Chapter Four
Jules
Daylight cuts through my skull as we shuffle out of the resort lobby. I feel hollowed out and seasick, and I’ve not even seen the yacht yet. My only respite is that, going off Darren’s irritated vibe, he didn’t score with Mathieu last night. I had a vivid, manic dream I was the one doing that.
“You look fresh,” Seán says, as we walk down the wooded path towards the dock.
I grunt, swaying a little with the effort of it.
“Are you still drunk?” Darren asks from behind.
I don’t dignify that with a response. Because I am.
Mathieu trots to catch up to Seán and me. “I’m not sure I’ll manage parasailing. Why did I drink so many shots?” Despite his complaint, Mathieu looks unfairly fresh.
“We’re celebrating the end of an era,” I say. “A last get-together before we’re all scattered in the wind. Drinking is required.” Mathieu’s shoulder brushes mine, and the dream of his tongue in my mouth rises like a wave: a greedy mouth on my pulse, a firm hand on the back of my neck.
“What were you talking about with the manager?” Mathieu asks. Darren squeezes in at his far side, and Mathieu moves closer to me to make room.
“The manager was saying there are free rooms tonight if we want to extend our holiday. The discount he offered was insane. I don’t want to know how much we spent at the bar last night for him to offer it.”
Mathieu smiles, dimples appearing. “Another night would be fun.” His fingers brush against my lower back, and I shiver, recalling what his hand felt like lower down. I try to remember any rumours about Mathieu playing the field, but I draw a blank.
“Let’s decide later,” Seán suggests. “Arthur is joining another group from here, and my next booking isn’t until next week, so I have plenty of time to work with. If everyone bounces back, no reason we can’t take them up on the offer. That sound alright to you guys?”
Tired grunts answer him.
At the dock, everyone shuffles onto the yacht. Cillian is organising ropes at the back. I peel away from the group, following Seán into the equipment room. Seán gives me a questioning look when he notices me on his heels.
“Cillian helped me up to my room last night?”
“He said you crashed and needed to lie down.”
“He didn’t say anything else?”
Seán’s brows creep up. “Did something else happen? And fair warning, ‘hot cousin’ ”—he makes air quotes—“just broke up with his girlfriend. He’s straight.”
“I feel like I owe him an apology?”
“He’s twelve feet in that direction.”
Seán goes to move past me. I step into his path, flushing. “Can you tell him I said I’m sorry for…a situation that may have made him uncomfortable?”
“You can tell him.”
“I really, really can’t.”
“Jules, I don’t think you understand the size of this yacht.”
“Seán.”
“What age are you?”
“Seán.”
“I will pass on your message, but he’s not bothered by anything that happened last night. That’s not what Cillian looks like when he’s upset.” Seán climbs up the stairs. I do too. Cillian is leaning in the doorway, waiting.
“Jules said he’s sorry about a certain situation that may have made you uncomfortable,” Seán says. “All set?”
“All set,” Cillian says.
I wish I had something to throw at the back of Seán’s head. “Asshole!” He laughs as he strolls to the cabin, then trots up the outdoor steps to the cockpit, leaving me alone with Cillian. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting a smile.
“As you heard,” I say, clinging to the remains of my pride, “I’m sorry. I realise you didn’t sign up for…that.”
“It was a night out, Jules. I was off the clock.” His arms are folded loosely across his chest, the triskele on his forearm on display. “Actually,” he says, “I want to apologise to you.”
“You want to apologise to me?”
“When I call someone bossy, I always mean it in a good way. Last night you took it as an insult, but it wasn’t one.”
I blink. “You’re talking about earlier in the night?”
Cillian nods. He’s got his white cap on again, and his black waves are tamed beneath it.
Remembering the feeling of those silky strands beneath my fingers makes me twitchy.
I push it aside, along with the memory of how solid his chest is.
The orange T-shirt of Seán’s company doesn’t do Cillian justice.
“I wasn’t insulted.”
Cillian looks doubtful.
“I was upset, but that wasn’t actually to do with what you said.
Indirectly, I guess.” Through the open cabin door, I see Darren examining a map with Charles and Yasop.
Yasop is demonstrating our heading by walking a compass across the table, with twirls, perhaps indicating where we’ll do donuts later.
“Darren broke up with me because I’m too bossy.
It was recent. I haven’t had a chance to straighten everything out in my head yet.
Him bringing a date doesn’t help with that. ”
All the reasoning about us drifting apart and fizzling out doesn’t take the sting out of Darren’s actions. Couldn’t he have waited at least a month? But…glass houses. I’m not in any position to be throwing stones.
Cillian studies Darren, a flare of dislike in his eyes.
“Anyway,” I say. “Thank you for being cool.”
I rejoin the group inside, gratefully accepting Mary’s offer of a sparkling water.
The sun’s brilliant as we hit open waters, and we make our way upstairs.
There’s a little third floor on top of the cockpit with a tarp roof and cushioned seats.
We listen to music and talk, and by the time lunch passes, we’re all alive again.
We change into swimwear and Cillian briefs us.
I listen closely as Cillian describes the winch and how it functions, checking for myself how large the bolts attaching the metal contraption to the deck are.
There’s enough space between it and the back of the yacht for people to take off and land without ever touching water.
Darren catches me listening intently to the safety talk and grins. I pretend not to notice.
Mary and Charles go up first, then Willow and Yasop. They’re hooting their hearts out.
Mathieu slips next to me as Cillian unclips Willow from the harness. She’s windswept, her long, fair hair messy despite being plaited.
“Should we go up together?” Mathieu asks.
I stare at a knot in Willow’s hair. “It looks wild up there.”
“It felt wild,” Willow says with a wide grin.
I examine the horizon line. There are no islands, no people, no boats. “It’s getting cloudy, isn’t it?”
“We’re burning in the sun.” Darren joins us. “You’re just too scared to go up.”
“That isn’t it. I think the wind has picked up—”
Darren snorts.
I redden. “Seán said—”
“Seán is the one sending us up.”
Seán is driving the yacht, so it’s Cillian sending us up.
“Darren,” Mathieu says, all traces of his ever-flowing humour gone, “stop being a dickhead.”
Darren freezes. A beat later, he smiles, all charm. “Sorry, I don’t mean to wind you up, Jules. You don’t have to go up if you don’t want to.”
Cillian finishes arranging the sails and harnesses. He’s in the shelter of the cabin wall. I don’t think he can feel the wind from the angle it’s coming in.
I stride over before I can back out, heart thundering in my chest. Cillian scans my face as he helps me into the harness. “Are you sure you want to go up?”
“Yes,” I say curtly. The world is wavy around the edges.
The others exchange stories about their exhilarating experience while Darren attempts to smooth things over with Mathieu.
Judging by Mathieu’s expression, it’s not going well.
Have they slept together? I have a feeling Mathieu’s preferences might clash with Darren’s.
Cillian tightens the strap around my waist, then around each thigh. The feeling of his strong hands and the constricting straps draws me into my body, out of my head. “I’m sorry.”
“You apologise a lot.” Cillian smooths out where my shorts ruck up under a thigh strap. “Are you sure?” he repeats.
“Will you keep it quick? And not as high as the others went?”
“I can do that. And if you change your mind at any time, tell me.” He checks the strap on my waist, jerking me forward a step. I catch his arm for balance, distracted momentarily by how firm it is.
“I’ve been out with Seán dozens of times, and people change their minds at the last second all the time. It’s not a big deal.”
“Thank you.”
Cillian tugs the strap on my waist again, pulling me forward another step. “Alright. Your harness is good.”
Mathieu comes over. Behind him, Darren is scowling. He fixes me with a heated, irritated look before joining the others, snatching his bottle of water from the deck.
There’s a tug on my waist. I turn a questioning look on Cillian, whose gaze slides from my eyes to where I’m still clutching his arm. I let him go.
“What did you say to him?” Cillian asks as Mathieu slips into a harness.
“I pointed out how nice everyone was to him yesterday despite how bad a swimmer he is,” Mathieu says. “And how he’s acting like a mouldy banana in a bowl of perfectly ripe fruit.”
Cillian’s lips quirk up. “Good.”
“I’m the ripe fruit in this analogy?” I ask.
“We all are.”
“Except Darren, who is a mouldy banana,” Cillian says. He tightens Mathieu’s straps, doing the check like he did with me. Mathieu’s heels stay planted, and he raises an amused brow. Cillian’s eyes glimmer. His hand lingers on the waist strap.
The image of the two of them making eye contact like that over my back flashes in my mind. Spit-roast? Mathieu had suggested it so casually. He plays the field. He has to.
My cock twitches, and I turn away. I do not want to sport a semi in a pair of swim shorts. I focus on the fact that I’m about to be ten thousand feet in the air and the hot feeling turns wholly unpleasant. Do I want to do this? Just because Darren’s being a dickhead?
I pick up the clip that Cillian attached to the harness for the others. It connects to a very complicated tangle of ropes that branch out to dozens of places on the sail. The cord is thin. The edge of the sail on one side is flapping wildly. Was it doing that before?
I look at the ocean. The sun is shining, but past the cabin, there’s a wall of dark clouds. Alarm fills me. The clouds I was studying only a few minutes ago have grown into a monster.
“There’s a waterspout.” My voice comes out faint.
“Is there now?” Darren says.
I tear my eyes away from the horror ahead to scowl at him. “I’m serious.”
“Careful, Jules. Don’t get tangled in the line,” Cillian says.
“Merde,” Mathieu curses. “Is that a tornado?”
“Everyone inside!” Seán cries from the cockpit. His warning reaches us at the same time as a wall of wind.
Several things happen at once. Mathieu falls into the sail, and a tie comes loose. I fall onto the other side of the sail, onto a mass of ropes. Cillian collides with the winch, walloping his hip but keeping his feet. Everyone else hits the deck.
The yacht rises sharply at the front, and everyone slides towards the railing. A tearing sound fills the air. I catch a split-second glimpse of the tarp on the top level being ripped away. People call out, but their voices are swallowed by the howling wind.
It goes dark.
The ship levels, then dips the other way. The huge wave washes past us. The wind dies.
“Everyone inside!” Cillian shouts. He lunges for Mary, who is precariously close to falling beneath the rail into the ocean. I scramble to Mathieu, helping him to his feet. We take a step, and I’m yanked back, as if someone snatched hold of my shirt.
“Ow.” I try to move forward again, but can’t.
“Jules?” Mathieu tugs on me.
“I’m stuck.” I twist. There’s a tangle of rope leading to my back. “There’s something caught on the harness.”
“Jules,” Cillian calls. Another wall of wind strikes us. The loosened sail catches and fills, then it rips free of the remaining straps, and shoots up, whistling.
When I was ten, I was in a car crash. My seat belt locked in the collision, winding me and leaving a band of bruises across my chest. Deep breaths pinched for a solid month.
It feels like I’m sitting in the car at the moment of impact, seat belt constricting. The harness pulls tight. My head whips forward with my limbs. I’m ripped off my feet. The boat disappears beneath me as I fly up with the sail, ascending at terrifying speed.
Winded, I can’t scream.
The winch line goes taut, jerking the sail and me to a stop. I whip around uncontrollably, dangling from where I’m caught on the back of my harness. I breathe through gaspy, panicked sobs. The air is thin and insubstantial. My neck is on fire.
Far below me, the yacht is advancing into a storm of dark clouds. The ocean is black. Large swells advance on the boat like rolling hills. The wind roars. Any second now, the sail is going to fold in. I’ll fall and die.
I twist, trying to get a hold of the lines. If I can reach them, I can hold on if the tangle comes loose. It’s impossible. Whether from panic or cold air, my hands are numb.
Weaponised rain strikes me. I cover my face and absorb the hits on my forearms. I think of my dead parents.
Of my friends. Of how hard I worked in college and all the places where I’ve applied for jobs.
And I think about Darren giving the eulogy at my funeral.
He was bossy and annoying. He was always trying to be optimistic about everything, and it was such a huge pain.
I’ll be forgotten in a year, as if I never existed. And I know it’s true, because I rarely think about my parents. Even when I think about that car accident, it’s the way the belt felt against my chest that I remember.