Nolan reaches over to tap his glass against hers. “A few days of peace.”
“Thankfully,” Elliot says. “The staff will stay in the auxiliary lodge unless you request anything, so we’ll basically be alone.”
Piper tilts her head back and closes her eyes as golden light catches on her eyelashes. A soft sigh escapes her lips, shoulders dropping an inch as tension melts from her frame. “Perfect.” A few moments pass. “I’ve never really done the ocean thing. My parents were more of a hotel pool crowd, and I’ve been too consistently busy for ocean swimming since. Even when the tour stops were on the shore.”
“Not even a lake?” Nolan asks. His eyebrows pitch up as if this is a genuine offense. It makes me realize I’ve still not gotten to know Nolan well at all.
Piper snorts. “You think they let me near unchlorinated water? My mom was convinced I’d get brain amoebas or something.”
I laugh, which earns me a glare, but it’s affectionate. “You’re safe here.”
A beat of silence, broken only by the water against the hull.
We settle into a rhythm after that. Drinks are poured and sunscreen is slathered. As the sun climbs and the drinks flow, everyone starts to finally loosen up. By hour three, Piper’s got her legs over my lap and is dictating a joke “nautical pop princess” song for her next album.
Piper laughs as she finishes up the voice memo recording. “I may send it to Raelynn just to watch her freak out.”
Elliot grunts an agreement. “You should. Would be worth it.”
Nolan watches this with the weary patience of a man who has seen too many disasters begin this way. He’s had a few beers, but he’s still scanning the horizon every couple of minutes.
The water changes color as we get further out. The city is a memory now, and the only thing in sight is the horizon and the churn of our wake. My shoulders drop away from my ears for what feels like the first time in months, and the perpetual knot between my shoulder blades unwinds. I can finally take a breath that reaches all the way to the bottom of my lungs instead of stopping shallow in my chest.
There’s something about being this far from everything—family, cameras, expectation. Like the ocean just eats all of it. I squeeze Piper’s hand, and even though she’s half-asleep at this point, she squeezes back.
Maybe this is what normal is for us. It just took a lot of ocean to see it.
By six hours in we’re at the private island owned by my family. The yacht docks and we hop off to enjoy the sand and sun while the latter is still here today. Already, the air is heavy with impending rain. Piper is first off the boat, sprinting barefoot through the surf and shrieking when the cold Atlantic catches her at mid-calf. Nolan, to no one’s surprise, follows at a more dignified pace, sunglasses in place, shoes never so much as threatened by sand.
Elliot and I haul out towels, bags, a couple paddleboards, and a mesh-sided cooler organized with precision. We set up a little camp just past the tide line, and I flop into the sand, digging my heels into the warmth.
We get another two hours before the sky morphs from perfect to biblical. We pack up quickly and retreat—Piper leading the charge—to the luxury beach house my parents bought themselves as a wedding anniversary gift ten years ago. It’s minimalist and beautiful, and we hurry inside as the storm approaches. I knew there was a chance for weather tonight. What I didn’t expect was the suddenness, or the way it presses the whole world down like a snow globe full of static and doom.
I immediately kick off my sandy flip-flops. Nolan and Elliot come in together, carrying beach chairs and towels, both pretending not to look at Piper as she burrows herself into the sofa cushions. At first, I think maybe this is some omega nesting ritual, but the longer she stays there and the more she glances at the weather app on her phone, the less and less I believe this.
Dinner passes quickly, provided by staff who accompanied us to the island. They hurry back to the auxiliary house before the storm starts. Because when it starts, it does so with abandon: a single thunderclap that shakes the entire house to its foundation.
Piper jumps out of her seat on the couch.
Nolan looks over at her concerned, but it’s Elliot who asks first, “Piper? Are you okay?”
“Yep.” She nods quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting it.” But her face has gone pale.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say, as much for myself as for Piper. “Worst case, we lose power and play board games by candlelight.”
She gave me a weak thumbs-up. “Yeah, worse case.”
Elliot sets down his glass. “There’s a full battery backup and the satellite phones are charged. We’re safe here.”
Piper snorts, but her laugh is a little too loud and quick. I recognize it for what it is: a cover. Most of the world thinks ofPiper as a force of nature—wild, brash, impossible to intimidate. I know her better. And I’m learning her more and more.
“Are you afraid of thunder?” I ask gently.
Piper looks to me. Pink blush lights her cheeks. “What, me?” She waves me off. “No, of course not.”
Nolan sighs.
A second clap of thunder bursts through the air and shakes the house once more. Piper jumps again and doesn’t even bother hiding a shiver.
