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Before I know what happens, Derrick is already rushing over. I run after him, but I can’t catch up to him.
“He fell! He fell…please someone help!” the woman is wailing. Tears are flowing down her eyes and she’s nearly hysterical. I see a little head bobbing in the water. The other people around us all turn around and are looking at her. No one is sure what to do.
Derrick doesn’t even stop, but jumps on the railing and jumps off the boat.
Well, I can’t say I expected that.
With swift and strong strokes, within seconds, he’s caught up to the boy and he takes him in his arms. He stays in place, treading against the current and waves at the mother, who is still going crazy.
By this time, some other passengers have alerted the Ferry captain and the boat slowly comes to a stop. But Derrick is already swimming up to the boat itself and by the time the emergency workers lower the life raft, Derrick is waiting, helping get the boy back to the emergency workers.
The mother weeps and cries out as the emergency personnel bring the boy up and put a blanket around him. Derrick is down below, talking to the emergency workers.
Remarkably, the Staten Island Ferry resumes service immediately, although it turns around and heads towards Manhattan.
It’s only once we dock again in Lower Manhattan that Derrick comes up to me. He’s dripping wet, and soaked to the bone.
“I think we’re going to have to cancel today’s event, love,” he says looking directly into me. “Seems our first foray into respectability is all washed up.”
I can’t help but smile. Emergency personnel have taken the child to the clinic at the ferry terminal and the mother looks towards Derrick very briefly.
She never got a chance to even thank him, I think to myself. But then again, no one will ever even know about what he did. His heroism.
Except for me.
“You smell like dirty water,” I say, cracking a rare smile at him. “I think you need to go home and change.”
He smiles back. “Let me have the car drop you off then,” he says. I hesitate. I can probably take the subway on my own. It’s a Sunday morning. “I insist,” he tells me. I finally nod my head in agreement.
“Make sure you stay on your side and don’t get me wet,” I tell him with mock sternness.
“It's my job as Prince Sin to get every woman as wet as I can,” he says with a chuckle and a smirk and I can’t help but laugh.
Only Derrick would appropriate a name meant to shame into a badge of pride.
The ride to the Lower East Side is relatively short and Derrick holds the door open for me.
“Thank you for an interesting morning,” I say to him, and before I know it, I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick peck on the cheek.
God, just doing that is getting me all sorts of hot.
Derrick raises his eyebrows. “Did I get you fucking wet there, love?” he asks with a grin.
“No,” I reply, sticking my tongue out at him. “But you will if you get any closer.”
I’ll leave you to decide what kind of wet I’m talking about. I get too hot just thinking about it.
Derrick is happy to stand there playing along but I eventually turn around and head into my building, going up the stairs, my mind filled with thoughts of random happiness.
Those thoughts are interrupted when I see the door to my apartment jarred open. I look closer. Someone’s broken through the lock.
Oh no!
The door is off its hinges and listing to the side on one hinge. I gulp. I probably shouldn’t go inside, but I can’t help myself.
I take a step inside.
“Jenna?” I call out. No answer. The living room is untouched. I go knock on Jenna’s door. She’s not in and the door isn’t locked. I take out my phone and call her.
