55
ALEJANDRA
Rescue - Lauren Daigle
The thunderstorm was definitely rollingin by the time they made their way back to the most populated part of the beach. Public sex on a beach on Calan Mai had never been on her bucket list, but she was glad it was now crossed on her bingo card. Callum was fun, as insatiably sexual as she was, and the greenest flag in the entire world. She couldn’t ask for more, or maybe she could. Maybe she could ask the fucking universe for just a shred of peace before the panic set in. Because when the news that taid had gone missing broke, it hit like a cold slap.
Eira was looking around, feral. “He was just here, minutes ago. He can’t have gone far.”
But she’d had a few drinks, so maybe “minutes” had stretched. Taid was nowhere in sight. And truthfully, it was impossible to miss a man who stood nearly six feet tall.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Alejandra said, knowing that was exactly the worst thing you could say to someone whowas literally panicking. “I think we should split up,” Alejandra suggested. “I’ll walk the boardwalk, in case he stayed close, and you can go back toward the house. He’s probably heading for places he knows.”
Callum didn’t look thrilled with the idea.
“Mi abuela used to wander when her memory started fading,” Alejandra said, gently. “She always went to places tied to her long-term memory, like the café, the church, the house. Trust me. You check familiar spots in town. I’ll cover the beach.”
People were scattering now, the bonfires sputtering under fat raindrops.
“You have your phone?” Callum asked.
“Yes. We’ll stay in contact,” she promised with a nod and a smile.
“Alright. Boardwalk for you, I’ll check some pubs and shops, Mam goes home, and Rhiannon, you check your pub,” he ordered quickly. They all nodded. He kissed Alejandra hard, then took off.
She moved along the boardwalk as the beach emptied under the thunder and flickering lightning. It felt otherworldly, eerie, quiet but electric. The full moon through the passing clouds lit the water silver, casting long shadows. The waves were rising, but these weren’t the kind she used to chase. No, they were erratic waves, foamy and unpredictable.
Used to.She shook her head, scowling a little to her own thoughts.Joder, Alejandra, you still want to surf.
She did. The fear hadn’t erased the want. She'd told herself that jumping the bonfire would be enough to burn the fear away, but she knew better. It would take time. Sofia had been right. The reef had been the enemy, not the water, not the ocean. The ocean had always been her partner, her equal.
Since the boardwalk was almost empty, she turned toward the inner port of the city. Callum had mentioned his taid used to be a fisherman, and if anywhere felt like home to an old man slipping between past and present, it was the docks.
The harbor was quiet. Deserted. No one was around. She scanned the boats, wondering which one had been his. Then a sound behind her. She froze, heart hammering. Turning slowly, nothing was around. Probably one of those hideous seagulls scavenging. She exhaled, shook off the jolt, and kept walking. Her phone buzzed.
Nothing in town. You?
She was typing her response when another sound—louder—interrupted her. Then a voice.
“Teresa!”
Her head whipped toward the far edge of the harbor. The water was black beneath, slick with storm and shadow. Her worst fucking nightmare.
Someone was thrashing. She knew those movements. She’d seen them too many times, people caught in riptides, flailing against nature. The trick was always the same:don’t fight it. Let the ocean take you and bring you back.
She turned on her phone’s flashlight. The beam caught a figure—Taid, calling out names, disoriented and exhausted.
Joder. Joder. Joder.
She had to act fast. He was panicking, which made him dangerous in the water. She scanned the dock, she needed flotation. Even trained as she was, if he couldn’t calm down, she’d be dragged under with him. She could see the headlines:Pipeline survivor dies in Welsh harbor. No, thanks.
A paddleboard lay across a nearby boat. She hauled it out with her good shoulder, trying to avoid putting the heavy weight on her left one. Years of holding surf boards in one arm had somehow turned out useful, even though with the whip of the wind that freaking paddleboard gave her troubles, tothe point she needed her left arm and so, her left shoulder had to work the extra—unexpected—hour. Less than half an hour ago, she was pounded against a wall by the best dick she had ever seen, and now what was pounding her was that damn paddleboard. An inflatable one, even.
“I’m coming!” she shouted. Dropping the paddleboard near the dock, she stripped off her coat, sweater, and shoes. She texted Callum with shaking fingers—a mix of the freaking cold seeping through her bones and the panic slowly possessing her brain. This wasn’t Pipeline. She was in a harbour, protected, with some ripples but somehow innocent. As if Salacia herself was working overtime to keep the water here calmer, safer. It was a blessing that had probably saved taid from drowning so far.
Alejandra dropped the paddleboard into the water, and even though the idea of her entering from that height was nerve-wracking, she had no other choice. Underwater, her breath caught, and she kicked up rapidly, trying to push the panic away.
You know what to do. You've done this a thousand times. Breathe. Paddle. Save him.
