“I…I came to talk,” I pant out.
His hand scrubs down his cheek, smearing grease, agitating his skin further. “Jesus, Eliza. Your phone—you’ve been fuckingunreachable. I called youeight times.” With every sentence, the pitch of his voice raises. “I ran out of gas, and we’ve been rushing to fix this fucking engine so I can track you down and say what I need to say.”
I made this worse. Somehow, without even trying, I made thisworse.
“I-I’m—sorry,” I stutter.
His face twists in pained confusion. “Why the fuck are you apologizing?”
Where do I even begin?
But Grayson wasn’t expecting a response, because he says, “You need to go.”
My lungs compress.Please, let me?—
“I can’t leave,” Kenny says, face furrowed. “Your boat’s out of gas. You need mine to tow it.”
Oxygen slides back into my chest. Grayson wasn’t talking to me.
“The kayak, Ken,” he bites out, stepping onto the skiff I’m gripping for dear life. Without a word, he takes my paddle, then grabs under my arms and hauls me out of the vessel.
It’s pathetic, how quickly I find comfort in his grip. I’m that desperate for a dribble of reassurance. But the moment I’m steady on the boat, his hands drop away to hold the kayak steady for Kenny.
“The wind will be at your back,” he tells him. “You’ll hardly need to paddle.”
Kenny settles inside, extending a hand for the paddle. “No offense, Boss, but I’d paddle into a tornado to get away from this.”
Then he’s gone, leaving us in a dense quiet. Grayson doesn’t return to the other skiff, but he stays on the opposite side of this one.
It feels like there’s an ocean stretched between us.
Words. Find words. Say them before it’s too late.
“I’m apologizing, because?—”
“Stop.” It’s half-command, half-plea.
My mouth closes. I watch, terrified, as his entire body shakes on an exhale.
“When you didn’t answer, I thought you were ignoring me. I thought Iran you off,and I was fucking stranded out here, unable to do a damn thing about it until I got this engine fixed. I—” He rakes his hand angrily through his hair, taking a small, stiff step forward. “I thought when I finally got back to the dock, you’d be gone. That you were packing up your stuff from my house to leave.”
“Isn’t that what you want? For me to be gone?”
My words are quiet, the warm evening breeze wrapping around me, ready to whisk me away at his request. Waveslap against the skiff, a murmuring audience to the inevitable answer that’ll send that sledgehammer down and break me.
“Fuck,no,” he breathes.
Wha—
No?
He tents his fingers in front of his lips before saying, “I fucking hate that I made you think that.”
For the first time since he left the dock, hope sparks in the void of my chest. But?—
“You told them I’d be an amazing hire,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says loudly, sweeping a hand out. “Because youare.” His hand drops as realization dawns. “Jesus,that’swhat made you think I wanted you gone?”
