Chapter 3
Dean
The beginner group is doing better than expected but I’m not entirely surprised. Dylan’s always been good at reassuring even the most wobbly of kayakers. The parents love him and so do the kids.
The first twenty minutes are spent convincing people that the kayak is not, in fact, trying to kill them. Everyone is tense. Everyone overcorrects. Every little ripple feels like a wave when you’re sitting three inches above the water in a plastic boat.
But eventually, they relax.
The Etowah has a way of earning your trust. The cold water, the mountains surrounding us, the steady rhythm of paddling downstream, it’s hard to stay nervous when you’re surrounded by nature’s beauty.
Paisley is no exception.
She still grips her paddle tightly, and I’m pretty sure she’s convinced every splash is a sign she’s about to capsize, but she’s smiling.
That’s what keeps distracting me.
Every time I look at her, she’s looking around like she can’t believe this place exists.
I know that feeling.
Not because I grew up somewhere loud or crowded like she did. I’ve never needed to escape Crescent Ridge, but I understand what it means to find something that feels right.
Watching her discover the river feels almost as good as experiencing it myself, which is probably why I’m distracted when one of the other kayakers starts drifting toward the wrong side of the current.
“Hey!”
I paddle toward him as he tries to correct himself.
He uses too much force and begins to panic. His kayak spins sideways, and he grabs the edge like holding onto the plastic hull will keep him from flipping.
It won’t.
“Look at me,” I call.
His eyes find mine.
“Put your paddle in the water on your left.”
“I’m trying!”
“Slow and steady,” I tell him. “Stop fighting the current and use it.”
He looks offended, but he does what I tell him. Slowly, the kayak straightens.
“That’s it,” I say. “Let the current help you.”
A few seconds later, he’s moving with the group again.
I smile to myself. Another person who just needed someone to remind them the river isn’t their enemy.
I turn back to Paisley and my smile disappears.
Her kayak isn’t where it should be. At first, I don’t panic. There are a dozen kayaks on the water. People drift apart as they get distracted. Someone is always stopping to take pictures every five minutes.
Then I see the flash of pink. Her kayak is near the left bank. Too close for my comfort. The river is pulling her toward the narrow opening between the trees. That gap is the start of the branch that turns brutal quick.
My grip tightens around my paddle.
From the main channel, it doesn’t look dangerous. That’s what makes it easy to miss. The entrance is calm, almost hidden beneath the shade of the leaning trees.
Down that branch the river gets tight and narrow quickly. Rocks that are hidden beneath the surface create unpredictable currents, and fallen branches collect along the edges where the water moves fastest.
An afternoon of easy summer floating disappears quickly. The river stops allowing you to drift aimlessly and it starts deciding where you go and how fast.
“Paisley!”
She turns at the sound of my voice, and I see the fear hit her face. She knows something is wrong. Digging her paddle into the water, she tries to turn herself around, but she’s fighting against the river’s natural flow instead of working with it.
The kayak swings sideways and the current catches the back end.
“No.”
The word leaves my mouth before I realize I’ve spoken.
I shove my paddle into the water. My kayak surges forward, cutting across the current as I angle toward her. I’m vaguely aware of Dylan calling out to me but I don’t have time to reply. He can get the group to the pickup spot on his own and send someone to pick us up.
“Paisley, stop paddling!”
She looks back at me, panic written all over her face.
“I can’t!”
“I know.”
My voice is sharper than I mean it to be. Not because I’m angry, but because I’m absolutely terrified. Every tragic river accident that’s happened in the state is flashing through my head.
“Stay calm!” I yell, the exact opposite of calm. “Just balance!”
The current pulls her farther into the stream.
“Paisley!”
The peaceful rush of the main river fades behind me, replaced by the violent roar of water. The sunlight disappears beneath the trees, leaving everything darker and colder.
My arms burn as I paddle harder.
The current grabs at my kayak, trying to turn me sideways. I correct automatically, years of experience taking over before I even think about it.
This part of the river is familiar. It’s a wild ride that my brothers and I take when we need to burn off some aggression.
I know where the rocks are. I know where the current speeds up. I know where the water drops low enough to ground our kayaks and I know exactly where Paisley is headed.
Ahead of us, the river bends sharply. Beyond that bend, the water gets rough. It’s not impossible to navigate but Paisley isn’t experienced. She isn’t ready to ride the rapids.
She’s scared and that’s how people get hurt. As if on cue her arms pinwheel.
“Paddles!”
She looks back, her face pale.
“I can’t control it!”
The honesty in her voice hits harder than the panic, because she’s not exaggerating. The river has taken over.
I dig my paddle into the water again, pushing harder than I’ve ever pushed. My shoulders scream. My hands ache where I grip the paddle.
But I don’t slow down. I have to catch her.
I’ve spent my entire life on this river. I’ve rescued tourists who thought they could ignore safety instructions. I’ve watched the Etowah scare people who underestimated it.
But this is different, because this time, it’s Paisley.
The woman who hit me in the face with a paddle and stole my heart.
I’m not letting this river take her from me. Her kayak spins again as she bumps into a rock, and I surge forward. Grabbing the lip of her pink kayak hull with one hand, I use the paddle in my other hand as a rudder.
We hit the riverbank right before the bend. She jumps out immediately, one foot catching on the rim of the kayak, causing her to stumble.
I don’t remember the last time I was this tired.
My arms shake as I drag the kayaks further onto the shore, the muscles in my shoulders burning from fighting the current. My shirt is soaked, clinging to my overheated skin, and my body feels heavy.
None of that matters, because Paisley is here. Safe and sound.
She’s sitting on the rocky bank, knees pulled to her chest, and she’s alive. That’s the only thing I can focus on.
“Hey.”
Her hazel eyes lift to mine, the shadows from the trees turning her green flecks into a dark emerald.
She looks small with her wet hair plastered to her forehead and the cold river water dripping onto the muddy ground.
“Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head.
“I don’t think so,” she whispers.
“You don’t think?” I can’t help but tease.
A tiny, shaky smile appears.
“I’m pretty sure I would know if something was broken,” she says with a hint of sass.
There she is. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Stay here,” I order.
Her eyebrows pull together.
“Dean—”
“I’m getting you warm.”
Her protest dies swiftly. Good. I force myself back into guide mode and get a fire going, stripping damp bark away from fallen branches with my knife until I find dry wood underneath.
My hands are still shaking.
I tell myself it’s exhaustion rather than fear. It’s not the memory of seeing her disappear between the trees. Not the image of an empty kayak drifting downstream.
Definitely not that.
Building the fire takes longer than I’d like, but eventually the small flames catch. The warmth is immediate, even if it isn’t much.
I wave Paisley over.
Her shoulder presses against mine and I have no idea what to do with the way my chest tightens when she leans into me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I shake my head immediately.
“Don’t apologize.”
“But—”
“No.”
My voice softens.
“Don’t ever apologize for needing help.”
She goes quiet. The fire crackles in front of us. She lifts her arms obediently when I help her remove the yellow lifejacket. Doesn’t complain when I pull out my emergency first aid kit and order her to strip down before wrapping the thermal blanket around her shoulders.
It’s lightweight, thinner than a slice of bread, and it looks flimsy as fuck, but combined with the fire it’ll keep her warm.
Slowly, color starts returning to her face as the warmth reaches her skin. Even soaked to the bone, wrapped in an emergency blanket, and sitting on the ground in the middle of nowhere, she’s still the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.
“I can’t get us home tonight, but I’ll get us some dinner,” I tell her.
I always travel prepared. I’m so glad that my dad drilled that into my brain. You can’t predict an emergency, but you can take measures to prepare for it.
Every one of us carries a first aid kit, fishing supplies, and a flare gun just in case.
It’s not perfect but at least I can keep Paisley warm and fed until we get back to civilization.