, clipped but confident. He nodded to me. “Dawkins. Figured you’d be responding. I stopped at your boat to make sure you got the call.” His boat, the Nauti by Nature , berthed next to mine. “Guess you were already here.”

Our last volunteer arrived, a grizzled boat captain named James Cox, and we cast off, the chief piloting us out of the marina harbor toward the capsized boat’s last-known coordinates.

Wind blew from the northwest, combining with sea swells of three to four feet, which made for a bumpy ride as Elena opened the throttle.

I spotted the bright orange blobs bobbing in the water a few minutes later. The fishing boat had already partially capsized and was taking on water.

“I’m spotting three in life vests,” I called to Elena over the wind.

She adjusted our heading, drawing nearer to the bobbing people in life vests. Two waved their hands above their heads, doing their part to be seen. The third appeared unresponsive.

Elena slowed to an idle as we drew alongside our first victim. I tossed a throw bag to the older man. He grabbed the line, and I pulled him in. Zach unhooked the ladder, helping hoist the man into the boat. He landed like a fish, splayed across the deck, teeth chattering.

“My wife,” he bit out, lips blue.

“We’ll find her, sir,” Zach said, wrapping him in a thermal blanket and helping him onto one of the bench seats.

“Next spot,” the fire chief barked out .

Zach shuffled to his station, and Elena sped toward the second person bobbing in the water. The older woman had looked unconscious from a distance. I was relieved to see her eyes open as we approached.

Zach repeated the maneuver I’d used for the older man, his throw bag landing perfectly at the woman’s side.

She clung weakly as he hauled her in. Even those few extra minutes in the cold had zapped her strength.

Zach leaned down, powerful muscles rippling as he dragged her up the ladder and into the safety of the boat.

I welcomed her with a rough thermal blanket, urging her into a seat next to her husband before returning to my station.

The couple huddled together, shivering.

The third man still waved, albeit more slowly. He had to be getting tired. Water temps in the Salish Sea hovered around the fifty-degree mark, even in summer. Hypothermia could develop in as little as an hour. I had no idea how long they’d been in the water before it was called in.

Elena brought the boat around, chugging toward the final survivor.

We repeated the throw bag maneuver, the middle-aged man having an easier time climbing the ladder than our first two passengers.

I steadied him as he stumbled on the deck.

He smiled, tired but grateful. One last thermal blanket, and we bundled him down with the others while Elena headed us back to the marina, calling in our arrival.

Each minute seemed to pass in a single breath. The flow state in a rescue kept me laser-focused on keeping our survivors warm. The second-guessing and adrenaline crash would come later.

The next fifteen minutes was a flurry of activity as we docked and assisted our passengers to the waiting EMS vehicle.

After our charges were whisked away, I rewound our lines and stowed them in the gear locker for next time. There was always a next time. Life on our tiny island in the Salish could be merciless. Boats were an everyday necessity and a danger.

Slowly, I blew out a breath, tucking away the messy thoughts of failed rescues, making my fingers tremble. We’d been fast enough. Lucky enough. This time.

Chief Garcia briskly shook hands with us in turn, no doubt already mentally writing her report. “I always appreciate our volunteers.”

“Happy to help,” I said, finally able to smile.

Zach flung an arm around my shoulders, the warmth of his simple touch enough to rip me from the past, centering on the problems in my present.

“Dawkins, how about a cup of coffee on me at Harbor Brews to celebrate a successful rescue?” He glanced at James Cox, our third volunteer. “You too, Cox.”

“I gotta get back to my boat. I’m still headed out fishing.”

I took a deep breath. There was no time like the present. “Coffee sounds good. I have some news.”

I couldn’t keep Simon’s secret any longer. Part of our deal was that the minute he left the Air Force, I could tell Zach everything. I glanced at Zach from beneath my lashes. Would he be shocked by our breakup? Disappointed? He’d been friends with both of us almost longer than I could remember.

Simon took off at eighteen and joined the Air Force, rising quickly through the ranks.

Zach and I had stayed in the San Juan Islands.

Sleepy Friday Harbor suited me. Zach had his business, Harbor Brews, and I had my work at my family’s marine shop.

Following Simon from base to base was a non-starter from the beginning.

Zach smiled at Isa, the barista who worked for him on weekends, and slipped behind the counter, making up a vanilla latte for me and a drip coffee for him. Bypassing the line was a privilege that came with ownership.

The coffee shop slash bookstore slash bar was one of my favorite spots on the island.

Used and new books lined the shelves, and small tables and cozy chairs were sprinkled throughout the airy space.

Somehow, Zach had infused Harbor Brews with his easy charm, making everyone feel an instant sense of belonging. Even me.

He approached, a mug in each hand. His dimples flashed.

Successful rescues left their own residue of relief and elation, which only added to the mix of fear and freedom swirling in my chest. The secret part of me that had been in love with him forever melted, leaving me welded to the soft velvet chair in a jittery mess.

Zach Fenwick could get it .

Noting the admiring glances of a table of thirty-somethings in the corner, my lip twitched. And he knew it, too. Dimples for days, a wink that made me smile instead of roll my eyes, broad shoulders, a body that looked sleek and powerful in his SAR shirt and navy cargo pants.

He managed to look both sexy and competent at the same time.

Even when he let his dark scruff grow for No-Shave November and had a ridiculous mustache that he twirled between his strong fingers.

Even when, like today, his coffee-colored hair was shaggy and in need of a cut.

Messy or polished, he was catnip for women everywhere.

Most of the town wrote him off as the unserious Fenwick brother.

His older brother Drew, who dutifully ran the rest of the Fenwick family interests, made anyone else seem flighty by comparison.

But Zach had carved out his own business niche with Harbor Brews, independent of his family. Part of me envied his freedom.

By comparison, I felt like I faded into the backdrop at Harbor Brews. Another book on the shelf. Quiet. Unassuming. But secrets most would never guess lurked behind the innocent cover .

“A vanilla latte for my Captain.” Zach set the latte down on the small table at my elbow, claiming the chair across from me. “Cheers to a successful rescue.”

I clinked my mug with his, smiling as I blew to cool my coffee.

“So, what’s this news you teased me with?” Zach asked easily, eyes calm.

There was no more hiding.

“Simon and I broke up.”

It was the first time I’d said it aloud. And it felt fucking fantastic. Like invisible chains dropping to the floor. Like sailing with the wind, Sailor Swift cutting through the water perfectly. Sweet, sweet freedom.

Zach blinked. “This is … unexpected. How are you doing?” he asked cautiously.

“Fucking phenomenal.” Even saying the words felt freeing. Until the edge of fear crept in. I know how I wanted him to react. But how often did you really get what you wanted in life?