Page 8 of Hate Wrecked

“If you want to see it, the island is in view. Daniels said it’ll be another day until we reach it, but it’s fucking incredible.”

Riley turns toward me, and I shrink away. She purses her lips. “Okay. I’m going to use the bathroom. I’ll be up there soon.”

“I’ll be right outside.” I can’t turn it off—the desire to watch over her. If I could have sailed us out here alone, I would have. I hope to have my own boat one day, but until then, I’ll have to rely on others.

When I go above deck again, I walk to the boat’s edge, taking in the atoll.

For years, I have dreamt of this place. And now I’ll get to touch that shoreline.

I can finally begin the story and bring my characters into the light.

I can start to shed the skin I have worn for too long—the same as my father’s.

After a few minutes, Riley joins me on deck. She stands close to me, staring into the distance, her arm almost brushing mine. “It’s beautiful.”

Her words don’t match the tone of her voice, and I turn to her. “What’s wrong? Are you still sick?”

“Not as bad as before,” she says, staring ahead to the atoll. “Doesn’t it scare you? The thought of being out there? Away from the world?”

“Of course.”

“What if there are people there? What would you do if we got there and someone was there already?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She turns to me. “I’m just...talking. Leave the bodyguard job behind for just a moment.”

“That’s not something I can do.”

“Can you talk to me like you used to?”

“I can’t do that either.” I turn back to the shoreline in the distance.

“It just... scares me a little. We have no idea what’s out there. Anyone could be out there, waiting.”

“Why did you come if that was a fear of yours?”

She stares at me. “Because when I’m with you, I’m never afraid.”

“You’re afraid right now.”

“Maybe… maybe even when I am, I’m never afraid I’ll get hurt if you’re with me.”

She has no idea what those words mean to me.

The way they pierce my heart. I don’t turn to her.

I don’t tell her how much I needed to hear that.

I just stare at the shoreline until she stops looking at me.

Until she stares at it, too. To a future.

To a place untouched. A place of mystery and seclusion.

If only for a while longer. I would never let anyone hurt her.

I would never let anyone get to her. Not while we have this time together.

Because it will end. It has to end. I need to leave her behind for good if I ever intend to find peace.

* * *

There are few serene moments in this life. So I’ve learned to savor them, quiet everything, and close my eyes.

Riley is resting below as we sail through the last waves between us and the island, and I’m watching her.

She’s wrapped in a blanket on the couch, and I have a book in my hand.

I don’t care about the book because I can watch Riley without guilt right now.

Without her words or my own messing everything up.

I wanted to savor the sea on this trip, but I can’t tear myself away from her.

The captain has everything under control, so I shouldn’t worry. But worry and Riley go hand in hand.

I close the book quietly, lean forward, and place it on the floor.

This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, but some voice in my head is telling me this short excursion away from the world’s pressures might do Riley some good.

I know the manuscript is in her bag on the floor next to her, and I’ll leave her alone with it; let her drink it in.

I won’t ask questions. I’ll be whatever she needs out here, within my boundaries, if it will help her start off on the right foot when we board this boat again on our way home.

I’ve always been proud of my ability to sense danger before it strikes. While much of my profession can be learned, innate instincts are something that no one can teach you. You’re either born with it or you’re not.

But I don’t sense anything before it happens.

I don’t feel the danger creeping up on us, maybe because I’m too focused on Riley’s peaceful form.

Maybe because I’m turning her words over and diving into my head, dissecting the cadence, the whisper, the shape of her lips as the words left her mouth.

When I ’ m with you, I ’ m never afraid.

It’s those words I hear when we are jolted by a crash and violently thrown to the side.

Riley is propelled across the room, straight at me, and I fall from my chair, my arms instinctively wrapping around her as I fall forward.

When we hit the floor, Riley’s eyes are wide with confusion as she asks, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I yell, disentangling from her.

The stairs leading upward don’t lead up anymore, we’re at an angle, and I fall forward toward the steps.

I turn back, yelling for Riley after seeing the water coming over the rear end of the boat toward the steps leading down to us.

“Grab your bag!” I bark, rounding the corner once I’m outside.

I don’t have time to think. I move toward the head of the boat, looking for the captain. I find him hunched over, his hand gripping the front of his T-shirt.

His eyes are shut, and his lips are blue. I open one of his eyes, horrified at the sight before me.

Riley comes up behind me, her bag in hand as I lower the captain to the floor.

“What happened?” Riley shrieks, her eyes darting between me and the captain.

“I don’t know,” I reply, my heart pounding as I look at the captain lying motionless on the ground.

Without hesitation, I move closer, assessing the situation.

No breath, no pulse. My training kicks in as I position myself over his body.

I quickly check for any obstructions in his airway, then begin chest compressions.

My rhythm is steady as Riley watches in silence, her hands covering her mouth.

Between compressions, I tilt his head back, pinching his nose shut, breathing into his mouth.

The sound of my own breath and the thud of my hands against his chest echo in my ears as hope slithers away while Riley watches for any signs of improvement.

“Come on,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over my breaths.

I keep going, hoping that my efforts will be enough, but the minutes stretch as I pour all my energy into saving him. And I feel it, a sinking feeling. I can’t pull myself from it until I feel Riley’s hand on my arm.

When I look up, her eyes tell me what we both know, and I look away quickly. Scrambling to my feet, I begin to assess the boat. Behind me I can hear Riley muttering.

She walks to the radio, pressing buttons, hearing silence.

When she curses and looks ahead, I follow her gaze.

I see where the reef pierced the front of the yacht, and I know there is no coming back from this.

This vessel will not sail away from this spot.

It’s done. Tearing my eyes away from the damage, I scan the horizon, seeing it—our destination.

Elderslie Atoll. We can swim there. But what about him?

I grip my skull, hands pulling my hair, searching for some sort of pain to break through the numbness I feel settling in.

“Riley,” I say, turning back to her.

She looks at me, eyes red.

“Grab your bag and whatever else you need. Nothing that will weigh you down. I need you to swim to shore. I’m going to grab some things, too.”

“What about him?”

I look down at our captain. I need to get him to shore. “I’ll get him. I’ll swim with you now, then I’ll come back.”

Riley nods, standing. Her knees wobble a little, and she walks toward the cabin door. When I join her, I find her shoving her mother’s manuscript in a plastic bag and then putting it back into her suitcase. “Food?” Riley asks, looking at the fridge.

I nod, grabbing my backpack off the floor. I dump what I don’t need, shove what I can into my suitcase, and fill the sack with food. This is stupid. Most of it will go bad soon without a cool place to keep it, but we shouldn’t be on the atoll long once we radio home.

The world won’t let the daughter of Desi Monroe and Dane Williams be lost for long.

We exit the cabin, side-stepping the water covering the back of the boat.

Will it sink? The reef is keeping the ship afloat right now, but how long will that last?

I push the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. We need to swim to shore. It won’t be easy while loaded with our supplies, but we can do it.

“Use your suitcase like a raft, if you can. Kick with your legs. It’s not a far swim. We got this.”

Riley nods. She’s an excellent swimmer. I remember watching her do laps in the pool.

We walk to the boat’s edge, and I throw my suitcase in, my backpack secured around my torso. Riley throws her bag in, and I grab her hand before we jump.