“Cole, thank you for that, really. But it changes nothing. I admit, you bring a lot of value to the team. You see possibility in things other people walk past. I would never have thought to save a town with a bundle of old wires. I know how to build. You know how to dream. Those aren’t the same thing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re the best at what you do.” My fingers itch to reach for her, but I hold back. “And God help me, we are damn good together when we’re not at each other’s throats.”
The words hang there. Too honest. And way too late.
“Maybe,” she says. “But you have to trust your teammates, Cole.”
That lands harder than anything she’s said all day.
She looks away first. Her focus goes to the deck, the crew, anywhere but me. And that’s when I know…
This is really over.
“We’re live in five,” she says, smoothing her blouse. “So smile and pretend this isn’t a total catastrophe. For morale.”
I watch her walk away. The real cost of this weekend isn’t the half-million-dollar hotel invoice. It’s this. This thing between us that I don’t even know how to name, let alone fix.
I can’t spin this. No camera angle can erase the cracks in her trust; there’s no last-second save. For the first time in my life, I’ve got nothing. Just the sight of her back, retreating, and the weight of every wrong choice I made.
Five minutes later, the Salty Old Sea Hag is a stage.
Same rusted railings. Same sloshing dark water smacking the hull. Same sea lions barking overhead like a panel of drunk judges.
But now, everybody’s in position.
Blaze is mic’d and marked on the bow, his ripped abs glistening proudly through wild Hawaiian fabric. Orson is at ease in this environment, with his hand confidently on the binoculars hanging around his polo. Ivy anchors herself at the monitor station, tablet in hand, headset on, eyes locked on the donation counter.
“Live in three,” Ivy says through my earpiece calmly. “Two. One.”
I hit theGo Livebutton.
Blaze spreads his arms wide like he’s about to hug the entire Pacific Ocean.
“YO, LEGENDS! Welcome to the ONE, the ONLY, the SALTY OLD SEA HAG!” He grins straight down the lens. “Dr. O swore to me that’s her real name, bros. Yes, we LOVE her, yes, she’s seen better days—like, a LOT better. Every dollar you drop in the next hour keeps this beautiful disaster afloat—Last day of Seal The Deal. LET’S GOOOOO!”
Blaze shoots finger guns at the camera, drags Orson into frame, and gets him to go “pew, pew, pew.”
I pan wide, then swing left to catch the cliffs—
Sea lions. Everywhere.
Piled on the rock shelves in sleek, tan, and chocolate heaps, sprawled over each other like sunbathers who claimed the best pool chairs at dawn. A large male lifts his head and lets out a deep, grumpy bark. Above them, tourists crowd the cliff railing, snapping pics. One teenage boy dips down with his hand out, like he’s expecting a high-five.
Orson straightens his glasses with a sigh. “Allow me to clarify, again, that these are California sea lions, not seals. This is a distinction I will repeat ad nauseam until my larynx collapses. They are exceptionally social, cognitively advanced pinnipeds who—”
“Yes, Dr. Echols, we’re all very excited thatyou know the difference,“ Sienna interrupts. She’s in her work khakis and a navy Saltwater Saviors polo, with her hair pulled back into a knot. “Before we start the tour, I thought we could point out a few residents we’ve helped before.”
“Follow them, Cole,” Ivy commands.
“Copy,” I murmur. “How are donations?”
“Slow. Painfully slow. Just get the shot, Hartwell.”
Sienna grabs Blaze by the arm, hauling him toward the port rail.
“Dr. Sienna, quick question,” Blaze says. “What if the sea lions aren’t just sea lions?”
Sienna stares at him. “What?”
