Page 37 of Faking the Pass

And by then I’ll be back in California, and you can eat it yourself.

“Freeze it? No way,” Presley protested. “That’ll ruin it. Seafood is always best fresh. I’ll cook it for us tonight. We can have it grilled or fried—or both.”

“Yummy,” I muttered as my stomach churned and the dizziness increased.

Presley’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “You okay? You look a little green.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should have taken that motion sickness pill. I think I’m going to just lie down until we get back into the harbor.”

Making my way unsteadily to the padded bench nearby, I stretched out on the cushion and closed my eyes, breathing through my nose as I fought off a wave of nausea.

“I’ll get Matt, and we’ll head for shore,” Presley said. “I should have brought you some crackers or something while you were fighting the shark. Seasickness can be worse on an empty stomach.”

Within a minute, he was back with the captain, who wore a sympathetic expression.

“Unfortunately, the medicine might not help at this point,” Matt said. “If you already feel nauseous, it’s probably too late. Give it a try though.”

He handed me two pills and a bottle of water.

“We’ll be back to shore in about forty-five minutes. Hang in there.”

While he left to go pilot the boat, Presley sat beside me on the bench and watched me swallow the pills then lie back down.

“I texted my family a little while ago and invited them over for supper tonight,” he said. “We ended up with a really good catch—way too much for the two of us. But maybe I should call them back and cancel.”

“No, no, don’t do that. They should definitely come over.”

My eyes closed again, trying to shut out the spinning world.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few minutes,” I said. “If not, I probably won’t feel like eating tonight anyway. You’ll want someone to share the meal with.”

The way I felt, I doubted I’d ever feel like eating ever again.

In either case, I didn’t want to keep Presley from enjoying the fresh seafood or seeing his family. They were incredibly important to him, and he hadn’t seen that much of them lately.

Unfortunately, by the time Captain Matt pulled the fishing boat into its slip, I was feeling worse—not better.

Presley helped me to the car, holding one of my hands and keeping an arm around my back for support as I shuffled along.

“I’m sorry I ruined your fishing trip,” I said miserably as I lowered myself to the front seat.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “Our time was about up anyway. And you caught a shark big enough to feed the whole neighborhood—or at least a couple of my brothers.”

I managed a weak laugh then rolled down the window for the drive home—just in case.

The twisty turns of Presley’s driveway were no fun, but I managed to make it inside the house and to the bathroom before vomiting.

There had been no time to close and lock the door beforehand, and I realized when I heard the sink running that Presley had followed me in.

Mortification filled my veins, making me even more nauseous.

“Please leave,” I gasped before dry heaving over the toilet then sinking to the floor in front of it. “Don’t see me like this.”

He handed me a wet washcloth, which I accepted gratefully in spite of my recent request.

“This is nothing,” Presley said. “When we do two-a-days during summer training camp, guys are puking left and right.”

The cold washcloth felt like heaven against my skin. I held it over my face even when I responded.

“I’m not one of the ‘guys.’ I’m—” My protest cut off abruptly. I’d been about to say “your wife.”

Presley chuckled. “I know, I know. You’re a lady . A delicate flower who never burps, farts, sweats, or gets sick. Really, Rosie. It doesn’t bother me in the least. Do you feel any better after throwing up?”

I took an internal inventory from my position on the cold tile floor.

Head still spinning, stomach still rocking back and forth. At least it was empty now.

“Not really. I thought seasickness was supposed to stop when you got off the boat.”

Presley helped me to my feet then waited behind me as I brushed my teeth, clutching the edge of the countertop with one hand for balance. I couldn’t meet his eyes in the mirror or even look at myself, I was so embarrassed.

“Usually it does,” he said. “But everybody’s different. Sometimes the after effects can last a few hours—even a few days. Do you tend to get motion sickness on amusement park rides or when you ride in the backseat of a car?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve done either of those, it’s hard to remember. But yeah, I think I did when I was a kid.”

“You may be more affected by it then. It’s an inner ear thing,” he said. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have suggested a fishing trip.”

When he tried to help me walk to the bedroom, I pushed his hands away. “I’m okay. I can walk.”

But contrary to my obstinate words, I reeled off to one side, feeling like I was falling.

Presley’s arms went around me, and then my feet were off the ground, my legs draped over one of his arms, and my woozy head resting against his chest.

“You shouldn’t carry me. Your shoulder,” I protested.

“You’re light as a feather, Starfish,” he said. “And you can’t walk. You need to go to bed and stay there.”

Instead of taking me to the bed in my own room, he carried me down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“My room,” he said. “I’ll need to keep an eye on you tonight. The last thing either of us needs is you falling and getting a concussion.”

I wanted to protest, but honestly, I didn’t have the energy.

All I wanted was to lie down somewhere and close my eyes, pass out, and gain some blessed relief from this spinning teacup ride that wouldn’t seem to end.

Reaching his room, Presley set me down on the enormous bed.

“I’m going to call the team doctor,” he said. “I think you might have Mal de Debarquement Syndrome. I’ll find out if there’s anything we can do to make you feel better. You just get some rest, and call me if you need to get up for anything.”

His tone was gentle and sweet, and I realized he hadn’t sounded like that since the day we returned from the island, before I’d informed him we would no longer be sharing a bed.

My head was too dizzy to consider what the change meant. I crawled to the pillow and collapsed with a sigh.

My eyes didn’t open again, so I couldn’t say for sure, but it seemed like Presley didn’t leave the room for a long time.

And when I fell into dreams, they were filled with his voice, and his wonderful scent and his touch.

In a world that was spinning like a merry go round, he seemed like the only solid thing to hold onto.