Chapter 9 The Wrong Secret #2
She'd watched three people get up before her, which seemed to make the rope heavier in her hands. Bristol checked her jacket. Lucy repeated the stance. Luna and I helped settle the skis in front of her.
"Arms straight," I said. "Knees loose. Let the boat do the rude part."
"What if I panic?"
"Then you let go," Luna said. "We circle back. Nobody grades you."
The woman nodded.
Sam eased the boat forward on my signal.
The rope came taut. The woman tried to stand immediately, lost both skis, and went forward with a splash.
Sally's hand shot up. Sam cut the throttle and circled wide.
The woman came up sputtering. "That went well."
"Excellent splash," Vina called. "Nine out of ten. Lost a point for insufficient screaming."
Laughter broke across the dock. The woman laughed too, wiped water from her face, and took the rope again.
"You stood too soon," Lucy said from the platform. She dropped into the stance, hips low and arms straight. "Stay down here. It feels ridiculous until the water lifts you."
The second pull started slower. The woman kept her knees bent but hauled the handle toward her ribs. Her skis crossed, and she rolled sideways before she cleared the wake.
This time she surfaced shaking her head.
"I'm done."
Nobody rushed to contradict her.
Luna crouched at the platform edge. "Do you want to be done, or do you want thirty seconds without everybody talking at you?"
The woman floated there, breathing.
"Thirty seconds."
"You got it."
Luna sat back. The dock quieted. Vina lowered the music. Even the next group stopped moving equipment.
When the woman looked up again, Bristol knelt beside Luna.
"Your jacket and skis are right," Bristol said. "Nothing is fighting you except the handle. You don't need to pull it closer."
Lucy held the demonstration rope at arm's length. "Pretend your elbows don't work."
I looked toward Sam. "Slowest clean pull you've got."
He nodded.
Sally checked the lane behind them, then rested one hand on his shoulder. "Clear water. Take your time."
The woman reset. Skis together. Knees deep. Arms straight.
I raised my hand.
Sam fed the throttle forward so gently the rope seemed to wake one inch at a time.
Water gathered under the skis. The woman's hips rose. For one second she looked ready to fight it again.
"Stay down," Luna called.
She stayed down.
The skis found the surface and carried her with them.
The dock erupted.
Dad whooped loud enough to send two birds out of the pines. Poppy jumped with both arms in the air. Kit clapped above her head. Lucy ran three steps along the dock shouting, "That's it, that's it," while Bristol stood beside her with a grin she made no effort to hide.
The woman lasted forty yards before releasing the rope on purpose. She sank into the water laughing, both fists raised.
Vina turned the music up and got the whole dock clapping in rhythm.
Luna bumped her wet shoulder against mine.
"Good call on the slow pull."
"Good call on giving her room."
"We make a decent team."
"Don't sound so surprised, Sundance."
She looked at me, soft for half a beat beneath the cap and command. "I'm not anymore."
Then she went to meet the woman at the ladder.
We ran two more rotations before taking water and swapping the boat crew. I was coiling the next rope beside the speaker station when Vina caught my shirt in one fist.
"Morale check, Smoke Show."
"Whose morale?"
"Mine."
She pulled me down and kissed me in front of the whole dock.
Vina tasted like cherry gloss, lake spray, and the sports drink she'd been stealing from my cooler.
Her free hand curled behind my neck. Her tongue found mine for one slow stroke that turned a clinic break into a very different kind of problem, then she eased back with her full lips still brushing mine.
"Excellent program," she whispered. "Strong staff benefits."
"Glad you approve, Lips."
"I may need another inspection later."
She kissed me once more, quick this time, patted my stomach, and walked back toward the music.
I looked toward the boat.
Sam had seen us. He was leaning against the windshield beside Sally, his cap backward, a bottle of water in one hand. He caught my eye and grinned, easy and genuine, then turned when Sally handed him the next rotation sheet.
She said something. He laughed. Her fingers stayed on his forearm while she finished the sentence.
The smile should have settled me.
Instead, guilt crawled up the back of my neck.
I read his ease as loyalty. Sam was good enough to make my life simpler even if it cost him something. That story explained the grin, the lack of complaint, and every time he'd changed the subject when Vina came up.
It didn't explain why Sally guided him back toward the driver's seat with her hand at his waist.
I missed that part entirely.
By noon, half the guests had moved toward the beach for lunch, the rotation board held a twenty-minute gap, and the wet life jackets needed to be swapped for dry ones.
Sam came up the dock carrying an empty cooler.
"Sammy. Give me a hand with the gear reset?"
"Sure."
He dropped the cooler beside the hydration station. Sally looked up from her clipboard as we headed toward the boathouse work area. Her eyes tracked us all the way into the shade.
The work area sat behind the main boathouse, close enough to hear the clinic without giving the dock a clear view inside. Tow ropes hung from wall hooks. Dry jackets filled two rolling racks. The air smelled like old pine, rubber, and engine oil.
I handed Sam a jacket. He put it on the correct rack, checked the zipper, and reached for another. We worked through three in silence.
That gave me three chances to begin and three chances to decide the next jacket mattered more.
Sam finally hooked the last one on the rack and leaned against the workbench.
"You didn't bring me back here because my folding technique inspires you."
"Your folding technique is average."
"Cruel."
"You'll recover."
His grin made the conversation harder. Sam had been beside me through bad grades, worse dates, family fights, and every summer I came home believing I had myself figured out. I shouldn't have needed a private work area to tell him the truth.
"I should've talked to you sooner," I said.
His shoulders straightened. "Okay."
"There's something between us I've been avoiding because I didn't want to make it weird. That's on me."
Sam set down the next jacket carefully.
"Sally wanted to tell you herself," he said. "That's why I haven't said anything. She kept waiting for the right time, and I told her we'd know when it came."
I stared at him. "Sally?"
"Yeah. Sally. My—" He stopped. His eyes narrowed. "Wait. What are you talking about?"
"Vina."
Silence held for one beat.
Then Sam laughed.
Not a polite laugh. He bent at the waist, planted both hands on his knees, and laughed hard enough that someone outside dropped a metal bottle in response.
"You brought me back here to talk about Valentine Ashby?"
"Keep your voice down."
That made him laugh harder.
"Brew, I thought you found out I was dating your sister. You thought I was waiting to confess feelings about your girlfriend."
"When you say it that way, it sounds bad."
"There isn't a way to say it that makes it good."
"Glad you're enjoying this."
"I am." He wiped his eyes with the heel of one hand. "You have no idea how much."
"I saw you when she kissed me," I said. "You acted fine. Better than fine. And I realized I've been letting you handle whatever you feel by yourself because I didn't want to ask."
Sam straightened and dragged a hand over his face. "Brew."
"If you're angry, you get to be angry. If it hurts, you can say that. I'm not going to pretend our friendship means you have to swallow it."
"Oh my God. Brew, Vina is not—"
The door opened behind him.
Sally walked in, closed it, and planted herself between us. She hadn't overheard from the dock. The set of her jaw said she'd seen the two of us leave, recognized my serious-conversation face, and decided not to let either man choose the timing for her.
"No," she said. "Whatever version of this conversation you two are building, I'm in it."
Sam's laughter vanished. "Sally, I didn't mean to—"
"I know." She reached for his hand. Their fingers locked with the same ease I'd watched all morning. "You were trying to protect my timing. I appreciate it. Your execution was terrible."
"That's fair."
She turned to me.
"I watched you pull him away, and I knew one of two things was happening. Either you'd finally figured us out, or you'd invented something so stupid he needed supervision. Congratulations on option two."
"You could've given me thirty seconds."
"You had all morning. You used it to stare at us and learn nothing."
Sam made a choking sound that might have been another laugh.
Sally squeezed his hand without looking away from me.
"Sam's my boyfriend, Nash."
Every handoff on the dock changed meaning.
The life jacket waiting in her hand. The boat key. The coffee. Sam turning toward her every time she spoke. Sally's palm at his back. His grin after Vina kissed me.
I looked at their joined hands.
"Boyfriend."
"That's the word," Sally said.
Sam shifted beside her. He looked ready to explain, apologize, or volunteer for dangerous lake work if any of those options would get him out of the room.
Sally tightened her grip on his hand.
He stayed.
"How long?" I asked.
"Long enough that we named it before today," she said. "Short enough that telling you now isn't a federal crime."
"You could've told me."
"I was going to. I wanted one conversation that wasn't happening while you were being kissed, propositioned, photographed, or asked to repair something. The window has been narrow."
"That's fair."
"Also, I knew you'd make that face."
"What face?"
"The one you're making. Like Dad handed you a tax problem with feelings."
Sam snorted.
I pointed at him. "Careful."
"Sorry, Brew."
He didn't sound sorry.
I looked at him, then at my sister, then back at him.
"Are you serious about her, Sammy?"
Sally's expression sharpened.
"Ask me too."
I glanced at her. "What?"