“I need to find him,” I blurt, backtracking toward the only remaining skiff—which isn’t in its slip, because it was hauled yesterday for maintenance.
The touring boat, then.
“Gray has the keys,” Amanda says, reading my mind. “But I have a friend down the road with a dinghy. He might let us use it.” She pulls her phone from her pocket. “Let me call?—"
“There’s no time.” It comes out in a burst of panic, my eyes wild as I search the yard for another option.
Swim.I’ll just swim to him?—
Orange flashes in my periphery—a stained kayak, upside down behind the warehouse by the shore. My feet carry me toward it.
“Eliza, there’s some headwind,” Amanda warns, rushing after me. “It’s going to take atleastthirty minutes, even if you paddle like crazy.”
“Then I’ll paddle even harder.” The kayak is old, edges buried in the dirt like it hasn’t been moved in months, a stained orange life vest half-lodged under its front. “Whose kayak is this?” I ask, soil lodging beneath my nails as I try to unearth it.
Amanda kneels beside me, and we flip it, a cloud of dust poofing into our faces. I wave it away, revealing a paddle stuffed inside the main compartment, glowing like it’s heaven-sent.
Except it isn’t.
“It’s Mark’s.”
“Well,” I grab one end, giving it a mighty yank toward the water, “Mark’s just going to have to deal.”
She positions herself at the other end, shoving as I pull. “I won’t tell him if you don’t,” she grits out. Two more heaves, and I jump out of the way as the kayak slides down the bank, splashing into shallow water.
I hop in after it, water soaking my shorts, and pull the paddle free before clumsily climbing in.
“Life jacket! In case you’re stopped,” Amanda shouts, and something soft glances off my head. I snag the vest mid-airand stuff it by my legs. “If you’re not back in an hour, I’m getting my friend’s dinghy and searching for you.”
I spare a precious second to face Amanda, who’s peering down at me with concern. I think this means we’re officially friends, and I have a feeling she’s a damn good one.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly.
She jerks her chin.
All my urgency surges back like a storm tide as I shove away from the shore. My paddles are strong, but the kayak is a damn slug in the water. I pick up some momentum, only for a stiff breeze to buffet me the moment I get past the docks. Bending over in an attempt to streamline, I strain against the water, little waves splashing up over the sides and soaking my clothes.
Paddle. Harder.
My arms burn. Salt stings my eyes. It’s like the entire pond is trying to push me back to shore. I pant through bared teeth, back cramping as I force the heavy kayak against wind and waves that all seem to be aimed at me. I’m a sopping mess of pain and panicked purpose when the sorting float appears in my periphery. The back of a skiff peeks out the side. Fear threatens to choke out my urgency, but I barge through it, pushing, pushing,pushing?—
I careen around the side of the float, drop the paddle, and frantically grab the back of the skiff, gliding to a stop. Gasping for air, I cautiously glance up.
Kenny stares at me wide-eyed from a second boat, a wrench in his greasy hand. “That looks alotlike Mark’s kayak,” he says, sucking in a breath, “and he’s not gonna be cool with you using it.”
From where he’s crouched over the engine beside Kenny, Grayson unfurls. He turns toward me in slow motion.
The burn in my lungs, the soaked fabric sticking to my body, Kenny—they all cease to exist.
Just like at the dock, his expression startles me. But not because it’s impassive or withdrawn like I expect.
No—it’s…wild.Eyes fevered, forehead creased, mouth parted, cheeks red like he’s rubbed them raw with anxious hands.
“What are you—” he shakes his head a little. “You’rehere?”
His voice is as taut as his body, but I can’t read the mess of emotions emanating from him. There are no signs of the steadiness I know. This man is all but cracking at the seams.
Because of me. Because of how badly I’d hurt him.
