Chapter 11
We wade into the water slowly. Nate doesn’t call me out on it, or how I grip his arm as if he’s my life preserver when I’m buckled into an actual life vest. My free hand grips the top of my life jacket, my fingertips barely able to touch the chain of my locket as the water passes mid-calf. Am I really doing this?
The water is shallow here, but where does it drop off? Where does the calm of the water’s edge become a lip for the ocean to swallow a person whole without remorse? That’s what oceans do, and it’s foolish for anyone to think otherwise.
Water laps at the hem of my teal biker shorts, soaking the spandex and creating a visual reminder of how deep the water is getting. It’s above my knees, or at least the crest of the rolling waves are. That’s plenty high to knock me off balance and rip me out to sea.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I whisper, not able to take a step closer to the bobbing jet ski any more than I’m able to turn my back on the open water. “I’m sorry. I thought I could try, but I can’t even do that.”
Though, what am I apologizing for? I joined him before the jet skis, so he had someone to interact with on camera. It’s not like we’d be interacting a lot on the vessel itself. Still, I feel guilty.
Nate faces me, placing his free hand on my upper arm. It’s only then I realize I’m shaking. A lot. And it’s not from the cool of the water; it’s a chill deep in my core, like the depths of the ocean.
“Abigail, you have nothing to be sorry for. Try, don’t try. It’s your choice.” He leans closer to be heard over the crashing waves in the distance. “Doesn’t matter to me what you decide. Unless you do want to take part but are letting something stand in the way. Then I’d care a little.”
“Just a little?” I stop shaking long enough to tease him, then realize he’s right.
I’m letting fear stand in my way, but that isn’t helping anything or anyone.
It’s only creating more fear over losing my last client, ruining what remains of my career, and taking everything Brody has built down with it.
If I don’t try my darnedest to prevent that, I’ll regret it forever.
That’s a palpable, logical fear. One I can do something about.
I shake my head. “No, I need to try.”
The jet ski rocks in the waves a few feet away from me, its steady rhythm slower than my racing heart as I force myself to breathe. With another deep breath, I let Nate lead me forward, closing the distance between us and the boat in a few strides.
“Do you…” Nate trails off as I look at him. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to get on first? Then I could help you up?”
I nod frantically. There’s no way I can get on—let alone stay there long enough for the crew to get the footage they need—without his help. “Just…”
I can’t voice what I need, so I tighten my grip on his arm like my life depends on it. Out here, that might very well be the case.
“Okay, hold on,” he says, understanding perfectly.
He braces his arms on the edge of the vessel and lifts himself out of the water as if it’s no effort, even with my nails digging into his skin.
Then he grabs my wrist. “I’m going to turn around so I can help you up, but I will not let go of you. Okay?”
I manage another nod as he loosens my grip on his arm, still holding onto my wrist.
Once he’s straddling the jet ski backwards, he extends his other hand to me. “Ready?”
I tightly grip Nate’s hand as he helps me out of the water and onto the vessel’s ledge. The boat rocks back and forth beneath me, and I gasp.
“It’s fine, Abigail. I promise. Now, I need to face front before you sit, otherwise there won’t be room. Use my shoulders as a brace if you need to.”
I grab the shoulder nearest me, surprised by how broad it is. Broad is good. More to hold on to, and it means Nate might be strong enough to save me if the ocean tries to stake its claim.
“Okay, you can sit,” Nate says.
I collapse onto the seat behind him, further rocking the watercraft. My arms tighten around Nate’s waist on pure instinct as I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the crew to announce they have the footage they need.
“Uh, Abigail? Could you open your eyes?” Jamie’s voice seems to come from the other end of a far tunnel, though I know she’s watching from a monitor safely on shore. It’s clearly her with a hint of snark, and it’s coming from my earpiece. “Look like you’re having fun.”
Right, fun. This is fun. On an exhale, I open my eyes. It at least helps with the nausea, since I can see why I’m rocking, but my breathing quickens and my heart races.
I push through, adjusting again when Dave’s voice comes through the earpiece asking us to pretend to be in motion. How am I supposed to do that? Thank goodness my hair is in a bun; otherwise, it’d be obvious we aren’t moving—at least not anywhere fast.
“Everything okay?” Nate glances over his shoulder. I can only see one of his gray eyes, but it’s a storm of concern. It’s oddly calming to know I’m not the only one out here worried about something.
“Fine,” I lie.
“Abigail?”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Okay, but?—”
“Brody, I’m as fine as I’m going to be. No need to talk about it.” My words are snippier than I intend, especially when conversation would be a welcome distraction. Except the conversation is veering toward my worst fears, while one of them could happen any second.
“Okay, you’re fine.” He steals another look over his shoulder. “It’s just that you’re squeezing me really tight.”
“What?”
“Your arms. They’re wrapped around me like a vise. I know you’re into me, but I need to breathe, too.”
My cheeks heat, and my grip immediately loosens, though I don’t dare drop it completely. It’s one thing to cling onto my boyfriend, and quite another when it’s his brother. Another still to think about holding onto brave Brody Bannam in utter fear, girlfriend or not.
“I just don’t want to fall in!” I shout back as a means of explanation.
“Keep telling yourself that, Gingersnap. You realize you have a life jacket on, right?”
“Like that makes a difference.” When the water is hungry enough, it can take anyone it chooses. Though life jackets could do something…maybe even have made a difference when?—
“That’s good enough if it’s all we can get,” Dave says through the earpiece. “Come in for a bit for some more talking clips, and then we’ll get Brody back out there for some final action footage.”
“You’ll have to let go,” Nate says, reminding me I’m holding onto him. Somehow it makes me feel safe rather than repulsed.
Still, I let go, practically shoving Nate away as I prepare to plow back to shore.
As I swing my right leg over the bench, Nate shouts, “Abigail, no!”
It’s too late. My leg smacks into Nate, who has already started de-boarding. It’s skin-on-skin for less than a second before the jet ski wavers underneath us and Nate wobbles. Before I can do anything, he falls right into the mouth of the water.
Far, far away but somehow still directly in my ear, Dave asks Corbin, “You’re still rolling, right?”
Corbin’s response is a mere hum that joins the building warning sirens in my mind.
Nate hasn’t resurfaced, and the water is a blur of unsettled earth.
If Nate’s feet can’t find firm ground, or he’s knocked unconscious, or he doesn’t know how to swim, or one of his limbs gets caught on something reaching up from the sandy bottoms, he could end up in the ocean’s grasp, getting pulled into deeper waters. What should I do? What can I do?
Nate’s head breaks through the surface and issues a single cough. He should be gasping for air, grateful for life, or ready to scream at me for somehow knocking him off the jet ski, but he’s doing none of those things. Instead, he starts…laughing?
“Are you okay?” I shout.
His laughter increases until he registers something in my expression. “Abigail, I’m fine. Promise.”
“You went under!”
“For two seconds. In the shallows, and under the watchful eye of a lifeguard. Plus, I have a life jacket on, remember? I was always going to pop back up. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Let’s do a mic swap,” Dave’s voice sounds from the earpiece. “Waterproof, my ass. I can barely make out what he’s saying.”
Nate’s reasoning makes sense, but I don’t feel better until he places a steady hand on the outside of my knee. “I’m okay.”
The touch isn’t intimate, but somehow electricity shoots up my side and a current of calm slides back down.
I have no time to question it because Nate asks, “Are you ready to head back to shore?”
There’s nothing I’m more ready for.
Nate’s hands move to my waist to support me as I slide off the jet ski and into the water. His touch lingers as he studies my face.
“What?” I ask, wondering what he sees when looking at me. Can’t be worse than whatever he’s thinking.
“Nothing.” His hands leave my waist, and I loop my arm through his like I had on the way out. We walk toward the shore, and there’s a shift in Nate’s demeanor. Then he says, “I was going to say I know you aren’t keen on taking part in the show, but you don’t have to kill me to get out of it.”
It’s a joke. I know it’s a joke. One that might be funny in an entirely different circumstance, on a different day, in a different lifetime.
Right now, I can’t stop thinking about how Nate could have drowned right in front of me.
And not only did I not save him, I caused the situation.
Had I learned nothing from Sarah’s sacrifice?
“Not funny.” I struggle to get the words out.
Nate cracks a smile. “It’s a little funny.”
“Not in the least.”