“What? What is it?” The look on his face has me launching off the couch. The icy compress behind my neck falls to the floor with athwack,and as soon as I’m upright, the room sways. I clutch the arm of the couch for balance, and I’m so thankful I have it in my grip when the next words come out of his mouth.
“Do you think Josh would—would hurt himself?”
As hot as I was an hour ago, that’s how cold I go now. Cold to the bone. Because I don’t know. I truly don’t know if Josh would—would—
And my brain does me the courtesy of re-playing Zach’s words:Unless he climbed a frickin’ tree, dug a hole, or jumped in the—
He was going to saylake.
Josh isn’t answering his phone. He isn’t in any of the buildings on the property. Clearly, he hasn’t been priming the lodge. Like, not at all.
And I know he’s been feeling overwhelmed.
“OhmyGod—”
All of the icy water I’ve swallowed along with whatever was left in my stomach after I puked in front of Zach is coming back up. In a hurry.
I take off at a sprint, aiming for the single bathroom, colliding with the coat stand and pinballing into the hallway wall before I bolt through the bathroom door, throw open the toilet lid, and hork up a stomach full of fear.
I didn’t hear him coming, but Zach is there. Standing right behind me. Again, seeing me at my absolute worst.
Not that it matters. The only thing that matters is Josh.
I cough and spit. “Go—find him—” I manage between gasps. My heart feels like it’s beating in my throat. My knees are literally knocking each other.
“But, are you—”
“Go!”
“Right,” Zach says and then he’s gone. I hear the lodge door slam behind him and then the truck roars to life. A spray of gravel tells me Zach has spun the truck around in the direction of the dock.
“Josh, please,” I beg the toilet. “Please be okay.”
When I’m halfway sure I won’t hurl again, I flush the toilet, splash water on my face, and rinse my mouth in the sink.
The woman in the mirror looks like a zombie. And I hope like hell I don’t get used to her reflection.
Because if Josh has…
If he’s…
I shove my way out of the bathroom. I’m shaking. I’m wrung out. And puking again hasn’t done my hydration any favors, but I’m not about to wait around here to find out what’s going on. It takes longer than it should, but I get my shoes on. Russell takes this as a sign that we’re going out and lumbers out from under the coffee table.
I pick the limp ice towel off the floor, wrap it around my neck again, and head in the direction of the shed with Russell at my heels.
The keys are in the Polaris. Russell hops up beside me as I fire up the UTV. As soon as I back out of the shed, I aim for the lake, which isn’t far—maybe 10 acres, but the property slopes out of view from here, showing me only the roof of the covered dock and the far expanse of water.
I floor the Polaris and keep one hand on Russell’s harness as we bounce over ruts and rough earth. Josh’s truck comes into view. The thing is still running, the driver’s side door gaping open, but I don’t see Zach—
Until I do.
He’s in the water. Just beyond the dock. Then he dives under, disappearing beneath the surface.
“Oh my God—”
My eyes sweep the dock, spotting only Zach’s shoes and shirt. His head breaks the surface, the water turning his copper hair a rusty brown.
“Zach!” I shout, but he dives again. I jerk the Polaris to a halt beside the truck, and Russell and I leap out. My feet pound against the dock, and when I reach the end, Zach pops up again, shaking his head and swiping water from his eyes.
