Page 90 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

Luke kicked hard, lungs burning, following what he hoped was the direction of the surface. When his head finally broke through, he gasped air that tasted like freedom and fear. Rain drove down on him so hard it felt like being pelted with gravel. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the chaos around him for brief, terrifying moments. Mainly, it was dark. So dark from the storm it might as well be night.

The boat was gone, too. Just…gone. Probably sitting on the bottom of the lake with his grandfather’s compass and twenty years of tour memories. He felt an overbearing sense of loss and in the same moment, realized that was the same way he felt about losing Sophie.

Another wave rolled over him and Luke fought to stay afloat, his clothes dragging at him like anchors. The water was cold enough to steal his breath and he could already feel his muscles starting to seize up. He’d seen enough near drownings—real drownings, too—to know how this went. First the panic then the exhaustion, then the quiet slide under the surface.

But not today. Not when Sophie might still need him. Might still want him.

He forced himself to float, conserving energy, trying to get his bearings in the chaos. Lightning flashed again and for a split second he saw it—a pinprick of light in the distance. Maple Island. Had to be. The inn’s windows catching the storm light…or maybe someone had a fire going?

Luke started swimming, each stroke a battle against the waves trying to drag him under. His boots felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each but kicking them off meant losing momentum. The current pulled him sideways, but he kept the light in sight and pushed forward.

Come on, Rhodes. You’ve been swimming these waters since you could walk. Lake’s not gonna beat you now.

But the lake had other ideas. A wave caught him from behind, rolling him under again and this time he stayed down longer. When he surfaced, choking and gasping, the light seemed farther away.

His arms were getting heavy. Each stroke took more effort than the last and the cold was creeping into his bones, making his thoughts sluggish. He could feel the hypothermia starting to set in: the same creeping numbness that must have taken Ethan’s dad all of those years back.

Not like this. Not when I never got to tell Sophie I was sorry.

The thought of Sophie gave him another burst of energy, enough to close the distance to the island. But as the rocky shore came into view, Luke realized he had a new problem. The waves were driving him straight into the rocks with enough force to crack his skull like an egg.

He tried to angle himself toward what looked like a small beach, but the current was too strong. A wave picked him up and hurled him forward and Luke threw his arms up to protect his head as he slammed into the rocks.

Pain exploded through his shoulder, and suddenly there was water in his mouth again, filling his throat. The rocks scraped against him as the wave pulled back, dragging him toward deeper water. He tried to grab onto something, anything, but his fingers were too numb and the rocks too slick.

Another wave rolled in, bigger than the last, and Luke felt it lift him up and drive him down again. This time his head struck stone and stars exploded behind his eyes. Water rushed into his lungs, and suddenly he couldn’t tell which way was up.

This is it. This is how it ends.

He thought of his father, drinking himself to death after his mother left. Thought of his grandfather, who’d spent his whole life on this lake and died peacefully in his sleep. Thought of his mother, who he’d never see again, and the brother or sister he’d never get to meet.

He thought of Sophie, probably warm and safe in her boathouse, wondering why the hell she’d ever gotten mixed up with a stubborn ass like him.

But then hands were grabbing him, pulling him up and out of the water with surprising strength. Luke found himself being dragged onto a narrow strip of rocky beach, coughing up what felt like half the lake.

“Jesus, man, you nearly drowned,” a voice said above him. Young, male, with an accent that wasn’t quite local.

Luke rolled onto his side, retching lake water and trying to get his bearings. The storm was still raging overhead, but they were sheltered here by an overhang of rock. A small fire flickered nearby and in its light Luke could make out his rescuer.

Twenty-something, lean build, curly brown hair plastered to his head by the rain.

“You okay?” the man asked, crouching beside him. “That was some swim you just took.”

Luke managed to sit up, his head still spinning. As his vision cleared, he took in his surroundings properly for the first time. A small tent tucked against the rocks. Empty bottles of whiskey scattered around the fire. A makeshift camp.

Son of a bitch.

“You,” Luke growled, adrenaline cutting through his exhaustion. “You’re the bastard who’s been terrorizing my town.”

The man’s eyes went wide. “What? No, I—”

Luke forced himself to his feet, swaying but determined. Sophie’s face flashed through his mind—her fear after the break-in, the way she’d jumped at every sound for days afterward. This piece of shit had violated her home, her safety.

“Starting fires,” Luke snarled, lurching forward. “Breaking into houses. Breaking into Sophie’s place.” He grabbed the man by the collar, using momentum and rage to slam him back against the rock face. “You son of a bitch.”

The man’s hands came up defensively. “It’s not—it’s not like you think,” he stammered, rain streaming down his face. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I was just looking for information.”

“Information?” Luke pressed harder, his forearm across the man’s throat. The storm swirled around them, whipping Luke’s wet hair across his face. “What kind of information requires breaking into people’s homes?”