Page 79 of Wicked Games

“Is she okay?”

I scoff but smile. “Yeah. She’s okay. Can you look at me?”

Wearily, she lifts her head. The left side of her face is puffy, and the bruise is spreading over her cheek. Her lips are pale and they’re trembling, but it’s her eyes I study, trying to gauge their vagueness and her shock. Her pupils are dilated, but it’s dark and that might not mean anything.

“Can you tell me your birthdate?” I ask, rubbing my hands up and down her arms.

She blinks. “Ah, August 23, 1990.”

It comes out as a slight question, but that she could answer me is enough and I cuddle her against my wet t-shirt. “You know, my birthday’s in August too.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

I huff a laugh. “No. Just making conversation.”

“Cool. Can we talk somewhere else?”

That sounds so much like Avery, and I cry, tears running down my cheeks. She’s going to be okay.

She reaches up to wipe them away and stares at her bloody wrist.

“I’m sorry. I hurt you when I cut that zip-tie off you.”

“It’s okay.” She looks around, the fog fading with the rising sun. A loon calls in the distance, and it would have been beautiful watching it from the patio, sipping a cup of coffee. “Where are we?”

“I think the island that we can see from our dock. Not far, but too far to swim.”

“How did you get out here?”

“The other boat, but I let it go when I jumped in to look for you.”

Squinting, she says, “It could still be out there.”

“Yeah.” I hold her face in my hands. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think—” She stops and winces.

“Me either. I’m sorry I let you check on Winnie alone. I’m so fucking stupid.” My voice cracks.

“This isn’t your fault.”

Yeah, it is, but now isn’t the time to argue about it.

We sit and wait for the fog to lift, my ass turning numb on the hard rock, and I try to keep her as warm as I can, curling my body around hers.

She doesn’t stop shivering, but I don’t know if it’s from cold or shock. She almost died. This could haunt her for the rest of her life.

There’s no way to tell what time it is except for the rising sun, and I guess it’s close to five in the morning when the mist clears enough to see over the lake. The boat didn’t drift far, my disorientation making us seem farther away than we were, and relieved, I go in after it. I hate leaving Avery behind, even just for a minute, but I didn’t want to ask her to swim with me.

My jeans drag me down, and exhausted, I haul myself into the boat and grab a paddle. Shaking, she stands and waits for me, and I nudge the bow of the boat against the rock. I reach for her hand, help her climb in, and settle her in the captain’s chair next to me.

Those fuckers didn’t bring the boat they stole back to our dock, and later I’ll have to get a hold of our realtor and file a police report. I’m not reporting what happened to Avery to the local cops, but once I get her cleaned up and warm in bed, LaSalle is the second person on my list to call.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” I ask, leading her over the grass wet with dew to my house.

“A bath.” She glances at her wrists. “Probably some antibacterial cream. God knows what’s in that lake. Ibuprofen. A nap. Seth⁠—”

I press a finger over her lips. “Not now.”