Page 10 of Hate Wrecked

RILEY

I heave myself onto the shore, my suitcase soaked, my legs burning.

Beside me, Rowan rolls onto his back, his hand clutching his chest. The sound of our breathing and the rhythmic lull of the waves should be comforting, but the heavy reality of our situation looms. “Not a far swim,” I mutter, spitting salt.

Eventually, I push off the sand, standing on weak legs. I grab my suitcase before walking to the tree-line and looking for shade.

I hear Rowan behind me, the thud of his backpack on the sand, footsteps approaching. He drops his suitcase next to mine, and we look at each other.

“Take everything out, see what’s dry, and what needs to dry. Lay it in the sand. Set heavy items on the things you think might blow away. Do the same for mine, please.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get the captain.”

I nod, the words inside begging to fall out. Don ’ t go. Don ’ t get hurt. I ’ m sorry. How can I help?

So I do as he asked because that’s how I can help. The first thing I find in my suitcase is my mother’s manuscript. I take it out of the plastic bag. There’s water on the edges, spotting, and one corner is pretty wet. But it could be worse.

Then I find my clothes and my Walkman, laying everything out, glancing at the ocean as Rowan’s figure retreats into the water.

When I’m done with my suitcase, I turn toward Rowan’s and feel a swell. There’s something about being near his things, his private belongings. It reminds me of the past.

When I look at the boat again. I see Rowan staring down. His hands are on his head, and he looks up into the sky after a moment. I can see his lips moving and imagine the prayer he’s offering the man who brought us here.

If I were the guessing kind, I’d say the captain probably weighs around 180 pounds. Rowan is strong and capable. But dead weight? I don’t know.

I quickly set out our belongings, then turn back to the boat again just as Rowan jumps out with the captain in his arms.

There’s a splash, then they rise. I walk to the edge of the sand, the water lapping at my feet.

Rowan is heading toward me, steady, one arm around the captain’s lifeless body and the other cutting through the waves—until he isn’t. I see his eyes go wide, and he spins around in the water, his back to me.

“What going on!” I yell, cupping my mouth with my hands.

Rowan yells something, but I can’t tell what it is.

So I walk farther into the water, toward them. The waves are picking up, and the sea is a mystery, violent, and taking.

Before he can stop me, I’m swimming toward him, head down, long strokes.

When I reach them, I can’t see the captain anymore. All I can see is Rowan before he dives into the water.

I kick my legs, moving in circles, peering into the water.

The captain is sinking down, and Rowan is diving down to him.

I pull in a large breath of air, then dive.

The water is shallow here, clear and blue.

Rowan has his arm around the captain, and his eyes widen when he sees me.

I grab onto the dead man, kicking off the ocean floor.

We gasp when we break out of the ocean’s grip, moving in rhythm, swimming toward the shore.

My lungs hurt, my legs ache, but we make it, dragging the captain out onto the sand and falling to our knees in unison.

“Fuck,” I cry, clenching my eyes.

Rowan crawls around the captain to me, grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me. “I told you to stay on the shore.”

“When?” I ask.

“When you asked if everything was okay.”

I narrow my eyes. “Well, it wasn’t okay. You would have drowned trying to get him here.”

“You’ve been fucking sick, Riley, and now you’re in shock. You shouldn’t have been out there.”

“A simple thank you would suffice,” I reply, jerking out of his reach.

Rowan looks at the captain, and I can see the red in his eyes, the vein in his neck that always pulses when he’s stressed, or angry, or lost.

I get to my feet, trying to leave, but Rowan grabs my hand.

I look down at him—at the beautiful man on his knees in the sand, and I am struck by the past, by the way he looks, like years have simultaneously been added to his face and stripped away.

“Thank you,” he says, eyes on me, then out to the blue that separates us from the boat. I help him to his feet and we stand side by side, staring at the lifeboat still tethered to the ship.

“I’m going to swim back out to the boat and grab the tent. We need to lay it out as well if we want to sleep in it tonight. I don’t imagine you want to sleep out in the open?”

“No,” I reply, my eyes pulled back to where the captain lies in the sand. Rowan follows my gaze.

“We’ll find a place for him. Just until rescue shows up.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Are you going to be okay while I’m out there?” he asks, his voice softening.

“Yes.”

“Please, stay here. Don’t explore or do anything. I can’t focus on getting that tent if I look back here and don’t see you.”

I nod in response.

“I couldn’t disconnect the lifeboat,” he confesses, his gaze locking with mine. “We’ll have to swim out together and try again later.” My eyes dart between Rowan and the vast ocean before us. The thought of swimming out, away from the safety of the shore, feels daunting.

I swallow. “We’ll do it together.”

Rowan nods, then walks to the shore. I watch him as the ocean gently swallows him until he gets smaller.

I drop down in the sand and hug my knees tight. My body feels wrecked, spent, still coming down from the pills and the liquor and the jet lag and the seasickness.

And now, the death of a man. I stand on shaky legs, then walk to the water, sitting closer to Rowan, farther from the captain.

I watch Rowan reach the boat and pull himself aboard.

How long will it stay above the surface?

He enters the belly of the boat, and I hold my breath and count in my head.

I practice the breathing exercises my psychiatrist taught me to cope with my panic attacks.

Her tactics normally work, but right now, I’m not coming down quickly enough.

So I pinch my arm and close my eyes as the pain takes over.

I’m here now, in this moment. I ’ m here. Here with Rowan. I ’ m okay.

After what feels like an eternity, Rowan jumps into the water with the tent. I stand, pacing the shore, the waves pulling the sand around my feet.

When Rowan makes it to the shore, I rush to him, grabbing the tent from his hands, turning around, then rushing away. I need busyness. I need my hands to be busy so my mind can focus on anything but the doom I feel creeping in.

I drop the tent down close to the tree line. Rowan appears beside me. “Let me.”

“No. It’s either me or both of us. I can’t…I need to do something.”

He nods, dropping down beside me as I undo the zipper.

We make quick work of spreading the tent out. Rowan rushes to the trees and collects heavy rocks to secure it at the corners.

When we’re done, I survey all of our belongings, spread out, absorbing the sun. With my hands on my hips, I turn to Rowan, who is staring at the captain.

“What now?” I always looked to Rowan for guidance when things got murky. He is steady and calm. Strong and steadfast.

When he pulls his eyes away from the captain, he stares into the trees.

“We need to find a place to take him. And find any buildings we can. I think there are some bunkers on this island or the next. The sun will be going down in a few hours. Hopefully, this will be dry enough for our first night. We should also start a fire.”

His voice unnerves me—monotone—his accent dulled, his eyes lifeless.

I’ve been the strong one before. With my sisters. Always with my sisters. I’m the oldest, the protector, the one they look to. I’ve led; I’ve been steady. I can be that now.

I can be that for Rowan.

“Okay. Let’s go.”