Page 33 of September’s Tide (Island Tales #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

David’s heart stuttered. He scanned the surf, his eyes darting, but there was no sign?—

Until a flash of movement appeared near the rocks.

“Fuck. Fuck .”

He didn’t think. He was off the deck, through the gate, and over the railing, ignoring the stab of pain in his hand and knee as he landed on the huge rocks below. He clambered down and sprinted across what was visible of the beach.

The sea was wild, foaming and loud, dragging Taylor dangerously close to the jagged outcrop. For a second, David saw him resurface, his arms weakly flailing, and then another wave crashed over him, and he was gone again.

“Taylor!”

David hurled himself into the water, diving beneath the breakers. The current slammed into him, cold and brutal, but he pushed forward, his lungs burning. For a terrifying moment, all he could see was green-black water and white churn.

Then he saw it. A flicker of movement. Skin. A limb.

David reached Taylor and wrapped an arm around his chest. David turned him upward and kicked hard for shore. The swim back was brutal. Twice they were nearly pulled sideways by the tide. David’s limbs ached, panic clawing at the edges of his focus, but he held onto Taylor.

I’ve got you.

By the time he hit the shallows, people were running toward him. He spied Vanessa, Richard, and others from the café.

“Here!” he gasped. “Help me, please.”

Richard waded in, grabbing Taylor’s other side. Together, they dragged him up onto the wet sand. David knelt beside him, dripping, shaking. He pressed his ear to Taylor’s chest.

A heartbeat. Weak, but steady.

“He’s alive,” David whispered.

“Let’s get him on his side,” Richard said, already moving into action. David followed his lead, cradling Taylor’s head as they shifted him. Taylor coughed hard, water pouring from his mouth, his body convulsing as he retched into the sand.

David closed his eyes for a second, overwhelmed with relief. Then Taylor gave a soft groan and blinked up at him, his face pale and streaked with blood and salt.

“Hi,” he rasped.

David let out a breath that turned into a laugh. He brushed wet hair from Taylor’s forehead, then pressed a trembling kiss to it.

“Hi there, yourself.”

Vanessa shouted to him, her voice fighting the wind. “I called the doctor. He’s on his way. He’ll meet you at the Lighthouse.”

David gazed at Taylor, who winced as he tried to sit up. “Don’t move yet.” David slipped one arm behind Taylor’s back, the other under his knees. “I’ve got you.”

“I can walk,” Taylor mumbled.

“Not right now, you can’t.” He got to his feet, cradling Taylor in his arms, holding him close. Taylor’s fingers curled loosely into the fabric of David’s shirt.

Behind them, Richard called, “I’ll stop by later, see how he’s doing.”

David threw him a quick look of gratitude. “Thank you.” Then he walked toward the boat ramp, Taylor’s head resting against his shoulder, silent now except for his slow, measured breaths.

David held him tighter. His own knees were bleeding, his chest heaved with exertion, but none of that mattered.

Not if Taylor was okay.

He tightened his grip around Taylor’s trembling body as he carried him along the gravelled path to the Lighthouse. The weight in his arms wasn’t much, but the fear pressing down on his chest was crushing.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, more for himself than Taylor. The younger man pressed his face into David’s wet shirt, clinging to the warmth.

When they reached the deck, David barely slowed. He climbed the steps to find Clark standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, his arms folded.

“Move,” David said flatly.

Clark hesitated just long enough to annoy him, then stepped aside with a put-upon sigh.

David strode past him without looking back and took Taylor straight into the spare room: it was closer and didn’t involve the goddamn stairs. He eased Taylor down onto the edge of the bed. “Think you can sit for a minute?” he asked gently.

Taylor nodded, but his legs wobbled as soon as David let go. David steadied him with both hands, already reaching for the zip on his wetsuit. “Let’s get you out of this before you freeze.”

“I’m fine,” Taylor mumbled, but there was no conviction behind it.

“I know. You keep saying that.” David worked the wetsuit down, careful of the grazes on Taylor’s arms and legs. When he shivered again, David grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around him, settling him gently back down.

Then Taylor tensed.

Before David could ask what was wrong, there was a knock at the kitchen door. Clark’s voice followed a beat later, flat and joyless. “The doctor’s here.”

David didn’t look at him. “Send him in.”

Moments later, an older man entered the room, carrying a battered leather bag and wearing a kind smile. Taylor perked up at once.

“Hi, Dr. Hayward.”

“Well, well,” the doctor said with a chuckle, crossing to the bed. “You again. It’s been a while since I last had to fish gravel out of your hide.” He sat on the edge of the mattress.

David stepped back, letting the man work. He watched in silence as Dr. Hayward checked Taylor’s pulse and blood pressure, then began cleaning and dressing the cuts on his forehead and cheek. Taylor winced but didn’t complain. That in itself was enough to make David’s stomach twist.

“You’re lucky,” the doctor said at last. “No signs of concussion so far.” He turned to David. “Keep him awake for a few hours, make sure nothing changes. Some food wouldn’t go amiss either.”

David nodded. “Got it.”

Dr. Hayward smiled. “Now, what about you?”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s not,” Taylor said quietly, pointing. “His knee’s a mess.”

David sighed. “It’s not that bad?—”

Dr. Hayward cut him off with a look. “Sit.”

David grabbed the plastic chair from below the window and perched on it. He suppressed a wince as the doctor dabbed at his raw knee and wrapped it up with practiced efficiency.

When it was done, the doctor stood and packed away his supplies. “All right. Taylor stays here. No surfing, no alcohol, no arguments.”

Taylor rolled his eyes. “Yes, doctor.”

“Good lad.” Dr. Hayward shook David’s hand. “If anything changes—headaches, confusion—take him to St. Mary’s immediately. Otherwise, rest and fluids. He’ll be all right.” He smiled. “You both will.”

“Thank you,” David said, following him to the door, ignoring Clark who’d flopped onto the sofa.

When he returned, Taylor was sitting up, the blanket pulled tightly around him. “Can I go home now?”

David’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding, right? You nearly drowned today, Taylor. You’re staying put.”

Taylor hesitated. “But I don’t want to get in the way.”

“In the way of what?” David asked, although he already suspected the answer.

Right on cue, Clark’s voice floated in from the hallway. “David? I’m starving.”

David turned toward the door, exasperated. “Then feed yourself.”

He caught the way Taylor flinched, how his shoulders drew in tight.

Yeah, I nailed it.

David softened his voice. “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

Taylor looked unsure but nodded. Then he frowned. “I’m not walking out there naked.”

He didn’t need to add not with him out there.

David helped him to his feet, then wrapped the blanket around him. He guided Taylor to the door that led upstairs, then led him carefully up the narrow staircase and into the main bedroom.

Taylor paused, his gaze sweeping the room as if he expected to see something—or someone. David watched his face closely.

“He slept on the couch,” he said quietly.

Taylor didn’t respond, but his posture relaxed a little.

David stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm. “Let’s wash off the salt.”

Taylor appeared in the doorway, the blanket discarded. David’s heart clenched at the sight of him, paler than usual, bruised, bits of skin scraped raw. He stepped into the shower cubicle, leaning almost immediately against the tiled wall.

That did it.

“You’re not steady enough for a solo operation,” David said, and then without asking, he stripped off his damp clothes and climbed in beside him.

Taylor blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to?—”

“I know,” David said simply. He poured shampoo into his hand and began to wash Taylor’s hair with slow, gentle movements. Taylor’s eyes closed, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders.

“So, that’s Clark,” Taylor said in a soft voice, water cascading between them.

“Yeah. He showed up yesterday, out of nowhere. I didn’t expect him. And I didn’t invite him to stay.”

Taylor went quiet.

David rinsed the shampoo from his hair and gently massaged in the conditioner.

“And before you ask, nothing happened. He slept downstairs. We didn’t touch.

I swear to you.” He pulled Taylor under the warm spray, careful of the dressings.

He poured bodywash into his cupped palm, then ran sudsy hands across Taylor’s shoulders and down his arms, tender and careful.

“I was so scared. Seeing you out there?—”

Taylor wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close, pressing his face into David’s neck. David held him tightly, one hand splayed across his back, the other cradling the back of his head. He didn’t say anything more.

He hoped he didn’t need to.

Taylor tilted his face up, and David kissed him slowly, like it was the first time and the last all at once. After removing soap and conditioner, he flipped off the water and they stood facing each other, their foreheads meeting.

“Let’s get you into bed,” David said at last, reaching for a towel from the warming rail.

They dried off together in silence, and when Taylor slid between the sheets, he sighed and turned toward David, his eyes finally losing that look of torment.

“The bed smells like you,” he mumbled.

David smiled, pulling the covers up. “That’s because it is mine.” He grabbed his jeans and put them on.

Taylor’s voice was barely audible. “Thank you. For everything.”

David leaned down and kissed his temple. “You’re safe now.”

“But I meant what I said. I should get out of your way. You’ve got a lot to do today.”

He blinked. “And what’s more important than looking after you? Right now you’re the only item on my schedule.”

Taylor’s brow furrowed. “But Clark said you and he were flying back to the States tonight.” His voice shook, sounding uncertain.

David stilled. “What?”

“He told me you were leaving today. Together.”

David’s stomach twisted. “ Clark told you that?” When Taylor nodded slowly, David scowled. “And when was this?”

“Yesterday. I showed him the path down to the bay. He said he was your friend. And this morning, when I came by to… congratulate you, he?—”

David froze. “Wait. You were here this morning?”

Taylor blinked. “Yeah. I think you were in the shower. I didn’t want to intrude, so I just… left.”

David clenched his jaw. “He never told me you were here. Not a goddamn word.” Then Taylor’s words sank in. “Wait a minute. Congratulate me? For what?”

“About the news. The films.”

David stared at him. “I’m not so sure about you not having concussion, because right now you’re not making much sense.”

Taylor widened his eyes. “You don’t know, do you? It was on TV last night, Brian said. Amazon. Your books… they’re being adapted into movies.” He frowned. “Your agent must’ve told you.”

Cold inched its way through him. “My phone’s been off.”

“Clark didn’t tell you either?”

David stared at him. “Wait—Clark knows about this too?”

Taylor nodded. “When I told him I’d come to congratulate you about the film deal, he said something about news travelling fast.” He frowned. “He didn’t appear confused, so I assumed he knew.”

David fumbled for his phone on the nightstand.

“I was so pissed at Clark’s texts, I turned it off yesterday.

And with the signal out here being crap.

.. Jesus.” He plugged it in, tapping the screen with his thumb.

When it flickered into life, he gaped. “There has to be about twenty messages from Juliet.” His voice dropped. “Shit.”

He pressed her contact and waited. She picked up immediately, and the tone on the other end was less than calm.

“Where the hell have you been?” Juliet’s voice was like a whip. “Do you have any idea what kind of week I’ve had trying to find you?”

David rubbed a hand over his face. “I know. I know. Just—tell me everything.”

Taylor sat up, silent, his gaze locked on David’s face as Juliet filled in the blanks: the option deal, the press release, the calls from the studio. The emails. The missed interviews.

Three minutes later, David ended the call. He sat for a moment, staring blankly at the floor. Then he looked at Taylor.

“It’s true. All of it. Juliet’s been trying to reach me for a week. The news broke days ago.” He glanced toward the stairs.

And how does Clark know about any of this?

“What exactly did Clark say to you?”

Taylor’s brow furrowed. “He made it sound like you were leaving. That you’d made your choice. That I should… let you go.”

David’s hands curled into fists. “That little prick.”

He stood abruptly and grabbed a sweater from the back of the chair, tugging it on with quick, jerky movements. When he turned back to Taylor, the anger that had bloomed in his chest settled into something sharper, colder.

“You stay here. Rest. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Taylor blinked. “David…”

But he was already heading for the door.

I’m not gonna raise my voice. I’m not gonna slam anything.

Except he already knew that was probably bullshit. Clark was about to get caught up in a storm.

And it was wearing David’s face.