Page 51 of Tourist Season

I SHOVE THE BIKE OFF me and start running, my palms burning, stones embedded in the scrapes along my arms lighting a fire in my torn skin.

But the pain is nothing compared to the fear that seizes my chest as I watch Harper sail off the cliff, pink and purple and gold ribbons trailing behind her in the wind.

That burn is nothing compared to the sound of her screaming my name.

She disappears from view. I’m still yards away when I hear her crash into the sea.

The last thing I see as I run off the edge of the cliff is Harper thrashing in the restraints. Desperate. Panicked. The car is already submerged, the fuselage flooded. A wave laps at her neck.

I fold my hands above my head to dive. Take a deep breath. Close my eyes. She’s still crying out my name as I hit the water.

The cold shocks every muscle. It fills my ears.

Floods my clothes, weighing me down. I fight the pull of deep currents and swim.

When I rise above the waves, I’m met with the sound of lapping water.

Distant gulls. Nearby boats. Laughter from the festivities that carries on the wind.

But there’s no Harper. No echo of my name.

Only her silence. Impossibly, it’s even worse than the sound of her desperate scream.

A wave lifts me enough to catch a glimpse of shattered pieces of wood and her goggles floating on the surface. And then, the end of a gold ribbon before it sinks into the black water.

“ Harper .”

I dive after it and open my eyes, following its trail.

Shafts of sunlight fracture in the waves.

They illuminate threads of color and rising bubbles.

Harper’s hands as she reaches for the surface.

She twists and turns but can’t escape the car that’s dragging her into the depths.

Her shoulders are free of the harness but the belt must still be stuck across her legs.

The light behind me penetrates into the darkness, but I can’t see the bottom.

There’s only a black void pulling her away from me.

The weight of my clothes and my frantic kicking push me after her. But I already know I won’t reach her in time.

I’ve seen fear in faces before. I’ve seen death.

I’ve delivered it with my own two hands.

But I’ve never felt someone’s terror cut through my muscle and bone to lash at my heart.

Her eyes are so wide. Her mouth is open in a scream, the last of her air rushing from her lungs in a flurry of bubbles.

I want to scream back at her. Hold on. I’m coming.

She thrashes at the belt before stretching for me once more.

Her tears are lost to the ocean, but I know they’re there.

I can’t lose her. Not like this.

Her movement changes. A spasm starts in her chest. Spreads into her shoulders.

She folds at the waist only to straighten again.

It’s uncontrolled reflexes, the final fire of electricity in cells.

The magic of life ebbing away. The tension dissolves from her fingers as they graze mine.

Her arms go slack, following the current as the car drags her deeper.

The fear spirits away from her face. It leaves a momentary sorrow behind.

The imprint of a final thought. And then, just as I grab her hand, the light in her eyes goes out.

I use her arm to pull myself closer until I’m at her limp body.

My ears pop with the mounting pressure. My lungs burn as I draw the switchblade from my pocket and start cutting the belt from across her legs.

I accidentally slice her side in my desperation.

She doesn’t react to any pain. Blood plumes through the water around us.

But I don’t stop, not even for a heartbeat.

I keep sawing through the thick weave of fabric until the last thread finally gives way and Harper’s body floats free of the seat and into my arms.

I let go of the knife. It sinks, following the car into the darkness as I wrap Harper in my arms and kick toward the light.

She doesn’t kick with me. She doesn’t grip me back.

Panic chokes up my throat. Every muscle is filled with fire. My lungs have nothing left. I keep struggling for the light wavering at a surface that seems too far for me to reach.

I break through with a gasp, coughing, my heart surging a deafening hum in my head.

I flip Harper’s head skyward, pushing the hair from her face.

Her beautiful features are motionless. Serene.

Her eyes are half open, glazed with a vacant stare.

Her damp lashes don’t flutter with the warm caress of the sun.

Water trickles from her parted blue lips, dripping from her nose.

“Wake up. Come on.” I kick harder so I can pull my free hand from treading water long enough to slap her cheek.

She doesn’t react. “No, Harper. No .” I slap her again, but the impact doesn’t even color her skin.

There’s no blood beating through her heart to rise to the strike.

A chasm deep in my chest splits open and a sound escapes.

An anguished cry. One I’ve only heard myself make once before, when my brother died at my side, and all I could do was lie there and watch it happen. “Someone, help!”

“Here, son,” a voice calls from behind me.

I turn to see a sailboat coasting toward us.

A man stands behind the wheel, his teenage boy at the bow with a life ring clutched in his hands.

He tosses it to me and I grab it on the first throw.

He pulls us in with surprising strength, his father joining by his side to grab Harper beneath her arms. I lift her as much as I can in the turbulent water, but the weight of her motionless body threatens to drag us both down, as though the sea isn’t ready to let her go.

But there’s no way I’m letting it take her. Not without a fight.

I haul myself onto the deck with the boy’s help, and the moment I’m onboard, I scramble to Harper’s side.

“Do you have a defibrillator on board?” I ask as I tear her shirt open, buttons pinging across the deck, her suspenders slipping from her shoulders.

The man shakes his head. Dismay is a heavy weight in his weathered features when I look his way. “No, just a standard first aid kit.”

“Bring it.”

As the man takes off below deck, I return my attention to Harper, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused.

Years of training are there, ingrained in my actions.

But it’s as though the motions happen on the other side of a veil.

I check for a pulse. I tell the man to send out a distress call.

I ask the boy to bring blankets. I start chest compressions, counting each rhythmic press of my hands to Harper’s chest, each thrust pushing water from her mouth and nose.

But on the other side of it all is the riot of desperate panic.

I’m watching her die. The thing I once thought I wanted. It’s what I came all this way and waited all this time for, and now I would give anything to stop it from happening.

“Not like this, Harper,” I whisper as I push down on her chest.

“Anything?” the man asks when I pause just long enough to check her for a pulse. I shake my head as I resume chest compressions, and he lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t give up, son.”

Tears glaze my eyes. Though my hope is fading with every moment that passes, I won’t give up. I won’t stop until someone pulls me off of her, and even then I know I’ll fight them to get back to her side. To keep trying.

I stare down at her beautiful face, begging the universe for a sign. A beacon. A candle in the fog.

Images of Harper scatter through my thoughts.

The way she smiled at me the first time we met.

The ferocity of her glare as we faced off in her garden.

But now, it feels like the abyss is still stealing my thoughts of her.

When I push my weight into my palms, I’m haunted by the way her chest spasmed as it filled with water.

When I press my lips to hers to force air into her lungs, I catch her taste and her scent, but they’re marred by salt and the fragrance of the sea.

“You can’t leave like this,” I grit out as I pump her chest with a metronomic pulse. “We have unfinished business, Harper Starling. You don’t get to tap out. Come on. Come on .”

I pinch her nose and tilt her head back and deliver a breath. Then another.

And as I’m pulling away, I feel it. A convulsion in her chest. A spasm that becomes a cough.

White foam bubbles from her lips and nose, and I turn her to the side, each cough growing more violent.

I lodge my fingers beneath her jaw and feel the faint thrum of her heart.

It grows steadier with every passing beat.

I hold her head, keeping it steady as she vomits and coughs, frothy liquid spilling from her mouth. Every blink feels like a fucking miracle when just a moment ago she was unseeing.

“Can you hear me?” I ask, and her eyes squeeze shut in pain before focusing on me. She’s disoriented, in shock, floating on the edge of consciousness. “Squeeze my hand.”

Her eyes flutter open and she looks down at her hand engulfed in mine, and though it’s weak, she squeezes back.

I hear a boat racing toward us, hitting the waves with force as it turns.

The captain of the sailboat pats my shoulder.

“Good job, son,” he says, then heads for the bow to exchange information with the Coast Guard crew as they cut the engine and pull alongside our boat.

When I look back down at Harper, her steady, exhausted gaze follows me, a thread whose pull I feel deep in a dormant place in my chest.

“I thought …” My words drift away, carried from my lips on the breeze that rustles the slack sails above us. I thought I’d lost you. I thought I couldn’t get you back . Those words all float away. “I thought you were calling it quits on our deal there for a minute, Meatball.”